Page 195 of A Dance of Water

She imagined the shape of his plush lips moving as he spoke:

"I would rip this curtain away and take you to my bed. I would start with a taste of the blood on your lips. Just enough to quell the urge. I would explore every sliver of your skin… until you felt me on you for the rest of your existence—until all I could taste on my tongue was you. I would make you desperate for me." With his every word, a heartbeat thrummed between her thighs. She squeezed her legs together, finding the pressure only made her more aware of the sensation. "And only when you begged, when your blue eyes were filled with the shine of tears"—her eyes widened at the notion… to cry from pleasure and not pain—"would I let myself taste you. Let my fangs pierce your flesh and drink from you fully."

With a paintbrush tipped in sensual reds and silky blacks, Bastian painted a picture she would not be able to recreate in even her wildest of dreams.

"But how would I—" Her cheeks were hot.

How could she enjoy the feel of his fangs inside her?

A low laugh laced with sensual promise. "I promise you this: you will enjoy every moment of it."

Bergamot made her dizzy, and further, reaching out to her with wicked tendrils of psychotic need, the crispness of winter.

"Does it feel good?" Bastian asked.

Luella still cupped her breast, heavy in her palm.

"I—no," she lied.

It did. It did. It did.

So good.

But not as good as his touch.

He hummed. "We’ll have to do something about your little lying lips. Can’t have you believing the lies you try to tell yourself."

She traced the stitching of the sheet, anything to not look at his shadow.

Electricity coursed through her veins. One more spark, and she would ignite. He sensed how she teetered on the edge of desire, scared to fall. And he pushed her.

With a touch in her mind, Bastian flooded her with feeling. She was overflowing with his thoughts, his wants.

Different than how he let her see herself through his eyes; this time, he let her feel his desires through his perspective.

She felt the pulse of his fangs, a twin throb between his thighs—but this was more primal, urgent, where the one she felt was vulnerable and unsure.

Her fingers tightened on her breast, and the air rippled like the sheet between them.

Luella tilted to the side, tilted forward, feeling the hardness of the stool under her give way to the warmth of a hard body?—

She gasped as she tumbled onto Tharen. He caught her with a firm touch. Her pale hands gripped the folds of his shirt. She couldn’t look up and meet his eyes. Her thighs bracketed his, and she felt a hardness under her.

Her cheeks prickled with heat.

She had heard enough gossip from the kitchen maids in Solis to know the hardness under her was a product of his desire.

Tharen’s scent wrapped around her. He tipped her chin up. Unreadable, icy eyes bore into hers. "That’s enough for tonight." He was speaking to Bastian but looking at her. A thumb rubbed under her eyes. "She’s tired."

Tharen stood, lifting her with him. She hooked a leg around his waist to keep from slipping, wrapping her arms around his neck as he held her close. His braids tickled her cheek as she turned her head into the crook of his neck.

"She’ll be sleeping in my bed tonight." Tharen’s voice rumbled through her like a snowstorm.

What—?

Tharen started for the door with her in his arms. As he turned, she saw Bastian—flashing red eyes, shirt askew with the top buttons undone, wrinkles in the silk.

Her eyes dipped lower, tracing over his trim waist and…

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