“Out!”
Rhordyn’s destructive tone causes a riot of movement, and Hovard ushers a pale-faced Dolcie through the exit—hand to her lips, pincushion discarded on the floor.
Rhordyn holds my gaze until the door snicks shut behind them both, and I’m acutely aware of his chest rising and falling to the same rhythm as my own. He makes a small clicking sound with his tongue before charging toward a table stacked with a jug and crystal glasses. He pours one half full, then peers at it, silent and still while my heart sits in my throat.
I know what this moment could grow into. Can feel the weight of potential pushing on my chest, stifling my breaths.
That inner voice, again, is screaming for me to run.
He clears his throat and spins, stalking toward me.
Perhaps I’m a fool ... but I’m a curious fool. Andthishas never been done in person. There’s always a door separating us, slapping a mask over the act.
He stops only when we’re sharing breath, eye to eye, on the verge of somethingtranscending.
For the very first time, there is no door separating us. Nothing but thin air that’s a blend of both our scents.
“May I?”
Please do.
I nod, refusing to blink as he pinches the edge of the mock-up dress, peeling it down like the corner of a book page.
Every inhale brings my breasts closer to his chill, every exhale pulls them away again, much like the internal tug-of-war I wage with myself daily.
Part of me wants to be closer, the rest of me knows I need to stay the hell away—that Rhordyn’s an ocean that would plunge into my lungs and drown me if I fell into him.
He looks down, his icy trail of scrutiny landing on the freckle of pain on the swell of my breast that’s acute enough to draw a bead of blood.
I should know.
My chin tips, nipples pebbling, flesh anticipating his touch so much it’s almost uncomfortable.
His ragged exhale agitates my skin.
I blink, and the air shifts.
Suddenly his back is turned, and I’m listening to him stir the water ...
Looking down, I see nothing but a red prickle of damaged skin.
No blood. No smear.
Gone.
And I feltnothing. Not a single brush of contact. As if he did everything he could to make sure his touch didn’t linger.
This heavy rock in my stomach feels a lot like disappointment.
He walks toward the door, not giving me a single look at his face. Is there pleasure in his eyes? Dissatisfaction?
Disgust?
Would it be so bad to let me see?
“I won’t be needing your offering tonight.”
My heart is thrown like a snowball, the swelling lump in my throat hard to draw a steady breath past.
