“You like to joke about sex, but it’s only to hide your lack of experience.”
Quentin held her gaze for a moment.
Then doubled over, whooping with laughter. The sound echoed off the trees and the canopy. Creatures skittered in the night, startled by the sound.
He wiped his eyes, looking back up to find her scowling at him. “I’m sorry,” he said, still chuckling. “I’m ready for your actual guess now.”
Her scowl deepened. “Thatwasmy guess.”
Quentin’s laughter slowly died in his chest as he held her stare, scanning her face, his smile fading with it.
“Gods,” he breathed out. “You’re being serious.”
She lifted her chin imperiously.
Oh, nowthiswas a treat.
Quentin slowly pushed himself up, one knee digging into the leafy footing, resting against her thigh. Delaynie held herself perfectly still, eyes wide, her chest stilling as she held her breath. He leaned into her, unable to stop himself from drawing in a lungful of her sweet coconut and vanilla scent. He tipped a finger to her chin, and her nostrils flared as her gaze flashed down to his lips.
His mouth brushed the shell of her ear, hiding his smile.
“Drink,” he whispered.
Delaynie shivered, a deep, primal thrill shooting through him. He sat back down, holding out the flagon. Her blush was deep across her cheeks, spreading down her neck and over her chest. She gave her head a small shake, forcing that familiar scowl as she swiped the flagon from him and took a deep sip.
Quentin’s smile never faltered. But he was curious.
“Was thatreallywhat you thought?”
Delaynie dropped the flagon from her lips, swallowing and handing it back with a grimace and a shrug. “You talk a lot, butI’ve never actually seen you with anyone outside of court around the palace. I thought it was a good guess that it was all just an act.”
“You’re saying that because I never brought anyone back to my rooms in the palace—the rooms that neighbor myqueen’s—that I must be lying about being good in bed?” He chuckled. “There are other places to fuck than in a bedroom, little wolf.”
She glanced away, the dying embers reflecting in her pale eyes, and didn’t answer.
Quentin sighed, tipping back his head. “But I will admit, it’s been different since Mariah.” She turned slightly, not fully, but enough to let him know she was watching him. He ran a hand through his hair again. “Priorities shifted a little when she came along.”
“So, you haven’t been with anyone since Mariah’s Choosing?”
“No.” He paused, the corner of his mouth ticking up. The long-healed scar over his chest itched with the ghost of a memory. “Except for the bonding?—”
“I don’t want to know.” She held up her hand, shaking her head. But there was the hint of a giggle there, one that was just lingering on her lips and begging to be set free.
He didn’t push it. Instead, he chuckled again and took another sip from the flagon, his gaze finding the flames.
“It’s your turn,” Delaynie said quietly, pulling him back.
“You’re not done?”
She shook her head, leaning back on her hands. She still wore that hint of amusement, that barest trace of humor. The wine was now coursing through them both, the faint buzz winding into Quentin’s fingertips.
As he watched her, an idea crept into his head. One that made him smile slowly, taking another slow swig of the wine. He capped it then held it loosely, dangling between his fingertips.
A taunt. One she noted, brow lifting.
His heart hammered, blood humming. He shouldn’t say what rested on his tongue. It would cross a line—one he wasn’t sure he’d be able to return from. But something wild had seized him, something that wanted to sweep him away from sanity itself.
Whatever this was, whatever filled the air between their breaths, it was becoming more intoxicating than even the Vathan wine.
