Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Will it become something else?
I startle myself with my own thoughts. I didn’t know that I wanted something deeper, some attachment to him. I don’t. My goal is to destroy Cadwyn Thrace, and I can’t do that if I insist on sentimentality.
“It would be fairly fucking difficult to pull off our plan if I didn’t.” A frown creases his brow. “Why these questions?”
Because of the way you’re looking at me. “I’m nervous. That’s all.”
“Cenere…” He sighs and stands, tossing the towel aside. The water evaporates from my skin and hair with a flick of his hand, and he pushes a few copper strands away from my face. “You are ready for this. You were born for it.”
“You were born for it.”
Something cold pools in my stomach. He granted my mother’s wish. Surely, he doesn’t mean…
But that would be absurd. I was born twenty-five springs ago. Mother counted by the crocuses, for they burst into bloom all around Elegwyn Manor while she labored. “You banished the winter,” she always said.
“How long have you been away from court?” I ask.
He looks to the ceiling for the answer. “It’s difficult to know. Five hundred years, perhaps more.” His eyes narrow. “Why do you ask?”
“Fashions may have changed. Customs.” I cannot meet his eyes. I want to ask how long he’s been plotting against the king. It might be better if I never know.
“That’s what I have Sarta for.” He smiles kindly at me. “I worry that perhaps you don’t trust my judgement in these things.”
“Of course, I do, Guardian,” I murmur.
“I’ll come to you in the morning, though, to reassure you. For your arrival, you should wear something daring, but without putting everything on display. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Now who doesn’t trust whose judgment, Guardian?” I bat my lashes at him playfully.
He chuckles and walks toward the door. I almost throw myself at his feet and beg him not to go. Once he leaves this room, everything becomes final.
“You’re trembling with nerves.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a flat stone the size of his palm, rounded and smoothed and gleaming with a ribbon of light. “This will occupy your time and help you sleep.”
My hand buzzes as if I’m holding onto a daisywing hive. The stone is in my palm, thrumming deep and steady.
“Make yourself spend. Six times, I think. Without moving the stone from your clit between. That spoils the fun.” He opens the door.
“Guardian!” My voice is too sharp. I calm myself. “How will you know that I’ve done as you asked, if you don’t stay?”
“I’ll know,” he promises darkly. “So don’t try to cheat.”
I do not doubt that he’ll know, but I wish he would stay. He leaves me without a further word, and I climb into my big bed alone.
The stone doesn’t know that I’m sad, that I’m frightened of what will come tomorrow. It vibrates cheerfully in my hand. With a deep breath, I spread my thighs and reach down to part my labia.
At the first touch of the stone against my piercing, I gasp. The sensation relays through the hoop, buzzing the delicate stamen beneath my hood. It takes almost nothing for the strange sensation to bring me to climax. But then, it doesn’t feel quite so good; I want to pull the stone away from my oversensitive flesh. My Guardian warned me not to, though.
How would he know? my mind pleads.
He must be watching me. I don’t know how. I cast my gaze around the room and kick the covers back, exposing myself without moving the stone away. I bend my knees and plant my feet against the mattress. The painful sensitivity passes and throbs into another climb. This one is sweeter, slower, and I rock my hips with it as it flows through my body in a gentle wave.
I reach my other hand down and plunge two fingers inside.
If Luthian is watching, let him watch. Let him see how I would respond to his touch if he were here with me. Although we haven’t spoken of that night, of how achingly close he came to giving in, that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought of it. I have a million times over. And I know he has. He must have. The passion between us haunted every lesson after.
I pump my fingers, press deep on that marvelous spot near my opening. It’s not enough. I sob in frustration.
Something cold touches my thigh and my eyes fly open. An object has appeared on the bed beside me, a glass phallus, as thick and heavy as Luthian’s own cock, gently curving upward. I recognize it at once.
He is watching. He is longing for me, as I long for him.
I bring the glass cock to my dripping core and plunge it inside, crying out in relief as another climax takes me. I thrust the instrument harder, deeper, faster, using my legs to lift me up in rhythm, meeting every stroke.