I’m sostrong.
“How much power did you give me?” I ask, standing up and stretching. Tides, it feels good to move.
“Very little. It’s almost like a high at first. It’ll wear off soon and then…” He trails off.
“We wait for me to try and ravish you?” I give him a mocking smile, brows raised.
“…Yes.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Let’s hope.”
My blood is boiling in my veins.
It’s incredibly hot. Maybe my fever is coming back. Did I miss healing some of the infection?
But I know that’s not the case.
Unbidden, my eyes find Zevayr where he’s removing the remains of our dinner from the spit over the fire. His dark hair curls at the nape of his neck. It’s grown out since we first met. It looks so soft. I want to tangle my hands in it and tug his face toward me.
My fingers twitch.
The muscles in his back contract as he moves. My eyes are glued to them, following each movement with rapt attention. He must sense my eyes on him, because he turns around, and his face, Tides drown me, hisgorgeousface.
It’s perfect. Sharp jawline, covered in stubble—what would it feel like against me? The rough scrape against my soft skin.Full, sensuous lips that I’ve thought about kissing often enough. Straight, dark brows framing stormy gray eyes—
Gray eyes that are watching me with mild amusement.
“You all right there, Mayah?” he asks, his lips twitching. I nearly moan at the sound of his gravelly voice. How is it so impossibly deep?
“Yeah,” I whisper. My voice is low and breathy. “Yeah, just a little warm.”
He doesn’t look convinced. Zevayr grabs a canteen and hands it to me. “Drink some water. You look flushed.”
Our fingers brush as I take it. A spark skitters along my skin at the contact. He kneels before me, scanning my face. Whatever he sees makes his eyes darken.
“I’m going to stay on that side of camp”—he points behind him—“and you’re going to stay right here. If we can do that, we’ll be fine.”
I down the entire canteen.
My stubborn eyes follow him to the other side of the campsite, where he sits and begins sharpening his weapons. His long fingers grip the whetstone, sliding across the blade repeatedly with firm, steady motions. What would his fingers feel like on my skin?Iwant to be the sword in his hands, as he rhythmically—
“Mayah.” His voice is gruffer now. Angry. It arouses me even more. “Stop looking at me. Find something to keep yourself busy.”
With a start, I realize my hand is cupping my breast, the other pressed flat over my stomach, inching lower. But what startles me more is the fact that I’m not embarrassed at all.
Sizzling heat coils low in my belly, heady and hot. I’m burning up, and there’s a pounding ache between my thighs that’s growing impossible to ignore. My eyes are riveted to his handsome face, his strong masculine neck, his thick collarbones.
I don’t even realize I’ve moved until he barks my name.
I love the sound of it on his lips.
Tides, his lips. His full, perfect lips. They belong on my skin.
The ground is soft beneath my knees as I kneel before him, reaching for the sword in his large hands.
“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, angry eyes dark with an impending storm.
