Severin
I CLENCH MY TEETH ALL the way back to my staff apartment, my fangs and gums aching, and when I finally have the door closed and locked behind me, I immediately find my blood flask and drain it dry.
I went to the spire toescapeMaeve Vandermere, not come face-to-face with her.
Her scent still clings to me, and I didn’t even touch her. Just being in her proximity causes my hair and clothes to become tainted with her smell—her wild, intoxicating, invigorating smell. Like a summer storm raging against the earth. Like the sharp burn of energy after lightning bursts across the sky.
I look down at the bulge between my legs, forming a tent in my soft cotton trousers. A burst of rage goes through me, and I crush my flask in one fist, crumpling the metal like it’s soft wax.
This is unacceptable.
For years I’ve contained my desires. For decades I’ve controlled my thirst. And now, after one day at the academy, I feellike the tapestry of impeccable command I have over myself is starting to unravel one strand at a time. Because ofher.
Desperately, I grasp hold of one of my mantras and begin repeating it, running through the words in time with my breath.Discipline precedes desire. Control is choice. Discipline precedes desire. Control is choice.
I lose track of how many times I say it, but when I finally feel my anger simmering out, I open my eyes to find the crushed flask still held in my hand. Slowly, I peel my fingers away from the dented metal, then heave a heavy sigh.
I’ll need to get another one now.
I set it onto the table in my kitchen, then pour myself a glass of water from the pitcher. It’s soothing going down my throat, but it doesn’t quite burn away the heat in my stomach.
Or between my legs.
I’m still semihard.
Immediately, I rip my tunic off, then ball it up and fling it across my apartment. But the movement sends my hair swaying, and Maeve’s scent dances around me again, caught in my hair even though we were standing strides apart.
Damn this sense of smell. Damn this thirst. Damn that witch.
I reach for my mantra again, but instead of finding it, I find my hand inching toward the pressure between my legs. Dragging a slow breath into my lungs, I force my hand to be still at my side.
This is nothing, I tell myself.A lapse. A momentary slip of discipline.I have endured much worse than this—much worse than a storm witch with violet eyes and an infuriating mouth.
I picture her without meaning to. And now I’m getting hard again.
Fuck.
Maeve Vandermere surprised me today—with her intensity, with her sharp wit, with that fuckingsmell.
And I surprisemyselfwhen I find my hand easing under the waistband of my trousers and wrapping around my cock. I grip myself hard and start to pump my shaft. At the same time, I grit my teeth, hating that I’m being so weak.
Discipline precedes desire.
I shove my trousers down with my free hand, giving myself more room, then brace my hand on the table.
Control is a choice.
My dick gets harder, precum already beading at my tip. I’m breathing harder now, tension coiling low in my stomach.
Discipline precedes desire.
I see Maeve’s mouth.
Control is a choice.
I imagine what it would feel like around my shaft, her teeth teasing my skin, her tongue warm and wet as it flicks my tip.
Discipline precedes desire.
