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Her black eyes flashed, narrowing at what I assumed was the tone of my voice, and I felt the prick of her nails against my wrist as she went to pull my hand away.
Only she didn’t.
She pulled my wrist down instead, forcing my hand to slide down her chin and over her throat, my fingers flexing around the rapid pulse that I found there. She didn’t say anything for a long minute before she pressed her fingers around mine, tightening them around her throat. The skin beneath flushed a pink warning. I could feel my cock twitch at the sight of it.
There was now a new expression swimming in the dark reflection of her obsidian eyes.
“I’m yours,” she exhaled breathily, the promise heating and cementing the air between us.
It wasn’t the answer to the question I asked her, nor was it overly wordy. It was better than that. Two words that meant almost as much as the three that she had taken so long to say, the ones I was still waiting for her to say again. I flexed my fingers on my own this time, bringing my other hand up to the hem of her silk robe, running them lightly along the skin of her thigh.
With a half pause I lowered my face to hers, resting my forehead against her own as my fingers twitched the silky fabric aside—to find her bare and waiting beneath. She was mine, she said, and the way she arched into my touch only seemed to prove that.
