She was aroused.
Her body had responded before her mind could compose something proper and restrained, and the damp heat gathering in her most intimate place made her inhale sharply through her nose as though she might steady herself through sheer will.
He was watching her. Of course he was.
He always watched her.
And the thought that he might notice only made the warmth deepen.
Lyssena lifted her gaze slowly to meet the twin violet lights of his eyes, and though her cheeks were flushed and her lips parted with uneven breath, she did not retreat.
“You truly do not know?” she asked softly, though her voice trembled at the edges.
Because if he did not . . .
If this ancient being of shadow truly did not understand what he was asking . . .
Then she would have to show him. And the thought of that made her pulse stutter all over again.
Her mother had once told her that when a woman wed, she must please her husband with her mouth, that it was her duty to kneel if asked, and that if she were fortunate—if she were very fortunate—the man might one day decide to return the favor. It had been spoken like a secret, a transaction. Like something endured.
Her voice dropped to a murmur, soft and almost shy despite the boldness of the words.
“You could . . . ” She hesitated, her breath trembling. “You could place your mouth . . . on me.”
Erevos hummed. The sound vibrated low in his chest, and before she could gather another breath, the table behind her seemed to lengthen slightly, or perhaps it was only her perception bending under the weight of what was happening, because in the next moment Erevos moved her as though she weighed nothing at all and set her upon the dark wood.
Lyssena gasped as her palms pressed against the surface for balance.
She was suddenly aware of the deer’s head mere inches from her, its empty eyes staring eternally forward.
Erevos stepped between her knees.
He leaned forward, placing both hands on the table at either side of her hips, caging her in without touching her, his vast body towering over her as shadows pooled and curled around the edges of the wood.
Lyssena’s breath grew shallow.
She could feel how wet she was now, embarrassingly soaked, the fabric of her undergarments clinging to her with every tiny shift of her hips. Her thighs pressed together, only to part again when Erevos moved closer.
“I have never done this,” she admitted, her voice barely more than a breath, her fingers curling into the table’s edge.
Erevos’s gaze darkened, and Lyssena had not expected that at all.
“Nor have I,” he replied, his tone unashamed. “But I wish to.”
The simplicity of it made her stomach flip. The shadows beneath her stirred, and her gown began to lift.
The fabric slid upward along her legs as though guided by unseen hands, exposing inch after inch of warm, flushed skin to the cool air of the kitchen. Lyssena’s breath hitched sharply asthe hem rose above her knees, then higher still, pooling around her hips like spilled ink.
“Erevos—” she whispered, though she did not wish for him to stop. She was shy, but also eager, and so very curious.
Erevos lifted his hand from the table, and Lyssena followed his movement. His arm was as thick as her thigh, and Lyssena was a proud woman, with plump thighs to hold her generous arse.
Her gaze traveled along his wrist as it slowly got closer and closer to her skin.
The contrast between shadow and touch made her blink.
He slid his palm upward, the pads of his fingers grazing along the sensitive inside of her thigh, leaving heat along her skin. Her muscles trembled under his touch, instinctively wanting to close, to hide, yet opening for him instead.
