No, the sensations charging through me are nothing remotely like fear.
Warmth curls through my belly, melting and tightening, coiling like a screw within me that makes me gasp, widening my mouth. He widens his mouth, too, deepening the pressure of his lips and something indefinable coils deliciously tighter and tighter.
Our mouths fuse, all heat and slickness as he licks his way inside. I’m boneless, sinking back into the furs, whimpering under his ministrations, marveling, confused...wondering when the pain of it will begin.
He pulls back, his violet-dark eyes burning into me. “Arden...”
The growl of my name is demanding, probing, but I don’t understand what he’s asking.
My breathing falls in jagged spurts between us. “Please...don’t eat me...”
Surprise cuts through the heat in his eyes like the sudden flash of light in a dark room. “You still think...” He stops abruptly and withdraws as though touching me is suddenly repugnant.
Sitting up on the bed, he props his elbows on his knees and drops his head into his hands with a muttered, “Fuuuuck.”
Tension radiates from him.
I can’t breathe. I hold myself as small as possible in the bed, wondering what is happening.
Finally, he lifts his head. Without looking back at me, he speaks into the air in front of him, his voice flat. “You must think me a slavering beast, right?”
I moisten my lips. “I—I don’t know...you just said that...”
“I said I’ve thought about tasting you,” he grates out. “Not because I want toeatyou.” He stands suddenly and spins around, towering over me. “Do you understand that? I don’t know how to be any clearer.” He drags a hand through his dark hair like he wants to pull the thick strands out by the roots. He blows out a rough breath tinged with disgust. “Of course. You are not exactly experienced, are you?”
I don’t know how to answer that. It’s true, of course. In a way. If one does not count vicariously living through others for the last decade. I’m guessing he would not count that as experience though.
He blinks long and hard. Shaking his head, I sense that his disgust is self-directed. “When I say I’ve thought about tasting you...I mean kissing you, Arden. Do you understand that? I mean fucking you.”
I gasp at his blunt declaration, gaping up at him, clutching the fur to my throat. His words make me feel...strange and fluttery inside.
With another curse, he turns and strides from the bed before I even have a chance to say anything—before I even knowwhatI want to say.
He violently flings back the pelt that serves as a door to his den. It swings there for several moments in the wake of his departure.
28
A Deep Dark Pool
He’s alone,” Danhy says between bites of roastedmutton in a verdaberry chutney. She licks the oily green herbs from her fingers, clearly enjoying the meal I helped Viggo prepare.
I’m back to my kitchen duties, although Viggo is notably taciturn with me. Clearly, my escape attempt left him disappointed in me.
I don’t waste time worrying about Viggo’s disappointment in me, though. I have other things to think about. Like Tage and whether I’m going to sleep in his den again...and whether he will be joining me there and whether I want him to?
All very good questions with answers that elude me.
“If he belongs to a pride, we would have seen them by now,” Danhy says.
My gaze slides to Tage at this news. I’ve been following the conversation closely, adding it to my well of knowledge about dragonkind.
Tage considers this, reaching for his goblet and taking a long drink before asking, “How certain are you?”
“Absolutely.”
“There are no absolutes in this world.” For some reason his enigmatic gaze skitters to me as he says this, and my spine stiffens beneath the attention.
“I’ve been marking him and his movements for over a fortnight now,” Danhy replies evenly. “Just as you instructed. He is alone. I have no doubt. And in rough shape from his appearance.”
