Page 98 of The Sun He Buried

Deep purple. Burning above a silver mask while white cloth turns red.

The dinner.

The man I cried for.

He strokes his thumb across the woman’s neck. Her eyes close, and a shiver runs through her.

His purple gaze stays on me.

“Watching from the doorway is rude.” The purple brightens. “Would you like to join us?”

I press my thighs together.

No.

That didn’t happen.

It absolutely happened.

The woman laughs softly. “I don’t mind sharing.”

Heat reaches my face, ears, throat, and probably my hair.

I let go of the door.

It swings wider.

Of course it does.

His fingers move beneath her skirt again.

She says yes.

I’m still watching.

One second.

Two.

His thumb strokes the side of her neck. The woman’s lips part.

I know what wanting looks like on another person.

I know what it does inside me too.

Baldr’s mouth between my legs. His hands on my thighs. The same ache returns, low and hot, while a stranger watches me understand it.

The purple eye brightens.

I gasp and back into the passage.

My heel catches the edge of my cloak. I hit the wall with one shoulder, grab the nearest lamp bracket, and run.

Left. Right. Stairs. Empty chair.

I miss one of those.

The cloth room appears again.