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He flicked his fingers again, gesturing at the trousers.
People dressed lightly in War, so it wasn’t long before I stood naked, armed crossed, hips tilted, trying to ignore how his roaming gaze scorched my skin wherever it landed. Neither of us could ignore how my cock betrayed my increasing interest in his seduction. He smirked and turned away to collect the bowl of grapes once more.
“Get in the bath,” he said.
There was no point in complaining when we both knew I’d do it. Besides, as I climbed in and sank below the water, I was glad for the warmth after a day sweating under the sun.
Lark knelt beside the tub and held out a grape, as though I were a child. “Well done.”
I blinked at him, wondering whether and how to play along. “I get a grape?”
“What did you think you were getting?”
“You?”
“Patience.”
I tried to take the grape, but he snatched it away and opened his mouth in demonstration. I huffed, then begrudgingly parted my lips. Lark poked a grape through, onto my tongue.
I’d rarely tasted a sweeter grape, or one as rewarding.
“Lie back.”
I settled back against the side of the tub and laid my arms on its edges, anticipating whatever he had in mind. And he had such a wickedly brilliant mind.
“Close your eyes.”
When Lark said these things, it made anything possible, as though his voice held magic, as though he could spin a whole world of fantasy with just a few words. I closed my eyes and listened to the swish of his gown and soft footfalls on the tiled floor.
“No peeking.”
Damn.
He shuffled around, then came back to the bath; his gown swished again and the sweet smell of flowers rose from the water, bringing with it a thousand memories of the meadows of home.
Lark applied a sponge to my chest, gently rotating it. And I half dreamed of better times, of a home that no longer existed, and of lying among the flowers with Lark, pulling petals and sending them flying into the air. Would we ever have that?
“Ah, I’m sorry, Arin, this was not meant to sadden you.”
“No.” I opened my eyes, finding them wet. “It’s the scent, it reminds me of home. Did you know?”
He gave me the coy look, which meant he did, and wrung out the sponge. “Wet your hair.”
I did, dropping all pretense of disobeying. His fingers massaged my scalp, then his thumbs rubbed down my neck. What kind of magic was this, that he was able to melt my bones with touch alone? He began to knead my shoulders and the moan that rolled from me was one of pure delight.
“Rinse off and climb out.”
“I’m enjoying this.”
“You’ll enjoy more if you continue to behave.”
I couldn’t resist his promises. After climbing out, I stood wet, naked, already drying in the heat, body clearly eager for whatever he had planned. He sauntered forward and fed me another grape, making sure to stroke it across my lips before sliding it inside.
I caught his wrist, holding it steady. “Let me do something for you.”
“Not yet.” He pried my fingers off. “On the bed. Hurry, Prince of Flowers.”
I almost ran, but that would have been undignified, so I walked, bare-assed, feeling his eyes on me the whole time, and flopped onto the bed. This was divine… It wouldn’t last—tomorrow we’d be discussing war and Razak, and terrible things. But tonight? Tonight it was all about me and him.
