I stop.
My stomach flips, nerves scattering.
He strides toward me, tormentingly slow, until he is towering over me. Cold rolls off him in palpable waves, frost curling pale along his skin with every measured exhale.
He reaches for me.
His hand closes around mine, the other settling at my waist before he pulls me hard against him. There is no hesitation in it. No question.
I gulp, my pulse skittering as I look up into his clashing eyes. “But you said…” My gaze flicks toward the vast glass walls. “Someone might see us.”
He does not answer with words.
Instead, he lifts his chin.
The ballroom doors slam shut with a thunderous crack, frost racing up the seams as they seal. Ice surges out from beneath his feet, sweeping across the marble floor in a rushing tide. It climbs the glass in an instant, frost blooming and spreading until the world beyond vanishes, and we are left utterly, impossibly alone.
“Is that better?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “It is. Actually.”
His hand tightens at my waist.
And then we begin to dance.
We move together slowly at first. My boots slide over the ice-slick floor as he leads me. There is no music, but I feel it anyway, in the steady pull of his body, in the flustered rhythm of our breathing, in the rapid, overlapping beat of our hearts.
The dance tightens.
Each step draws us closer until I can feel every chiseled ripple of him beneath his clothes. His hand shifts higher at my back, fingers spreading, claiming, and my body responds before my mind can catch up. I draw tight, every nerve turning molten, an unbidden surge of warmth pooling low in my stomach.
The shimmering ice upon the mirrors reflects us from every angle. My red hair, wild and loose. His ivory hair, smooth and perfectly straight. Winter and fire locked together, and I can no longer tell where the dance ends and the wanting begins.
Then his restraint snaps.
In one smooth, effortless motion, he lifts me. My breath leaves me in a sharp gasp as he draws me up onto his hips and presses me against the wall. The layer of ice shatters against my back, splintering beneath the force of him, but we barely notice.
I clutch at him, heart racing, the world tilting as he leans in, his forehead resting against mine.
“Did Pax really make the Lord of Frostwyn so jealous that he breaks his own rules?” I breathe into his waiting mouth.
Luceran grinds himself against me, a low sound slipping from him as his hand slides beneath my skirt, circling my thigh.
“I have never envied a human,” he mutters, his lips brushing mine. “Not until today.”
Then he kisses me, hard and deep. His grasp on my thighs tightens, fingers curving around the tops of my woolen stockings. I feel him, hard and thick through his trousers, pressing against the heat throbbing between my legs. Gods, I still remember the sight of his cock that night in the barn. The weight of him in my hand. The strain when he released. And right now, I want nothing more than to wrap my hands around him once more. To stroke the rigid length of him while he groans and thrusts in my grip.
My mouth waters as Luceran lifts me higher and presses me against the wall, freeing his other hand so he can reach beneath me and trail a finger along my thigh. He buries his face in my neck, lavishing hot, breathy kisses over my fevered skin. I gasp when he presses that finger inside me, louder than I mean to, and he is quick to hold me there with his hips alone. My legs wrap around him as he brings his other hand up to cover my mouth.
“I’ve covered the window. I’ve locked the door,” he growls. “But I cannot make every single person in this castle deaf. If you want me to keep going, keep your mouth shut.”
He says it just as he slides a second finger inside me.
My eyes widen. I whimper into his hand, grinding my teeth against his palm, and the dark grin that curves his mouth tells me exactly how much he enjoys it. His lips return to my neck, kissing harder, faster, and I feel the scrape of his fangs. It only intensifies the aching pleasure as his fingers dip in and out of me.
He groans. “I’ve missed that smell. So sweet. If I move my fingers faster, will that gorgeous scent get stronger? Tell me.”
But I can’t. Not just because his hand is still clamped over my mouth, but because I cannot form fucking words even if I tried.
