Gods, he’s beautiful. The mage lights illuminating the chamber highlight every carved line of roped muscle on his chest and abs and play off the angles of his face. And when he turns, the hundred and seven scars that mark his back catch the light under Sgaeyl’s relic. I stare. I can’t help it. His body is a work of art, honed to lethal perfection. I know every inch of it, and yet I’m still gawking, transfixed like it’s the first time I’ve seen him half-dressed. This should absolutely not be turning me on, but the way he moves, the lethal grace in each and every calculated strike… Yep. Turned
...more
