But that was last night.
Now is...now.
After accusing him of wanting to harm me, after he stormed from his den like he couldn’t get away fast enough from me...
He can’t be thinking about kissing me anymore. I put an end to that. I’m certain he feels none of the inappropriateattractionthat plagues me.
I swallow hard. “I’m fine,” I assert, and I don’t know if it’s for his benefit or mine—or even true. I’m feeling so many things. None of which I would characterize asfine.
“Are you?Fine?” His warm breath gusts over my lips and I shiver anew. “Ten years. That’s a long time to be alone.” One of his hands reaches out and I watch it descend. He seizes a tendril of wet hair, twists it around his finger and holds it for a moment before unwinding it and then tucking the dark strand behind my ear, and I know he’s seeing me.
He. Sees. Me.
He sees the last ten years.
He sees me now.
I should disentangle myself from him, but my body has a mind of its own, continuing to press closer. Impossible as that seems. Any closer and we would be fused together, no end to him, no beginning of me.
Our noses almost brush. My eyes flit back and forth between his eyes and mouth, and I angle my face, adjusting so that our lips are almost touching. It would only take one of us. A scant half inch and the distance would be closed, lips melded in a kiss. Last night was my first. Stupidly, I didn’t realize it for what it was at the time, but now I know.
Now I want it so badly it hurts, but I can’t go back to that moment.
“Arden?”
“Hm?” I reply drowsily, mesmerized by the movement of his lips.
“I want you to know last night...that was a mistake. It won’t happen again. I’m not something you have to worry about, I promise you that. I won’t touch you again.”
“Oh.” I blink, then say again, hopefully without a ring of disappointment, “Oh.”
So that is that.
“Thank you,” I add even as longing burns through me like a seething storm.
Moments drift as we float in the warm water, and I tell myself that just because he won’t touch me...does not mean I can’t touch him.
Logic wages a war inside me, telling me touching him is a bad,badidea. I can’t be the one to cross that divide. A divide so wide. Centuries exist in that gap. Countless lives. Wars. Dragons. Humans. Witches. Creatures I can’t even name.
My lower body shifts of its own accord, legs wrapping more snugly around his hips. I sink lower, my throbbing center seeking pressure, an answer to the pulsing ache between my thighs. More feeling. More sensation.
More, more, more.
I find it. Gasp.
My eyes flare at the undeniable push of his cock against me, his wet garment a slippery barrier that proves to both frustrate and stimulate.
Panting, I slide my sex against the length of him, the hollowness a terrible gnawing thing that I need to fill.
His dark eyes consume me, big hands not moving where they grip my flesh as I maneuver myself in a slow pump against him, my mouth open inelegantly wide, panting above his, seeking my long-withheld pleasure. A strangled cry welling up from my chest.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak or make a sound. Violet light glows like flame at the centers of his eyes. He merely watches me taking what I need from him, and I wonder what he could possibly be thinking.
Does he consider me some manner of parasite clinging to him?It’s a mortifying notion, and still, I don’t withdraw. Water splashes around us as I work harder, faster against his hardness, desperately wanting to pull aside the fabric so that he can fully penetrate me.
“Tage! Tage!”
The voice jars me. I cling tighter to him, as though he might suddenly be ripped from me, and it’s in this position that Danhy finds us.
