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“I’m sure. There’s really only one area I can see being a problem. But…” Kaspias stares deeply into my eyes with determination. “I won’t let you down, Skylenna. I’ll give everything to get you out.”
~
Ruth
“What should we do?” Warrose asks Dessin, trying not to sound alarmed. “We’re up next.”
Dessin zones out in the grand theater seating the Vexamen soldiers. And I can’t help but wonder if even a small part of him still loves her. If there’s even a fragment of that affection left in his mind that can verify all we’ve said.
“The de—” Dessin cuts himself off. “Skylenna can handle herself.”
I blink in surprise at his use of her name. The act of saying it causes tendons in his neck to strain, but he still said it. Warrose glances at me with parted lips.
“We’re next,” Niles announces nervously.
I inhale deeply, trying my best to slow my pounding heartbeat, but the thick aroma of candy apples, popcorn, and sweat makes me cringe. Bursts of fire explode from torches surrounding the stage for dramatic effect, sending heat waves tumbling around us.
“You’re going to stay calm for me, okay?” Warrose tilts his face toward me, nearly grazing his nose against mine.
“Okay.”
“And if you get scared, I want you to close your eyes.”
“Aren’t you scared?”
At this point, my limbs are pulsating with anxious energy. The lower half of my body aches and throbs, and I’m faint with unrelenting nausea.
He stares into my eyes like he’s waiting to see if I can figure that out for myself. His expression is nothing short of calm and confident.
“No.”
We step up to the barrel and hose. My skin bubbles and prickles at the sight of Dessin and Niles kneeling to receive their serving, then to take Marilynn’s hose, too. I’m lowered a few inches as Warrose goes down to a knee, nodding at the sentinel holding two hoses.
I massage Warrose’s left shoulder anxiously. “What should I do to help?”
“Mmm,” he hums in the back of his throat. “That. I’d like you to keep doing that.”
I relax a little knowing that I’m able to do something helpful. My hands knead against his skin with purpose, trying to ease his tight muscles.
I watch with building tension as he accepts the first hose, taking long gulps and not even flinching as the potent liquid drains down his throat. The scent of the alcohol burns the edges of my nostrils, even though I’m not the one drinking it. A drop drizzles down his chin as he nods at the sentinel, giving the first hose back to receive the next serving.
“Oh, God,” I breathe in sharply. “Are you sure you can handle the next one?”
Warrose rolls his eyes with a cocky smirk but doesn’t respond as he continues to take efficiently large gulps. I stop massaging his shoulder and start caressing the curve of his neck. Slow, intimate strokes. I run my fingers upward, skimming under his hair to his scalp. That soft, dark head of hair is like silk; I become mesmerized by fondling those thick strands. He’s rough around every edge, from his calloused hands to his bristly facial hair, bulging muscles, thighs that might be made of tree trunks—all except for his hair and his eyes. These two features are made of satin and midnight dreams.
“That’s going to get me hard.” Warrose drops the second hose from his mouth, taking deep inhales to catch his breath.
“From touching your hair?” My lips twitch into a half smile.
“Yeah.”
I ignore the mental image of a tent forming in his pants. “I think your hair might be softer than mine.”
“Did you just give me a compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Warrose chuckles, low and gruff. As he turns his face closer to me, I instinctively use my thumb to wipe away the trail of alcohol that ran down his chin and neck. His eyes lower as he follows my every movement.
