Page 199 of A Dance of Water

He took a step forward. She didn’t move.

"You’re asking why you’re here?"

A tremulous nod.

Fuck, if he knew.

He only knew he had to have her, only knew that when she had plopped on his lap like a sinful, needy gift, it had taken everything in him not to taste her—not to devour her. He had scented her arousal. The way her scent had turned sweet and ripe, the creamy undertones laced with roses growing bolder, enough to make him drunk. Enough to make him reckless.

He was close to her now, his bare toes brushing the long edges of her blanket as it pooled against his floor. "I want you in my domain, little lamb. So you won’t be confused about who owns you." His eyes dipped to her chest, concealed by her blanket.

Her throat bobbed with a swallow. She was begging for him. Even if she wasn’t aware of what she was doing. Desire clung to her.

His lip curled. "Get in the bed."

Tharen watched as her hands tightened on the edges of the blanket, but she obeyed him, and fuck if that didn’t make him hard.

Her actions were hesitant, as if scared to be too loud, to move too quickly. Her wide blue eyes were trained on him; she didn’t look away as she sat on the edge of his bed, and she didn’t turn down the thin sheets.

Just… sat there.

Tharen rolled his eyes and stomped forward.

Luella shrank into the pillows, head tipping back to track his movements. "What are you…?"

He didn’t wait for her to finish, put his hands on her shoulders, and forcibly shoved her onto her back. She fell with a soft sound, damp white hair leaving the tiniest little wet spots on his pillowcases.

He wasn’t even touching her, holding his body over her, but he might as well have been for the way her scent wrapped around him and pulled him in, the way he wanted to fit himself on top of her, fit himself between her soft thighs.

She peered up at him, holding the blanket up to her chin. "I won’t give in to you, T-Tharen."

The mage smirked at the way she always stuttered when she said his name.

"Sleep, lamb," he said, subdued. A small candle was flickering on the bedside table, and he leaned over her, bracing a hand by her head. She whimpered, and he smiled, face almost brushing hers as he blew a breath, snuffing the flame and casting them in darkness. "I won’t touch you. Go to sleep."

He pulled away and removed his belt, the leather clinking as he draped it over the back of a chair. He didn’t get into bed, just sat heavily in one of his desk chairs across the room, running a hand over his jaw.

The dim firelight flickered as he let his eyes drag over her. His bed was too big for her—she looked lost, drowning.

Sometime between her cautious staring and the soft drumming of his fingers on the tabletop, her breaths evened out. He was aware of her, how she lay so close to the edge of his bed, atop his blankets, as if scared to let herself relax.

The fire crackled, and the worn paper of a scroll rustled under his hands as he tried to distract himself. His breathing was too loud, and hers was too soft—had grown heavy and steady as she fell into dreams.

When the moon was high and exhaustion still evaded him, he looked at her. Found a thin arm dangling over the side of his bed. She shivered occasionally, her hair unable to dry well from how she lay on it. Her blanket had shifted to her waist at some point. Thecuts on the side of her gown revealed tantalizing hints of skin that rose and fell with every breath.

His jaw flexed.

Tharen stood, making his steps light as he walked to his bed. As if unbidden, he found his hands reaching for a throw draped over the edge of the bed, and he unfurled it softly, draping it over her. She didn’t stir, only shifted slightly as she burrowed into it, letting out a quiet sigh. Her eyes moved behind her lids as she dreamed, and his gaze flicked down to the amulet resting on her chest.

He had to try and rest. He wouldn’t be getting much in the coming days with another long night of celebrations and her last lesson tomorrow. And then—their journey to the Temples of Aedis…

With a heavy sigh, he moved to the other side of the bed, lowering himself to the edge. He stared at the ceiling, the distance between them vast. But he would not touch her. Not without her permission.

Luella’s breathing was melodious. Her scent pulled him under—thick with desire as she dreamed—and somehow, Tharen found himself falling into sleep. The first time in decades where he was able to do so without the aid of a sleeping potion.

63

THE GODS WAIT FOR NO ONE

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