Page 82 of The Stolen Crown

I wanted more, but below the desire hid sharp edges of pain and betrayal. The sort of which Mira did not know.

She was careful with the buckle, slow, steady. Mira was clever with the way her fingertips brushed over my skin along my lower stomach, the edges of my hips, as she removed the belt. By the time the strap landed in a heap at our feet, we were close, chests brushing.

A clap of thunder rattled overhead and jolted us apart.

“Right.” She blinked and took a step back. “We need to hurry.”

She slipped her fingers through mine and tugged me toward the pond.

Distant flashes of light crackled through the ashen clouds like the gods battled overhead. But the fire in my veins demanded I not waste a moment. The need for more of her had me stumbling forward, willing to damn the past and learn to trust something new right now.

On the bank, Mira paused. She glimpsed over one shoulder, then gingerly eased one sleeve off it.

Bleeding gods.

Soon the silk chemise pooled at her feet. I pressed a palm to my chest, as though it might slow the rate of my heart. Bare and perfect, all for me.

Mira said nothing and eased into the gentle pond, sighing in delight when the clear water soothed her skin. She faced the shore. “Coming?”

More than anything, I wanted to hold her, nothing between us, but the thought of the soft feel of too much flesh around my body tightened the back of my throat.

“Small things, Hearttalker.” Mira treaded the water, smiling. “I just want you close to me. I’m in no hurry.”

Near her. I could be near her.

I kicked off my boots, then unlaced my trousers. From the center of the pond, Mira watched every movement, her eyes growing dark with desire when I kicked my clothes aside.

She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. “You’re annoyingly perfect, aren’t you?”

I swam close to her, halting half an arm’s length away. “Glad you finally noticed. I can say the same for you, Vicious.”

Mira made no move to draw nearer, almost like she could sense the apprehension beneath my passion, merely held out her hand and waited for me to lace our fingers again. The pond was shallow enough we could both touch, me flat-footed, Mira on her toes.

I watched, cock swollen, as she scrubbed her belly and her small breasts with her hands.

Too much.

I never wanted her to stop.

Perhaps I did not know if I would ever be able to properly touch a woman, but before Mira could move her palms, I spun her around, her back to my chest, and took over. My fingers raked through her wet tresses, scrubbing, massaging. Mira sighed and let her head fall back. The curve of her backside brushed against my length more than once.

I flinched the first two times, but when I felt Mira shudder as the tip of my cock slid between the globes of her ass, I fell deeper into the need to draw out more of those sounds from her throat.

The woman spoke true. She did not reach for me, did not rush anything. Mira was simply…there. A steady anchor in the maelstrom.

Small things, small choices, perhaps they would lead to something far greater than even the pain of the past.

25

The Illusionist

The storm did not wait long. Sheets of warm rain burst from the angry sky.

Tait helped me slide my damp chemise over my head, slipped on his trousers, then snatched his boots in one hand and grabbed mine in the other.

Trees swayed and leaves whipped in the torrent. I slipped more than once. Instead of grousing, Tait laughed—a true, low, rumbling laugh—and finally gave up.

“Gods, woman. Just hold on to me.” He hooked his arms under my thighs and leveraged me onto his back, despite my protests.