She watches me, listens to me, and then considers. Her lips—by the heavens, herlips—purse, and then she rises to her feet like a shadow. Nyatrix towers over me now, standing a hair’s breadth from where I sit. With a long sigh, she takes my chin in her fingers and gazes down at me.
“It was only manipulative,” the Lupa Nox murmurs, “in the sense that I made it out to be entirely about you. It was, mostly. But, by the goddesses, how badly I wanted it to be me plumbing the depths of your pleasure, summoning those pretty little noises from your mouth.”
Desire uncoils low in my belly, the apex of my thighs throbbing. Her fingertips slide along my cheekbone, her palm meeting my jaw.
“Right now,” I whisper, unable to speak any louder, “are you just using me? Manipulating me?”
“Would you believe me,” she begins, her eyes never leaving mine, “if I swore I wasn’t? If I said I wantedyouto useme, little dove?”
My mouth goes dry, and every vein in my body pounds, the hum of my heart so loud in my ears that I almost can’t think. “No,” I say, my voice strangled.
I try to stop myself from devouring her outline hungrily—the broad strokes of her shoulders, the narrow taper of her waist, her strong, elegant hands. She runs her gaze down my body, and suddenly I feel every stitch of clothing against my skin.
“I can no longer trust words,” I find myself saying, my voice so much stronger than I feel. “Not after the lies in the Catechisma, the falsehoods inscribed in the plinths.”
Her mouth curves, sweet as overripe blackberries. “If you would permit me,” she murmurs, a half-mad gleam in her eyes that makes me tremble, “I would gladly prove myself with actions of the flesh, enact such devotions with my hands and mouth and tongue.”
The world narrows to this hidden chamber at the edge of a dying city. Caelus, even if it exists, is worthless if I have to abstain fromherto gain my entrance. I stand at a precipice so far from anything and everything I’ve ever known. Outside, the sea roars, and it roars differently than it does against Lumendei’s cliffs. So much is the same, I suppose, and yet nothing has ever felt like this before.
Nothing has ever felt like I think she might, her hair in my hands, the curve of her waist in my palm, my mouth on her breast. I do not know if I can trust her—if I can trust anything ever again—but Saints, I want to.
“Perhaps,” I hazard, nearly tripping over my tongue, “you might help me get ready for a bath. Help me down the stairs. Keep an eye on the tides. Keep me safe.”
The Lupa Nox watches me, her eyes glimmering in the candlelight. She holds perfectly still, the same way she did just before she slammed Lucretia into a wall. Wildly, uncontrollably, I want to be her prey. I want her teeth on my throat. I want to be at her mercy.
And, most of all, I want to know that I can tell the most powerful warrior in these abandoned lands what I desire, and she’ll give it to me. A feverish thrill spears me, damp heat pooling between my legs.
“Your wish, my lady,” the Lupa Nox whispers, “is my command.”
Chapter 42
Nyatrix draws closer, sliding her hands around my waist. The next moment, I’m sitting atop the table, her thighs pressed against my knees. Something inside me thrashes, demanding to be released, and I part my legs. With one of those dagger-sharp smiles, she gathers up my skirts, bunching them around my hips. And then she slips between my thighs like she’s never belonged anywhere else.
“Kiss me,” I tell her, part-command, part-plea.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she murmurs, and then her mouth is on mine.
It’s everything I’ve dreamt of—soft lips and sharp teeth, her hands sliding up my back and into my hair.
I reach for her shoulders, the sculptural slopes of her muscles a marvel beneath my palms. The Lupa Nox holds me by the nape of my neck, but I feel no fear—only pure, slick thrill, so visceral that I wonder if I’ve ever been this alive before.
“Undress me,” I murmur, my voice breathy to my own ears.
Obediently, her long-fingered hands unlace the ties at the side of my borrowed linen dress. Desperate to feel her skin against mine, I shrug out of the loose, oversized garment, letting it puddle around my waist. Without hesitation, she trails kissesfrom my mouth to my jaw to my neck. I wrap my good leg around her hip, tipping my head back as her tongue sweeps my collarbones.
“I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you,” Nyatrix whispers into my skin, one hand gripping a fistful of my silk shift. She pulls away, standing up straight, and unties the knot at the bust of the shift. My entire body pulses with need as she slips the straps off my shoulders.
Slowly, the Lupa Nox toys with me, sliding the garment over my skin, pausing just above my breasts. “You are so soft,” she says, her thumb tracing my lower lip, “in a world that is so hard.”
Then she pulls my shift down to my waist, and I am half-naked in front of her, only a simple breast band clinging to my skin. My chest heaves into hers and she groans, sliding her hands to the small of my back. She pulls me closer to the edge of the table, her body pressed tight against mine.
Shyly, I reach for the hem of her loose blouse, and she grins at me. “I want to see you,” I whisper.
She puts her hands on mine, helping me guide the garment over her head. And then Nyatrix stands before me in the candlelight, bare to the waist. I trace my fingertips over the looping ink on her sides, all the way up to her small, firm breasts. Her dark nipples are pebbled, and her breath is quick, fast, wanting.
“I thought you’d have a band on.” I laugh awkwardly.
She puts her hands over mine and slides them farther up her side, toward her breasts. “Do you want to touch me?” she asks in a low tone that utterly ruins me.
