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“I think you’re quite aware of what I’m thinking about.”
A heady breath left me. “You should have other things on your mind.”
“Not when a beautiful woman stands before me, one who has been brave and kind, giving me aid in my time of need, endangering herself, and asking for nothing in return.”
My laugh sounded shaky. “There is no need for flattery.”
“I only speak the truth.” His words coasted over my cheek, igniting a flutter deep inside.
Each breath I took felt labored. For the hundredth time that evening, I wondered what in the world I was doing. But I was still standing there, pulse racing as my eyes returned to his hand and his fingers, now bent. The tips were pressed into the ceramic—
Air leaked from my lips. His fingers weredentingthe ceramic tile.
The Lord lifted his hand then, cupping my chin. A strange sound rumbled up my throat, one I didn’t think I’d ever made before. I was barely able to bite back the moan. His touch was featherlight, barely there, but my senses went haywire. I felt it in every part of my being. He tipped my head back. His eyes . . . those colors were a dizzying kaleidoscope, and spots of white appeared in his pupils. Our gazes connected, and I braced myself out of habit, but I . . . I still saw and heard nothing.
His fingers— the same that had just dented ceramic— grazed my cheek, catching the strands of hair there. Soapy bubbles seeped between my fingers as I stood there, heart racing out of control. He tucked the hair back behind my ear, hand then sliding to my jaw, and I swore I felt that light touch throughout the entirety of my body. His other hand found the soap I currently had in a death grip. He pried it from my fingers, placing it on the ledge.
Heat returned, flushing my skin and invading my blood. My chest ached, becoming heavy. Desire, hot and dark, pulsed through me. He barely touched me. Just a featherlight brush against my jaw, and my entire body throbbed. I’d never in my life been so . . . so viscerally affected.
The Lord stepped in closer, as if I had willed him to, and that was just a silly thought, but somehow, I’d moved too. His cock brushed my belly, and I shuddered, the very core of me tightening. Tiny tremors racked my entire body. My fingers practically ached with the want to touch him.
The need to touch him.
CHAPTER 6
I truly had never felt such need before. Iachedas I lifted my hand—
Then it struck me.
The why behind such need.
Hyhborn exuded sensuality, in their voices and in their touch, and that carnal lushness spilled into the air around them, influencing even the most pious of lowborn to be a little bit wicked. It was why the upcoming Feasts became exactly what I’d said to Naomi earlier— a decadent indulgence in all things carnal.
That had to be the cause of my reaction to him.
That and the fact that he was, well, more than just pleasant to look upon, and we both were completely nude.
My heart beat so fast I thought it might actually give out on me as my gaze lowered, falling to the wound on his chest.
The sight of the nearly healed wound brought forth a semblance of common sense.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I took a step back. His hand slipped from my jaw, leaving a swirl of tingles behind.
“I need to dry off. Excuse me.” I left the stall, quickly grabbing one of the towels. I wrapped it around me, then gathered up my clothing and quickly left the bathing chamber.
Water dripped from me as I entered the unfamiliar bedchamber. I dried off hastily, my mind a mess as I went to the wardrobe. I searched until I found a suitable shirt. There was no way I could put that nightgown back on. I was going to have to burn it. Maybe the cloak too— something I would’ve never considered during my time before Archwood. Bloody. Soiled. It hadn’t mattered. Clothing had simply been clothing.
The shirt I pulled out was soft and worn, reaching my knees. It was completely inappropriate to be dressed as such, but it was shapeless and provided the same amount of coverage as the nightgown I had worn and half of my gowns. And besides, I had just been completely nude.
I just . . . just felt different.
As did the near-raw reaction to him— my want of him. It was entirely too animalistic, too primal.
Rooting around in the wardrobe, I found a pair of clean breeches that looked like they could fit the Lord. I pulled them out and another shirt, this one white, draping both over the corner of the bed.
Hearing the water turn off, I tugged the loose strands of hair free from the collar of the shirt. Making my way to the small table, I turned on the lamp and then poured a glass of water for him and one for myself. I downed the liquid, but it was of no help in calming my heart or nerves. I sat on the edge of the bed, thinking I probably should’ve taken the time to bolt.
I had no idea what time it was, but the city streets outside the home were quiet. Morning must be only hours away. I touched the bridge of my nose and winced at the flare of dull pain. How was I going to explain this?
