Page 28 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

This is going to be a disaster.

Chapter Four

Iwake tangled in lavender-scented sheets, sunlight already streaming through the window. It takes me a moment to remember where I am.

Elvarstyne Keep.

The dreams are getting worse. Ever since Garrett hung me from those chains and dragged that humiliating release from my body, I can’t stop replaying the goddamn moment. I keep feeling the ghost of his touch and the way he wrapped his hand around my cock.

In my sleep, I’m back in his room, but this time I’m not chained. This time I’m the one pushing Garrett against the stone wall, biting that smug mouth until he bleeds, making him gasp my name instead of mocking me.

I wake hard and furious with myself.

What is happening to me? I have never found males attractive.

This is Garrett’s fault. He did this to me. Before that night, I was fine and focused. Now my thoughts spiral into weird places. It’s all because he decided to play his twisted games with me.

I drag myself out of bed and dress quickly, buckling on my weapons. The routine should center me, but it doesn’t. My mind keeps drifting back to the sound Garrett made when he came apart in my dream, the way his breath hitched.

Fuck.

I need to get my head straight. This distraction could get one of us killed. I refuse to fail another contract because I can’t keep my cock under control.

Morning light streams through my window. I’ve overslept by hours. Another failure to add to my growing list.

I splash water on my face from the basin, trying to wash away the lingering images from my dreams. It doesn’t work. Nothing works. Garrett has gotten under my skin like poison, and I don’t know how to cut him out.

When I finally make it outside, the sun is already climbing toward midday. I’m late. Garrett is in the training yard. I stop in the shadow of the keep’s eastern wall to watch him.

The ground is empty except for him. I can see every muscle shift beneath the fabric as he flows through sword forms. The blade in his hand sings with each arc and thrust. His hair has come loose from its tie, falling across his face in golden waves that make my fingers itch to brush them back.

I shouldn’t be thinking about his hair.

Or the way his throat works when he tilts his head back to catch his breath.

Or the flex of his forearms as he adjusts his grip on the sword hilt.

Or how it would feel to have those hands on me again.

My jaw clenches. This is exactly the problem. I can’t look at him without my thoughts turning filthy. I keep imagining what sounds he’d make if I pushed him against the wall and put my mouth on him.

I blame him for this. Fuck him for making me compromised, distracted, and useless. I have to look away before my body betrays me further.

A servant passes nearby, giving me a wide berth. They all do. I am a Grimsbane assassin from Tiamat.

I watch Garrett complete another form, this one faster and more aggressive. He’s testing himself, pushing his limits. There’s a precision to his movements that speaks of decades or centuries of training.

When I look again, he has stopped. He’s watching me, sword lowered. A knowing smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

Caught.

“Enjoying the show?” he calls out.

I step from the shadows, keeping my expression flat. “You’re predictable. It’s the same forms every morning.”

“Predictable?” He laughs, wiping sweat from his brow with his forearm. “That’s rich coming from someone who’s been standing in the exact same spot for the past ten minutes.”

Bastard noticed me immediately.