His hand wraps around my waist.I jump with a little gasp, my thoughts still stuck on that last point.
Chuckling, he pulls me into his arms, flush against his chest.“You seem a bitsensitive, my queen,”he murmurs as his hand exploresmy back.
Butdespitethe promises laden in his touch,it’shis eyes I’mdrawn too.Haunted and guarded, they lack the heat from before Nicholas’ arrival.
How can anyone think he’s a monster?How did I,when heclearlyhas so muchtumultuous emotion inside him?Raising ahand, I cup his face.He leansinto my touch.Turning his lips, he kissesmy palm.
My breathcatchesas I stare at him, his cloaked pain, his unsaid words.If a pictureisworth a thousand, then this silenceisworth them all.
“Nicholas,”my kingsays,focusingonlyonme, “tell King Dravr I’ve retired for the night.”
Before Icanprotest, he dragsme through a door Ididn’t even know existed.It closesbehind us flawlessly, its edges undetectable in thesuddendark.Nothintrails of light mark where the hallis.No noise.No laughter.Noclink of glasses.The magic of thisplaceevenconsumesthe soft glow ofhiswings.Leaving onlysilence and darkness.
And him.
And me.
I shiver, goosebumps rising across my skin, trailing behind the path his fingersaremaking.Up my arm.Across my shoulders.My collarbone.Spanning my neck.
I can feel his need in every place he touches.His desire to find comfort from his pain.In me.Because he trusts me to be his place of safety.
Grabbing my throat, he haulsme to him.His lips touch my face, moving down and across my cheek, seeking my mouth.I kiss him back hard, shoving down all the thoughts rushing through me– the panic about Fabia, the guilt about setting him up to die, the realisation that Idon’twant what I thought I wanted, the fear of dying… the hope that Iwon’t, that he’llstep in and save me.
The darkness consumesall of it, stripping me bare,andleaving me asnaught buta woman in love with a man whoishurting.
My handsroam allover his body.His clothes.Frantically, I tug at them, shoving his jacket off his shoulders.I need his skin against mine.For the gap – all gaps between us to be gone.I undo the button on his waistcoat.
Andthenanotherbutton.
And another.
Oh my gods, how manyarethere?
My hands roam across his chest, trying to find them all as my breaths come out needy and desperate.
I want him inside me now.
I want to see him.
His piercing.
His cock as it slidesinto me.
But itispitch black.
Soundless except for our breaths and the pounding of our hearts.
Having nothing but touch to hold on to, I touch.
Grabbing the sides of his waistcoat, I rip them away.
Pop.Pop.Pop.
Thank the bloody gods.But when my hands land back on his chest – his supposedly naked chest, I groan.
Another flippin’ shirtblocksmy path.
With a dozen flippin’ buttons.
