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My hand slides higher, and I allow one finger to trail upward and slowly drag across her lace-covered cunt. Her breath hitches and my gaze flies to meet hers, her eyes wild with flames. She grows still under me, and my finger lingers over the dampening spot near her entrance.
It’s a split second but it’s enough for my cock to twitch in my slacks, and suddenly her skin on mine burns worse than it did before.
In an instant, I let her go and take a large step back
What a tease.
“One day soon you’ll wake from your precious beauty sleep in agony and realize that I’ve cut off both your hands for ever daring to touch me.”
I conceal the small amused twitch on my lips, and from over my shoulder, I say, “You better go recite your violent little poems to a more impressionable audience.”
My skin is on fire. Feverish hands burn a path even hotter down my body. One squeezes my breast over my silk slip. The other smooths over my stomach. Down the crook of my thighs. Between my legs. My orgasm builds and builds and builds. Until— I tumble out of sleep, a needy moan slipping out of my lips. My eyes snap open and I freeze, my body turning to stone while silence softly settles like silt at the bottom of the ocean.
I was … dreaming.
I was dreaming of him.
The one memory that has been anything but elusive. Wolfgang playing the violin. It’s nearly been a week, yet I can trace the curves of his flexing muscles playing that blasted instrument with my eyes closed. I ache with the desire to feel his hard body under my fingertips. They tingle at the forbidden thought. The image haunts me like a ghost wishing to come back to life. If only I keep paying attention to it.
“Heading somewhere, Crèvecoeur?” Wolfgang’s baritone voice slithers out from somewhere behind me,
“Yes.”
“We have a meeting in half an hour,” he says with far too much authority for a mere co-ruler. “Logistics about the inauguration,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Then postpo...
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He chuckles softly. Humorless and with a hint of a threat as he takes a few steps toward me. “What could possibly be more important than the...
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“Your hurt feelings are getting old,” I snap, “Move on, already.” He lunges for me. He’s fast...
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My adrenaline spikes when my dagger digs under his chin, the skin...
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“I’m starting to think,” I muse, tracking the small drop of his blood down the blade. “That damnatio memoriae is a lesser punishment than suffering nineteen execrable years with you.”
Releasing him, I bring the blade to my mouth. I’m mystified as to why I even do it. Wolfgang’s darkened gaze widens, seeming just as surprised as I am. It doesn’t prevent me from slowly licking the blade, my tongue collecting his blood into my mouth.
His taste, inexplicably sweet and with a tang of iron, explodes on my taste buds. I suppress a moan, my body engulf...
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The throaty groan she thinks I didn’t hear. I don’t know how I resisted the urge to slam her against the wall and taste myself on her tongue. Bite her lips and taste her blood in turn.
The tattoo of her family sigil—an open palm holding a flame—takes
Mercy's sigil
I can’t deny the warmth blooming in my chest hearing her share this private part of her with me.
Mercy’s giggle is so soft that I almost miss it. My eyes snap to her, convinced I must have heard wrong. There’s an ephemeral smile on her lips as she stares down at the dog, gone as soon as she looks up and finds me staring.
