Page 188 of A Tribute of Fire

“How do I do that?”

My cheeks preemptively colored at what I was about to say. “You touch me and kiss me and pleasure me.”

I heard his sharp intake of breath and felt the shudder that passed through him.

“Would you like me to do that to you now?” His voice was hoarse, raspy, laden with desire.

My heart was going to burst out of my chest because it was beating too fast. “I can’t.”

Now it really was like my dreams.

His hands stilled and he pulled his head back. I saw the way his eyes had darkened, his pupils blown. “Where do I touch you that you like best?”

It would be impossible to choose.

This is not a dream,I told myself. There would be real-world consequences to answering that question. I was dangerously close to breaking my vow. He was so tempting and somehow always seemed to appear at my greatest moments of weakness.

Or maybe he was my weakness.

“Tell me what you want,” he urged as he dug his fingers into my hips possessively, and I tried not to moan from the delicious pressure.

Still I didn’t answer.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked. “If you don’t, I’ll leave now.”

I had to say no to kissing. I tried to shake my head but it refused to cooperate. As did my voice. I wanted his kiss so desperately I couldn’t think of anything else. It all faded away.

I moved my hands from the front of his tunic up to his neck. I made myself talk. “Have you been sent to tempt me? To make me forget myself?”

He shook his head, smiling wryly. “I ask myself the same thing. It’s like we’re two flames, drawn to each other, meant to burn brightly together.”

“That also means we can destroy one another.”

“Yes, but it would not be a bad way to die,” he said. “I would be lying if I said I haven’t imagined the softness of your skin against mine, exploring your body with my fingers and mouth and tongue. To watch you coming undone beneath me.”

I didn’t even know what that meant precisely, but his words turned me liquid and hot. I badly wanted what he was describing. Our strangled breathing had become loud, thick with hunger and longing.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded me.

There would be repercussions that I couldn’t even begin to fathom.

I didn’t care.

“Kiss me,” I invited.

He reached up to frame my face with his hands, and the way he gazed at me, with a reverence like I was something sacred to him, made my breathing hitch.

Then he kissed me so intently that it was bruising. He parted my lips and expertly stroked my tongue with his and this time I did moan. Lust, sharp as a sword, pierced me over and over again until I was weak.

What passed between us in dreams was insubstantial. Not quite real. Touching him and kissing him in that dreamscape did not feel like it did in real life. In person was exponentially better in every way imaginable.

“You don’t kiss like someone who has only been kissed a few times before this,” he told me in between kisses.

“As I’ve told you, I’m a quick study. And I had an excellent teacher.”

He grinned, but that moment of lightheartedness was quickly gone as his hands ran up my back, his mouth relentless on mine.

His hands left my body and I protested against his lips, but then I heard the sound of metal hitting the floor. He was taking off his weapons. I lost count after five. I was impressed by all his hiding places and was about to ask where they were coming from, but then he was touching me again and I was lost.

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