Page 125 of I Summon the Sea

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

“You have to tell me how the king is helping you, what he has on you,” I say as he drags me down the corridor, his hand a warm vise around mine, when I should be asking other questions.Focus.“And your plan about ending him. Did you mean it?”

My heart is on the line, dammit. I feel everything he has told me nailed into the soft flesh of that particular organ. I need to know I can trust him, that his jaw-dropping beauty reflects goodness in him, and that… that he cares. For me.

For some reason.

We take a turn and another, and suddenly, he turns and shoves me under a staircase. “Sh… It’s the page boy,” he whispers. “Let him pass.”

My pulse is ringing inside my head. It’s half-dark under the staircase, and his body is once more pressed to mine, a firm wall of solid muscle. He has braced a hand by my head, head turned to profile, presumably keeping an eye out for anyone passing by.

I’m stuck staring at his silhouette, at the strong nose and thick brows, the curve of his mouth, and the slash of his jaw. At the corded neck and big shoulders, thick with muscle, the powerful arms, and callused hands. Arms and hands that control draks and wield two dark swords. That weave shadows.

All the advantages he gave up to enter the Death Games, entering as a mortal.

For me.

Almost against my will, I reach up and touch his tousled hair. It’s so soft, much softer than I thought it would be, the lock curling around my finger like silk.

“He’s gone now,” he murmurs, then takes a step back, and his hair slips from my fingers. “Rae…”

I draw an uneven breath. I know I said I was coming with him only to talk, but… this body has needs and a mind of its own.

He still has one hand splayed against the wall under the stairs, caging me. Lifting the other to my neck, he presses his fingers there.

“We’ll work this out,” he says, his mouth tilting into that slightly crooked smile that has my heart pounding and my body humming. The intensity of his dark gaze is scorching. His eyes darken as they drop to my lips. “I’ll tell you everything. I’ll tell you about the plan. But you also need to tell me who you are. Deal?”

“Jai…” I breathe.

His strong fingers curl around the back, his grip hard, hauling me against his body again, letting me feel how aroused he is, letting me feel his strength. He doesn’t treat me like I’m a fragile girl. He knows I can take it. He thinks I’m strong.

I want to prove him right.

Thoughts swirl in my head.

We fought together to survive the first trial. He helped me, but he saw me swim and climb and fight to live. He sees me. Sees the person I am, stubborn and resilient, and doesn’t balk. Doesn’t tell me to accept my fate and die, accept defeat.

I need to talk with him, understand his relationship with the fae king—but right now, I need to feel him, feel his strength, his power. I want him to put those callused hands on me, to havethat soft, firm mouth trail over every inch of my skin, over my breasts, between my legs.

I wanted to see him shatter, but what about my control? It’s smashed, gone, when he’s near me. Over and over, he has broken my thoughts, plowed through my plans and goals without even trying, with a look, a touch, a smile, a hand wrapping around mine.

Offering a calm haven when panic gripped me.

Offering pleasure.

If only I could trust him completely, if only his role over the years as the king’s envoy wasn’t at the back of my mind?—

His mouth closes over mine once more, the kiss deep, hard, desperate. His hand now protects the back of my head as he crushes me to the wall, taking over, his tongue plundering my mouth. The fire in my belly flares again.

I want him. I’ve never wanted any man like this—though, granted, my life has been odd of late. In the last years. Or decades? I kiss him back, my tongue battling his, my hands moving all over his sexy body. Muscles for miles, thick slabs shifting under my questing fingers. He doesn’t seem born butmade, built out of perfect, smooth bricks of muscle and sinew.

And his face… Put together so pleasingly, from the broad forehead and thick straight brows to the hollows of his cheeks and the hardness of his jaw, and his mouth…

Gods, his mouth. Made for issuing commands and speaking words of power, though now I’m starting to believe it was primarily made for kissing. Why else would it be so soft, his lips so firm and tempting?

Dark lashes flutter over velvet black when, after an eternity, I come up for air. His hand has slid to my face, his long fingers tracing the side of my neck, my cheek, moving upward to brush against my brows, sweeping white hair out of my eyes.

“Fuck, what you do to me,” he grinds out, his voice like gravel.

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