Page 242 of A Dance of Water

Ignoring her broken sound of protest, Tharen lifted her off his lap and laid her down fully on the altar. Her white hair fanned out over her head as the hem of her nearly see-through gown rode up on her hips, revealing the sharp angles of her hip bones, and pooling between her thighs, covering where he truly wanted to see.

Her chest rose and fell, straining against the thin fabric of her gown as she stared up at him. Splayed out on the altar, a sacrificial lamb.

Tharen braced a hand by her head, reveling in her low, sharp intake of air as he hovered over her. The side of his face brushed her cheek as he whispered against her ear, "Know that this is your doing."

74

DON’T FALL… FLY

LUELLA

Undone.

Luella was undone.

Awash in a thousand sensations, none of them regret. Just a burning curiosity and a scorching sort of embarrassment, mingling with naive-induced shame.

But not regret.

Fear stole the very air from her lungs.

Fear of the unknown, but not fear of the male nearly lying on top of her splayed out body.

The stone altar dug into her spine. Tharen’s breath rustled tendrils of her hair around her cheeks, and his hard, firm thigh was notched between hers, forcing them apart. The thin fabric of her gown rode up indecently. She was all but bare from the waist down, but with his body covering her, she only felt… safe—secure, even.

Or maybe that could be attributed to the playful stardust that twisted and curled around her flesh like a lover. Its warmth filled her with serenity, as if it knew she needed the courage to face this trap of her own design.

Her tender core throbbed in tune with her heartbeat, but this time, Luella didn’t wait for the feeling to steal her away, because the one who held the promise of her pleasure in his hands hovered over her in a lustful reckoning.

Desire darkened the mage’s icy eyes; he was far from unaffected. She had felt his—hisarousalpressing against her backside when she had sat on his lap.

He used his thigh to knock her leg further aside, his knee pressing right against the very center of her aching heat.

With a soft, startled gasp, her back arched away from the altar, instinctively chasing after the feeling.

Tharen laughed against her ear. "Feel good, Princess?"

Yes, she wanted to cry. But she bit her lower lip so hard she tasted the iron tang of blood—she would not give him the satisfaction of an answer.

"So quiet," he mumbled, nipping the tip of her ear.

His touch was so different from the King. Vale was all possession and control, broken up with the occasional spurt of pain-filled rage as he fought with his dragon.

But the Prima was anger and unfettered need. He did not temper his touches or the power of his bite. Nor did he mind his tongue. His words dripped with raw hunger. Contempt warred with a carnal urge to own.

Tharen smiled against the side of her face. "I’ll get a reaction out of you."

And then he moved down her body.

Luella’s breath hitched; she suddenly felt exposed. Her head fell to the side on the altar, eyes finding Vale where he stood, watching. Smoke curled from the King’s nostrils, and his eyes weredefinitelyslitted. Her gaze dipped lower, to his hands clenched at his sides and?—

Tiny droplets of blood fell from his clenched hands.

"Vale," she breathed, staring at his hands.

Tharen paused, his head at her belly button as his hands gripped her thighs. "Don’t say his name when I’m the one touching you." His fingertips indented her flesh, and she held back a wince from the power of his grip, only just realizing how close to the soft, untouched space between her thighs he was.

Vale arched a golden brow, uncaring that blood fell from his clenched hands. He was holding himself back with such precision that he had harmed himself in the process.

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