Page 58 of Ashborne Forged

“Aren’t you going to undress as well?” I asked breathlessly.

Relief flooded me as he unfolded his arms and slowly leaned toward me. But instead of unbuttoning his jacket, he reached for me, sliding a hand under my hair, to the back of my neck and pulling me to stand between his feet. Then he leaned down and dropped his head to murmur in my ear.

“Take. Off. Your clothes,” he growled. The ring of authority, and gravel of his deep voice, ragged as if he’d been shouting, tickled behind my navel.

I nodded quickly, but he didn’t straighten, he remained, cheek-to-cheek with me as I hurried, with fumbling fingers, to unbuckle my belt and tug the shirt out of the leather trousers.

A low rumble of approval vibrated in his chest when the shirt fell open. He brushed a kiss against my collarbone and rasped, “Good girl,” as he straightened to loom over me, his chin up, but eyes down and folded his arms again.

Yet that strange tangle inside him didn’t stop. The rise of his thrill and arousal only matched by the jangle of alarm.

I swallowed, but kept going. I couldn’t untangle the tumult of emotions in him—thrill, excitement and anticipation sparking right alongside nervous tension, uncertainty, and a little bit of fear.

He’d seen me naked and sprawled, open to his eyes. And I’d seen him the same.

So, why did standing there in front of him while he stared, eyes raking, fully-clothed, slowly baring myself, feel so horribly vulnerable?

There was a moment, when I got the buttons of my fly undone and grasped the waist band, ready to push them down, that I hesitated.

He stared at me avidly for a beat, then rasped. “What made you stop? What do you feel? Describe it.”

I swallowed to wet my throat. My breath was quick, but shallow. “I’m excited,” I said carefully.

“And?”

“And… I want you.”

“Never a bad thing. But that’s not the heart of it, Grace. Tell me.”

I blew out a breath. “I feel… fragile. A little bit scared.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not naked. And you’re not touching me. It feels like I could be judged.”

He nodded, then leaned forward again until our noses almost touched, his eyes black and locked on mine. “You’re feeling the power I have over you. And it’s real. I want you to know I understand that. What a responsibility it is. Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

He nodded again. “So, you have a choice. I’ve got something to show you. Are you ready, Grace?”

“For what?” My voice was thin. A wisp.

“To put yourself in my hands and trust me to choose what happens to you.”

And even though the fear in my chest didn’t ease, the thrill increased. “Yes.”

His smile curled up, but his jaw was tight. “Then, I’ll only say it once more: Undress. Now.”

Swallowing, I bent forward to push my trousers down. The leather was thick enough that I had to balance on one foot to pull one leg off, then the other. Usually, when we did this together, he helped me. But Voski didn’t reach out to help me. I felt his eyes like a touch, covering every inch of my bare skin, though.

I wobbled as I got the second leg of my leathers off, and almost overbalanced. But it was only when I’d finally freed myself and was about to straighten, that I felt his hand on my hair, sliding from the top of my head to cup the back of my skull, squeezing—and stopping me from straightening.

I went still again, half-crouched, awkward, uncertain what he wanted.

“Throw them aside,” he rasped.

I tossed the leathers aside a little harder than was needed. They slapped on the wall then dropped to the floor, but neither of us looked.