She stared at him, her brain sluggish in catching up.
Absolutely not.
But then his smirk turned into a challenge. “Unless you’re scared to find out.”
Bastard.
Elora scoffed, shoving down the part of her thatwasvery much scared. “Fine,” she muttered, forcing her body to shift.
Then his fingers found her scalp again, and—gods help her—she almost whimpered.
It was different now. Before, it had been soothing, instinctual, like scratching an itch she didn’t know she had. Butthis?This was entirely something else.
The way his nails grazed her skin, those slow, excruciating circles he traced. It sent heat rippling through her body, a slow, agonizing burn spreading from her chest to the wetness blooming between her thighs. Her toes curled, lips catching between her teeth as she tried not to let the sound of want escape her throat. Her mind screamed in desperate warning, telling her to pull away, keep distance, keep safe—but her body didn’t care. Her body was all instinct, craving more, more, more of Rell’s touch.
Her breath came out in rapid bursts, chest rising and falling as she struggled to regain some kind of control. But it was impossible. Not when he touched her like this. Not when the last of her defenses crumbled, leaving nothing but the aching, undeniable need for him to keep going. A sharp, almost painful flare of pleasure coursed through her as she shifted slightly under his touch, involuntary and needy. Why did it feel so intense? So... dangerous?
Gods, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Especially not like this, not when she’d spent so long trying to keep her guard up, trying not to let anyone get past the walls she’d built so carefully. But with every touch, every circle he drew on her skin, he shattered those walls like they were made of glass.
His hand slowed, not stopping entirely, but easing into something more deliberate. His other hand—when had it gotten so close?—rested lightly on the edge of herknee.
“Elora,” he said, quietly. “Why are you pressing your palm?”
She hadn’t even realized. Her thumb was digging into the soft center of her palm, right over her pulse.
“Habit,” she mumbled, trying to sound casual. “It keeps me… centered.”
His face twisted slightly, unconvinced.
He wasn’t asking, but she felt the need to explain anyway. “My… father. Tehvan. He wears a ring that allows him to feel my pulse from anywhere. He’s learned how to read my emotions through it, just by subtle rhythm changes.”
“So, you’re attempting to steady your pulse so that he can’t tell what your feeling?”
She nodded.
“Sounds like your father is extremely controlling.” Rell paused his slow circles through her scalp, the absence making her meet his gaze. He looked like she had just told him what Thorn had did to her. Like Tehvan’s way of protecting her was just as bad.
She flinched but didn’t look away. “It’s not like that.”
He waited.
“I mean, sometimes.” Her words came out stiff, like they had to be pulled through a filter of shame. “But only when it… spiked. When it wasn’t what he expected. Fear, anger… lust. That sort of thing.”
“So you learned to hide it.”
Elora nodded once.
“You’re not just hiding your feeling from him. You’re hiding them from yourself.”
That made her chest tighten. She wasn’t sure if it was an accusation or an observation. Maybe both. She drew in a shaky breath.
“I never had the chance to feel anything,” she admitted. “Not really. Not when it came to... this.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Desire. Pleasure. Wanting something for myself.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. The firelight danced between them, and it felt suddenly too warm, too intimate.
“When I was younger, I was curious after Arria told me how amazing Alfie made her feel. The sensation of it.” I… experimented. Only once.” Her throat constricted. “Tehvan felt it. And the next morning, he sat me down and gave me a lesson about virtue.”
The silence that followed stretched long. Elora braced for judgment. But Rell only said, softly, “You don’t owe anyone that kind of power over you, Elora.”
