He didn’t have time to think about it though. Not as she toyed with the laces at the top of her tunic, a challenge in her eyes.
Cedric swallowed hard. He kicked off his own boots. Unbuckled the leather vambraces around each wrist, the belt around his waist. He was slow, though, his fingers clumsy. It didn’t help matters that he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Especially not as she finished undoing the laces of her tunic, pulled it over her head in one clean motion, and discarded it on the ground with a wicked grin. Lightning flashed outside the tent, illuminating her rounded breasts, the smooth plane of her stomach, the full expanse of her beauty.
Cedric’s mouth went dry. A feral sort of grunt came from him, unbidden, as his eyes roamed greedily down her body, lingering on the scrap of an undergarment she still wore—her last remaining shred of clothing.
The thread in his chest tugged at Cedric, beckoning him forward. He needed to touch. Needed to feel her. Needed her.
She bit her lip as he moved toward her, shivering as he ran his palms down her arms—slowly, like he was tracing her outline.
Her silver-flecked eyes were wide, open, raw, as she leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a tender kiss to his scar.
She pulled back, appraising him with something vulnerable, something honest on her face. Cedric’s heart hammered in his chest, one hand sliding around her waist to the small of her back, his fingers slipping just past the line of her undergarment, his cock swelling.
And then that wicked smirk was back.
Elyria spun out of Cedric’s hold, moving so fast he almost missed the ribbon of shadow she used to pluck a bar of soap from one of the saddlebags before she dashed out of the tent with a gleeful, ringing laugh.
“First things first, Sir Thorne!” she called.
Cedric stood there for a few moments, a slightly dumbfounded expression on his face as he tried to understand her game. And then he was a blur of furious motion himself, peeling off the rest of his clothing until he stood in the middle of the tent, entirely bare save for the token around his neck and the ring on his finger.
He had to take another minute to calm himself down enoughthat he could feel certain he wouldn’t pounce on her the instant he found her outside, though a fleeting thought had him wondering if that was what she wanted. By the time he had taken all their clothing and laid it neatly out by the brazier to dry, Elyria had several minutes’ head start.
The rain was cold on Cedric’s skin as he ventured out of the tent, squinting through the deluge, Polonius and Fjaethe’s tails swishing as they stood under their semi-dry canopy. He was so singularly focused on seeing where Elyria had gone, he barely even noticed the sizzle that sounded with every drop hitting his skin, the steam rising from him.
It didn’t take long for him to find her—or at least, to find a sign of her. To find the bar of soap laid on an overturned log, right on top of—Noctis take me—that little scrap of an undergarment.
Cedric released a satisfied growl as he grabbed the soap and quickly washed his body. He had to contain his moan when his hand skated over his hard cock. Elyria’s teasing had him starting right at the edge. Whatever game this was, he would happily play along, but heabsolutelyneeded to get himself together if he wanted to keep playing for any actual amount of time. Even now, just the thought of Elyria’s naked body in the tent could have had him coming in his hand.
A melodic sound cut through his thoughts—a beautiful, serene song floating into his ears, coming from the direction of the tent. Like a siren’s call, Cedric followed it.
And when he stepped inside, there she was.
She was facing the back of the tent, still singing that lovely, soft melody. Cedric sucked in a deep breath as he took in the rain-soaked periwinkle hair smooth against her back, water dripping from her wings, running in a path down the glorious curve of her ass, her long legs.
Beautiful.
Naked.
His.
“Elle.” His voice was a whisper as she turned to face him—a man transfixed. Rainwater ran down the expanse of his bare chest. The place above his collarbone where she’d bitten him—well over a week ago now—pulsed, and not for the first time the thought crossed Cedric’s mind that perhaps she really was a witch. Because there was no way that this—this feeling taking root in him, blooming behind his ribs,shimmering up and down the thread between them—could be natural.
Or, rather, it was the most natural thing in the world. But also, it wasmore.
It felt like . . .
“Hello,” Elyria said, smiling softly.
There was nothing soft about the way Cedric strode over to her, wrapped his fingers around her upper arms, and crashed his lips to hers.
She sighed into his mouth, throwing her arms around his neck, her body aligning to his, pressing against every inch of him.
And in this moment, there was nothing else. There was no Elderglade and magic archway, nosanguinagithreat or sylvan mystery. There was just her skin on his skin, soft and hard, porcelain and golden tan. There was just his finger, grazing the edge of her wing with a featherlight touch.
Cedric wasn’t quite sure what to call the sound that left Elyria as he trailed his hand up her wing, as he skated his lips over the curve of her jaw, kissing a path right to the tip of her pointed ear. It was something like a whimper but carried once more on that soft melody.
