Page 35 of A Dance Macabre

The silence turns deafening. Wolfgang continues to stare, his expression a stone facade. Betrayed only by his darkened gaze and quickened breaths as his chest quickly rises up and down with exertion.

I force myself to blink.

To break whateverspellthis is.

Without saying a word, I turn around and leave.

22

MERCY

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 rip my hand away from between my thighs.

I was … dreaming.

Nausea roils in my stomach when I realize I was dreaming ofhim.

I can hardly bear the thought. Thankfully the dream is elusive. It fades the more I try to pick at the details. But oh—does my body ache with the invisible memories of his hungry touch. I let out a large sigh, trying to focus on anything but the tormenting throbbing in my clit.

The rain still pattering against the widows. The hard thrum of my heart. The dogs’ soft breathing in their beds. Éclair’s snoring. The silk sheets smooth over my skin.

My core squeezes with need.

Gods be damned.

This isn’t working.

I let out a dramatic huff and stare at the vaulted ceilings. Try as I might, my mind drifts quickly to the one thing I’m trying to avoid as if caught in the eye of a storm.

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.

We’ve barely said a word to each other since Wolfgang pinned me against that table.

That should please me.

Instead, something about his pointed silence has left me on edge.

Luckily, I’m saved from having to further dwell on such vexing feelings when suddenly every wayward sensation in my body shifts. A cold pleasurable chill ripples through my limbs, ending at the crown of my head. A sated smile slips over my lips as I push myself up in bed.

The call.

From the only god I will ever serve with abandon.

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