Page 111 of Wicked Tides
Finally, I let my eyes fall to the fire. “I fear that you will,” I said so softly, I wondered if he could hear.
When Vidar stopped poking at the fire, I knew he understood. I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze again for some time after those words had slipped. Not only did I fear what he would think of them, but I feared the weakness I had just exposed.
When I could finally bring myself to look up, Vidar was leaning forward on a long stick, his hands overlapping the top of it for him to rest his chin. He was just staring at me, no readable expression on his face for me to scrutinize. I cocked my head to the side, admiring the strong angle of his jaw. The quirk on his lips. The strength of his cheekbones and brow.
Then that young woman slipped back into my memory and a wave of uncomfortable heat roiled in me. I narrowed my eyes at him and when he noticed, he raised a brow.
“What are you thinking about, Dahlia?” he whispered.
“That woman you were dancing with. Do you desire her?”
He set his stick aside and slowly unfolded from the stone, coming to his full height. I stood, wanting to be on equal ground as he stepped toward me.
“What if I did?” he said. My jaw tightened at the idea. “She was beautiful, was she not? Young. Human. And she has never wanted to kill me. Or eat me, for that matter.”
I took in a deep breath, but that only filled my lungs with Vidar. The heat inside me was both irritated and desperate and it sickened me to think I had no control over it.
“Why would you care about what I think of her if I did go to her tonight?” Vidar added.
“I don’t want to hurt her,” I confessed, stilling myself as he moved in closer to me.
His head canted to the side. “Why would you hurt her?”
I peered up at him, pleading silently for him to understand. The mere thought of him wanting her made my fists clench. I swallowed down any response I might have given him and watched as the realization dawned on his face.
“I do not even know her name,” he finally confessed, his eyes dropping to my mouth in a way that made my body shudder with excitement. “Dahlia,” he emphasized, his hand slowly coming up to slide around the back of my neck.
He fisted my hair and tugged, pulling my head back. The burn that radiated across my scalp at the pressure made me gasp as I was yanked against the heat of his body. Could I have fought him and pushed him off of me? Yes. But that nearness was something I’d been wanting for days. Ever since he’d cleansed me of my guilt with harsh and rewarding pain. Ever since it was his hands that pulled me from the edge of the ship and kept me from jumping into the sea where the sons were waiting, I’d wanted them on me again. I wanted to say it, but the confession felt like defeat and stayed lodged like a piece of glass in my throat.
Vidar’s other hand slid up to grasp my jaw.
“Do you want me?” he whispered, his lips hovering over mine. I thought he would kiss me before he suddenly twisted us around and slammed me against the cold, hard barrier of the cave wall. “Or do you just hate the idea of another having me?”
“Perhaps I do. But if I am to confess something so outrageous, perhaps you can divulge why you stole me from the railing the other night when I was about to surrender to the sons. You could have been rid of me. So why’d you do it?”
“That is easy. You called to me.”
“Did I?”
One hand released my hair, sliding down my body, through the opening of my coat, to the drawstring of my leggings. I pressed my hands to his chest, but I did not shove him away when he slid past the waistband and delved between my legs. My heart was racing at his touch. I parted for him, unsurprised that he found me wanting and wet.
“I imagined it, then,” he said, his fingers parting my folds. “What wonderful timing.”
“Why did you pull me back?”
“Why would you want to hurt a woman simply for dancing with me?”
Two of his fingers slid into my entrance, stretching me around him. I gasped when his hand closed over my throat and squeezed. Heat enveloped my body, coiling deep inside as his fingers thrust up inside me again.
It was exactly what I wanted. I wanted him to touch me. Hurt me. I wanted his attention, as pathetic as it was. I wanted his eyes on me and his hands against my flesh. I clutched his coat in my fists and dragged him closer, spreading my legs as he played against my clit with his thumb.
“I didn’t want you to want her,” I panted. “I wanted you to desire me.”
He thrust his fingers deep, nearly lifting me off the ground. I whimpered, throwing my head back. He assaulted my neck with his mouth, licking a slow trail along my throat. And by Lune, I washungry for it. The feeling of his hot breath against my cool skin silenced all other thoughts. The way his fingers stretched and ravaged me demanded my nerves pay attention to only him and nothing else. The way he pinned me to the wall was a demand to give up control and for some reason, I wanted to. I wanted to relinquish everything to him and set aside all thoughts and doubts and fears.
He pumped himself inside me again and again, his thumb pressing against my sensitive bud. I had never felt pleasure from a man until that first night beneath his harsh touch. It was an all-consuming pleasure that left me broken and comforted all at once. I thirsted for more of it. For more ofhim. For that unique liberation.
Opening my eyes, I could see the darkness down the tunnel over his shoulder, facing the coast. The firelight around us created shadows across my vision, so it took a breath or two to realize one of the shadows was solid.
