Page 142 of A Dance of Water

It was too much, entirely so. She shivered from the overwhelming sensations, and the air shimmered around her.

"Bastian," she breathed, threading her fingers through his silken hair.

Her body swayed, tugged somewhere else, to someone else. And Bastian’s words rang in her mind as she was pulled away from him:

"Show Tharen what he cannot have."

She landed on something hard.

Off-balance, she wobbled, but strong palms slapped against her bare thighs and kept her steady.

"Well, look at this," Tharen said. She felt his breath stir her hair, and she shivered, shifting against whatever it was she had toppled on.

She traced her fingers over the surface, feeling the smooth, swirling grain of polished wood. Her hands brushed against stacks ofpaper and rolled up parchment, a few pieces tumbling away from her searching touches.

She couldn’t speak, undone and worked up from what Bastian had just done to her. Done with her. Her breasts ached; she was hyper-aware of every bit of her skin, where the cool air in the room left goosebumps in its wake, the soft warmth that radiated from somewhere to her side—a fire. The faintest pop and hiss of bubbles made her dizzy, lulling her.

"Careful there, little lamb. I like my workplace neat." Tharen took her hand and tugged it away from the papers. "Though, I could be swayed if you had other ideas."

He stepped closer, forcing her thighs to part as he gripped her knees with his large hands.

The strap of her thin gown tickled her arm as it fell, and she tried to right it, but he stopped her with a soft clicking noise. He trailed his finger over her arm, fingers tightening against the strap before he tugged it down harshly. She gasped and tried to cover herself, but he didn’t allow it. His breath fanned over the gentle swell of her breasts, warming the lingering wetness Bastian had left on her skin.

"Having fun without me?" Tharen taunted.

Luella blushed, feeling entirely out of her depth, but Bastian’s parting words gave her pause. She could do this; she could show him that she wouldn’t give in. She could be strong.

Shewasstrong.

"Y-yes," she said, jutting her chin out. But as always, the waver in her voice gave her away.

He found her amusing. "When will the lamb learn to bite, I wonder? Perhaps you need something to help you relax."

This was too much. She couldn’t do this!

Luella wasn’t a temptress.

She fisted her hands on the edges of her gown.

Remember, pet,Bastian’s voice murmured in her mind. The sound of it curled through her, hot and aching.

She breathed in once, deep.

The air smelled of sweet potions, mingling with his snowy scent.

Enticing, designed to pull her in.

But then she remembered: she was made to entice him, too—all of them.

"I don’t need your help…" she said. "I found it in Bastian."

Tharen’s grip tightened on her thighs. "Did you, now? Because I don’t think so." His hand brushed along her chest, dangerously close to where Bastian’s mouth had just been. She gasped from the touch. "If you found relief, I doubt you’d still be so"—he placed his mouth by her ear—"sensitive."

"I—"

He pulled away from her. "Don’t try to tempt me, lamb. I’ve had centuries to work on my patience. The same cannot be said for you. It’s only a matter of time before you break and beg me to give you pleasure."

A challenge was laced in his words—would she accept?

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