Page 241 of A Dance of Water

Or something along those lines.

Tharen wasn’t a shifter, didn’t have the same rooted faith in the gods as Vale did, but even the mage could not deny that something bigger wasat play here.

Tharen found Vale’s eyes, where he stood a few paces away. The King was arrested by the sight of their Vincire and the Stella on her skin, green eyes wide; his chest was still, as if he was holding his breath.

"Luella," Tharen uttered, voice shattering her starry reverie. She looked up, and the galaxies shining within her eyes did not dim as she met his gaze. Tendrils of Stella curled around her hair and fanned out over her pale cheekbones, just as his hands had done earlier. "How do you want to do this?" he repeated.

Imbued with strength from the gods, Luella’s gaze did not falter as she peered up at him from her seated position on the altar. The air grew heavy, thick with tension and desire.

"Touch me," she breathed.

At her demand, Tharen moved.

He picked her up, taking her place on the stone altar, and sat her back down, straddling his lap. Her nose brushed his chin, and her thighs bracketed his. And gods, she was so soft atop him, trembling slightly, but not from fear, this time—but from unadulterated want. Tharen felt it too. The electricity between them.

He settled one hand on her hips, the thin material of her gown riding up high on her thighs. His eyes fell to the small birthmark on her upper thigh, and he ran the pad of his thumb over it. "I’ve wanted to touch this since Graves mentioned it."

She shivered, fingers curling in his shirt.

Tharen ran the tip of his finger over the Stella on the side of her cheekbone. It snaked away from his touch, tendrils of light hiding in her hair where it peeked out at him from behind the white curls.

The faint touch he was able to get offered its warmth, tiny zaps that traveled up his fingertips to his heart. But the utterly consuming nature of touching a product of the gods had nothing on the soft weight of his Vincire on his lap.

Blasphemous.

He waited for lightning to strike him, but the only charge he felt was the pure heat between them, crackling.

Her scent wrapped around him, and he chased after it, gathering the ends of her hair and winding it around his fist as he tugged her head back, revealing her pale neck. Her pulse pounded faintlyagainst her thin, delicate skin, and he pressed the tip of his nose to it.

"Fuck," he cursed against her skin. "I want to eat you alive."

Her heart picked up.

His cock was aching, and she shifted over him, hitting just the right spot that made him groan.

She gasped softly, stilling against him.

Tharen lifted his head from where it had been buried in her neck. "You’re so…"

Vulnerable, naive, innocent?

None of those words fit.

With the Stella still dancing along her skin, Tharen found his callousness quelled—unable to be so cruel with a gods-ordained fae in his presence.

Her chin trembled as he continued to stare at her, as if she, too, knew this was growing to be much more than a fulfillment of their bargain.

"This is not real," she whispered against his chest. "It doesn’t mean anything."

"If that makes it easier for you."

Her teeth dug into her biteable lower lip as if fucking toying with him. "It does," she said softly. "It doesn’t mean anything. This is to fulfill our bargain, s-so I won’t owe you anything anymore."

She gave a tiny gasp as his fingers dug into the base of her skull, his other hand forcing her down firmer against his lap, right over his hard cock. Pleasure radiated out from their touching bodies, so strong that he felt his control threaten to snap. She wasn’t wearing any underclothes, and he felt her heat against him, covered only by the barrier of his pants and her thin gown, which could easily be torn away.

He wanted the barrier gone, wanted to bury himself inside her.

Tharen’s lip curled. "In that case…"

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