“Asher,” he said stiffly, almost aggressively, and I raised a brow.
“Ma’am,” he added.
“Enough with thema’am,” I growled. “I’m going to my room. Just knock when the food is ready.”
Without waiting for a reply, I turned and headed upstairs. I reached the third floor and walked across the landing, my hand sliding along the smooth railing of the balcony as I strode along the familiar path to my room. I always kept separate quarters from Atticus. It wasn’t as if we were exactly the cuddle type.
Opening the door to the right at the end, I entered my room. It overlooked the front of the manor, allowing me to see the swinging bridges from the villages up in the trees. As I stepped inside, the hearth sprang to life, its flames dancing as themagic acknowledged my presence. In the center of the far wall was a large, plush bed, its four posts engraved with carvings of animals that I always found weird and disturbing. Why did someone want to look at squirrels and pigs when they were going to bed?
A crimson-and-gold rug covered most of the floor, its vibrant colors echoed by the heavy red curtains draping the windows. My gaze, though, went straight toward the door to the left of the bed. The one that led to the bath.
Seeing it, I almost moaned with relief, desperate to wash the day away.
I practically ran toward the door, discarding my clothing unbothered onto the floor. My foot tapped impatiently as I waited for the tub to fill. Steam rolled off its surface and when there was enough water, I stepped in with a contented sigh.
After scrubbing myself vigorously with a cloth, I leaned back into the tub and let the hot water soothe my aching muscles. My hair was caked with dirt and leaves, and it took me a considerable amount of time to get it clean.
Just as I stepped out of the tub, steam curling around me, someone knocked on my door.
Finally.I was starving.
Crossing the room, I grabbed a black silken robe off the back of the door and threw it on, tying it loosely around my waist.
“I hope you brought—” My words froze on my tongue as I pulled open the heavy door. It wasn’t Miss Boone standing on the other side, but Atticus.
Fuck.What was he doing here? I thought he was away.
Atticus stood in the doorway, his enormous frame filling the space as he rested a corded arm on the frame, a lopsidedsmile on his lips. His dark hair was tied back in a tight bun, and his metallic eyes gleamed hungrily as they roved over my mostly exposed body.
My stomach twisted, and I crossed my arms over my chest, tightening the robe around me. I wasn’t one to be prudish, and I didn’t know why I had done it.
Atticus was shirtless and appeared to be damp with sweat. He was wearing only black uniform pants and mud-covered boots. His muscular chest, defined abs, and muscular arms were on display, and I usually found them impressive, but now they looked less impressive compared to—
My back stiffened,no. No, I won't allow myself even to think, to compare… but that was exactly what I was doing.
“Zar,” Atticus said, shoving past me and into my room. In his hand he held two glasses and a bottle of wine, but no food.
My stomach grumbled.
Glowering, I let him slip past and watched him as he crossed the room, setting the contents down on the nightstand and turning back toward me. He stalked toward me, hunger and lust heavy in his eyes.
This should’ve felt familiar, a twisted kind of comfort but all I felt was a weight settling over me. My arm began to itch, and I couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of unease.
My eyes raked down his sculpted muscles as he approached, and I had to lift my chin to look at him as he stopped in front of me. I knew what was going to come next and I had to decide before it happened. But what did I have to decide? Why was I overthinking this?
“Where were we?” Atticus said gruffly, and then his hands were on my waist pulling me into him. My hands instinctively landed on his chest and his mouth crashed onto mine.
I had to decide, think. But today had been a shit day, and I didn’t want to think—I wanted to forget. His tongue parted my lips, and the memory of what he could do with his tongue had me wrapping my arms around his neck.
Fuck it.
Atticus lifted me, my robe falling back as my legs wound around his waist. Atticus deepened our kiss, his tongue brushing mine, and I felt like I was choking. Where my skin met his, it felt scratchy, wrong. The kiss was too wet, and our mouths weren’t syncing up properly.
Atticus didn’t seem to mind, or notice and I tried to shake it off. I decided it was because I was away for so long. I tried to focus but even his hold on me felt wrong. Like he couldn’t hold me up properly.
“Bed,” I breathed between a kiss, and his tongue lapped at me like a dog as he carried me in that direction.
My skin continued to itch and he fell on top of me on the bed. Atticus slid his palm up my thigh and my stomach twisted, bile threatening to rise at the back of my throat. His hands felt sweaty and meaty, and I tried again to ignore the unsettling sensation that boiled in my veins, pulsing through my chest and arm.
