I have to think for a moment, remembering the day I examined the full spread of enchantments on his body.
“This one’s on your thighs.”
“My…”
“I could do the pain rings instead,” I offer hopefully.
“No. Magic it is,” Roiven says, his voice rough. He won’t meet my eyes.
“Only if you’re comfortable stripping,” I say airily, hoping he’ll change his mind.
“I’ll do what I must. When you’re ready.”
“I am, witch.” I raise an eyebrow. Roiven nods sharply, his cheeks already a little darker.
I pretend to find the corner of the room incredibly fascinating as Roiven unties his trousers and steps out of them. He’s still got drawers on, thin fabric that’s short enough it doesn’t cover much beside the bulge of his cock. The restraint on his magic is on the front of both of his thighs, lines and circles that cover even more space than the obedience did. Gods, he’s beautiful. But this is going to hurt.
I crouch down on the floor to come eye-level with the marks.
“Is… should I sit? Would that be less…” Roiven’s voice is strained.
I tilt my chin up to look at him. He braces one hand against the wall and looks down at me kneeing in front of his legs.
“You’re so easily bothered.”
“No, I just…”
The bulge between his legs stiffens, shifting beneath the fabric as he begins to harden just inches from my face. My own body tightens in response.
Is Roiven attracted to me? No, that’s ridiculous. He probably just likes the sight of a woman on her knees in front of him. Even one with a scarred face and a metal arm. Even one he hates.
I can’t resist teasing him. I look up at the witch through my eyelashes, lick my lips, and slowly bite my bottom lip. Roiven’s breath audibly hitches, and I break into a laugh.
“Just what do you think I’m going to do for you?”
“Fuck,” Roiven rasps. He steps back, jaw tense, and tries to cover his hardness with his hands.
“You must like pain if you’re looking forward to this.”
“I really don’t,” he mutters.
“Youdoknow I’d never pleasure the man who sunk my Hellion.”
“It’s mutual,” he growls.
“Mm. Clearly not,” I say with a smile. My eyes can’t help but flick back to the still-stiffening length as it jerks upright. I shouldn’t take any pleasure in the sight, but I feel smug nonetheless. And if there’s heat pooling in me, well… at least Roiven can’t tell.
He steps back quickly, picks up his trousers off the floor, and sits on the bed. Roiven bunches them up and covers himself, like he doesn’t want me to see what might be happening. If his muscles get any tenser, he might shatter like a glass vase.
“Are you ready?” I ask. He nods but won’t look at me. “Are you certain?”
“Just get it over with,” Roiven mutters, and stares up at the ceiling.
I get to work. The crystal of the enchantment marks wakes easily to the touch of my hands as I run my fingers over the taut muscles of his thighs, pushing back the bunched-up trousers he’s holding over his groin so I can trace the upper lines of the marks. Roiven groans, and I feel his eyes burning back into me as his breath comes harder. I keep focused on the work and don’t let him distract me.
“Gods,” he mutters, and rearranges the bunched-up trousers, his hands fisted so tight his knuckles are bone-white.
“Slow, or fast?”
