Page 102 of The Silversmith

“How long have you been sitting there?” I asked, sweat prickling on the back of my neck. Playfulness glinted in his eyes. My dry tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“Did you know that you make noises in your sleep, Ella?”

“What…” I gulped. “What… what did I say?”

His lips curled halfway into a devilish grin, but he gave me nothing.

I cursed under my breath and threw the covers off my legs. He rose from his chair when I stood. His rich, cedar scent washed over me. We were close, and the room was so small—too close, too small for me to breathe steadily.

“Don’t be embarrassed to moan in your dreams, Aryella.” He leaned down to brush his lips against my ear. And then I heard the coy smile in that deep voice. “You do more than moan in mine.” He pressed a chaste kiss to my temple and brushed past me, opening the door. “Get dressed for the day. We’ll eat breakfast and be on our way.”

Fire engulfed me, melting my bare feet to the floor, but frustration strong enough to quell the rage—that sent me after him.

“You’re cruel!” I barked, padding after him into the hallway. “You are playing with me, and it’s cruel!”

He stopped. His fist curled and unfurled at his side.

Teasing. Taunting.

And I realized… I could play with him too.

“Tell me, teacher. Is that what I should expect?” I crossed my arms over my chest. Blood simmered in my veins. “When I have sex, should I moan his name?”

He turned on me, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, and I knew I’d set him off.

“Who, Ella?” Danger and envy threaded through his forbidding glare. He closed the distance between us, towering over me, only inches between us. I had to fully bend my neck to match his gaze. “Tell me who the fuck you intend to let in your bed!”

“I suppose if I’m going to marry Elias, I’ll also be expected to—”

“From what I’ve heard,” he hissed, bitterness lacing his tongue, “Elias Winterton is a slimy little shit who sticks his cock inside anything that moves.”

My stomach churned. Dread made me shrink where I stood. I tried to tamp it down, hide it from him, but he saw it.

Fury rippled through him at the sight of my fear. “And if he touches you—”

“What does it matter if he touches me? He’s meant to be my husband.” My indignance burst through my timid walls, but it was short-lived. His possessive fire blazed through every last trace of my defiance, leaving me bare and needy.

“It matters, Ella,” he uttered, low and lethal. “What you want matters.”

“It doesn’t seem to matter to you!” I snapped, my throat thick with tears, still hurt from his rejection last night.

How could I know what I wanted when I knew nothing other than him and the way he made me feel?

Defeated and afraid, I turned away from him. But his strong fingers locked around my wrist, yanking me back. Flush against him.

“You want to know,” he began slowly through gritted teeth, “what it should be like?”

My erratic breathing sputtered out in tiny bursts. His scent, his warmth, his safety, his blazing glare on my mouth, my neck. I couldn’t form a coherent thought. “Y-yes.”

Gavin captured my chin between his thumb and forefinger the way I always craved. Only this time, his large, calloused fingers spread around my jaw and throat. My eyes widened and exhilaration consumed me at the realization that I was completely at his mercy.

His lips curled up in satisfaction at my reaction to him. My hot cheeks and flushed skin gave me away. I could hide nothing from him.

“It’s very important to me,” he purred, “that you remember everything I am about to say.”

I swallowed and watched him tense at the flex of my vulnerable throat beneath his fingers.

“Any man worthy of touching you,” he growled, and my knees nearly gave out, “should make your toes curl. He should make you succumb to a need so voracious that you combust from the inside out. You should feel a euphoria powerful enough to make you forget where, what, and who the hell you are. You should scream as you come apart beneath hands that have no purpose but to pleasure and protect you.” He lifted my chin. My pulse thudded in my exposed throat. My body begged for the air on the other side of my skin to cool my blood before it burned me. “You will be worshipped—mind, body, heart, and soul. You will accept nothing less. Do you understand?”