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Water cascaded down his smooth back and firm ass. There was no ignoring his jutting dick. He had no shame, no hesitancy. He knew he was beautiful. It was like watching a mythical nymph rise from the lagoon, a creature so beautiful, I’d surely suffer for desiring it.
“Well…” He stepped from the bath and now stood stark naked in the middle of the bathroom, erect and splendid. “Whatarewe to do now?” He placed a hand on his hip. The tease.
My mouth had dried, and my heart may have stopped. Or perhaps it had moved to my cock, because the damned thing was trapped, hot and throbbing inside my trousers, demanding attention.
“You think I’m just going to fall over myself for you?” I asked. At least my voice hadn’t betrayed the desperate lust burning through my body, and my balls.
He chuckled and turned away, scooping up a black robe—I’d no idea where he’d gotten it—then shrugged it over his shoulders, curtaining off the majestic view of his back, ass, and lean dancer’s thighs.
Wait, was he leaving?
He strode for the door.
If he left, we’d have no privacy when Draven returned. But if I called him back, I’d be admitting how much I wanted him. That was his game, then. To make me reveal my desire, a desire we both clearly had, but he had to hear it. He wanted me to submit. And maybe I wanted that too, because when he took that earlier tone, when he held a blade to my throat, when I had no choice but to obey, I fucking wanted it.
“Lark?”
He stopped at the door, reaching for its handle, and tilted his head, waiting.
I stood and sauntered forward. “Is there a lock?”
His hand dropped. The lock snicked.
I didn’t slow, didn’t stop, and crossed the floor in a few strides, then turned his face toward me, slid my hand into his wet hair, cupping his head, and pulled him into a near-kiss. Our lips almost met, our breaths mingled, and his eyes blew wide, drinking me in. His cock nudged my hip, prompting me to move in, grinding close, but we still didn’t kiss, just breathed, his slick chest against mine, water droplets cooling between us.
“Do you have a knife?” I whispered.
He swallowed, and with his cock pressed close, I felt its twitch.
“I can lay my hands on a similar blade.” He stepped away in a twirl of dark robe and snatched something off the nearby washbasin. Metal flashed, and a razor’s cold kiss was at my neck, my back at the wall, and Lark’s smile turned devilish. “How’s this?”
An electric lick of fear joined the heady emotional concoction running through my veins. He wouldn’t kill me, but the look in his eyes suggested he would hurt me and we’d both like it. The time I’d struck him in his room, he’d asked me to do it, said we’d both enjoy it. And we had.
I snatched his neck, jabbed my thumb under his chin, and tilted his head up. I didn’t have a knife, or any weapon, but I could crush his throat, stop him breathing. His brilliant, sparkling glare demanded I do it. He gritted his teeth, and as I squeezed, his black lashes fluttered. I didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to do this—
I let go, he gasped, then slammed a brutal kiss over and into my mouth. Somewhere in all this chaotic madness, I remembered the razor, but it was gone from my neck.
Lark’s right hand plunged into my hair, his tongue thrust against mine, and it was all I could do to ride the wave of his assault, afraid yet desperate for more.
We broke apart, gasping, scorched by violent, fierce desire.
He searched my face, as though needing something from me. Permission? Or something else? “I don’t care what it is, if you need it, do it.”
His lips ticked, hinting at a smile. “You don’t know the power you’re giving me.”
“I trust you.”
His smile crumbled, and his beautiful face fell.
“What?”
Was it wrong, to trust him? His reaction was… unexpected. It kicked my heart into a gallop. Had I somehow hurt him all over again? “I trust you?” I hadn’t meant it to sound like a question.
“Why?” He pushed away, taking several steps back, creating a cold void between us.
I wished in that moment that I understood him more, that whatever doubt he had, he’d tell me so I could erase it. “I just do.”
“No.” He pointed the razor at me. “Tell me why, Arin. I need to hear it.”
