Page 38 of The Withering Dawn
“No, I—"
He pulled me in, devouring the rest of my sentence with his mouth. Instantly, my hands gripped his waist to stay upright, my head swimming at the suddenness of the kiss. Gods, I enjoyed it, though. I moaned against his lips, warmth flooding every vein until my skin prickled with awareness. I lifted on my toes just to get closer to him, my body yearning for more, despite how little I knew of what more there was. I’d seen men ravage their wives. I’d seen women pleasure themselves. I had seen all manner of crude displays because my presence was barely noted most of the time.
But I knew that was not all there was. There was romance and pleasure and passion in the world if the few books I read were any indication.
I kissed Nazario deeper, my fingers trailing along the grooves of his hard stomach. When I got to his bellybutton, he gripped my waist, hoisting me onto the edge of his desk like I weighed nothing. And of course, I probably didn’t. Not to him. He’d spent the previous day moving cannons with his bare hands and I was barely putting weight back on my bones.
As his hands gathered the fabric of my skirts, I leaned in and kissed his collarbone, my tongue licking over his heated flesh. He groaned softly like my touch burned him but in a way he liked. He gently pushed my knees apart, stepping between them. A brief but startling image of Philip forcing his hand up my skirt made an unwanted appearance behind my lids again. I sucked in a gasp and opened my eyes, reminding myself that Nazario was the one touching me. Not that greasy man with sour wine on his breath.
Nazario quickly put his hand to my cheek and stopped all advances.
“Perhaps not, then,” he said.
And my soul shattered. He inched away from me and I grabbed hold of him, desperately shaking my head.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It won’t happen again. I just—”
“You think you have angered me? It will happen again. Many times. As it happened to me many, many times over the many years between now and when I fled Antonio’s manor as a boy.”
“I am well. And I want this, Nazario. Please.”
His gaze dropped to my hands clutching his wrist and then slowly, he turned his body again and stepped between my thighs, his fingers dancing along the sensitive flesh of my bare leg.
“Promise not to bite out my throat,” he said.
Another joke, I assumed, but all I could do was nod. His fingers continued to glide over my leg and then slowly started to move down to the inside of my thigh. Cupping my face with his other hand, he tilted my head up, his lips feathering over mine.
“And do not close your eyes yet, muñequita,” he whispered. “That prick and all those like him live in the darkness when your eyes are closed. But I want you looking at me.”
I nodded again, my breath stopping in my throat when his touch began to climb, getting closer to that unbearable heat between my thighs. I bit my lip just as his fingers found my center wet and needy. My cheeks grew hot at the realization, but rather than pull away, he hummed approval, parting my lower lips just to run his fingers against the tender flesh of my sex. I sucked in a slow, shuddering gasp.
“That is encouraging,” he said against my mouth, sliding his fingers upward until he reached the top of my slit where I was growing agonizingly sensitive.
“I don’t mean to be like this.”
“Do not apologize.” He stroked his fingers through my slit again and then circled them lightly around the sensitive bud, making me tremble. “There is a dark part of me that hopes you will never be like this for another man.”
His thumb pressed against me and I whimpered, arching against him. Nazario was uncovering more about my own body than I knew myself. As he drew tight circles around my swollen clit with his thumb, his fingers ventured lower, dipping into my untouchedentrance. He held my gaze as if searching for regret or hesitation and though my nerves were shaking nervously, I did not want him to stop.
“Have you ever touched yourself?” he whispered.
“Once,” I admitted. “Briefly. I was caught. Jacob…” I swallowed, finding it hard to speak as Nazario explored me. “He hit me between my legs with his belt until I couldn’t feel anything at all for many days.”
His hand stopped moving and a glint of ferocity shone behind his hazel eyes like the hot sun off the edge of a knife. I leaned away from him for a moment, a hint of fear making me want to recoil until I realized the anger wasn’t at me.
“Tell me to wash those memories out of your mind,” he said.
I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but the way he said it made me putty in his hands, so I nodded.
And as if my nod was the command he sought, he slid one long finger into my channel. My mouth fell open with a slow and sensual gasp. His eyes glimpsed my lips, mimicking me as if he could feel exactly what I was feeling.
Excitement. Timid, unbound excitement. My eyes fluttered closed and he pumped his finger once, pushing it deeper.
“I know it is hard to keep your eyes open,” he chuckled. “Do what you feel is right.”
I looked up at him like I’d broken a rule, but he was right. The more he touched me, the harder it was not to lose myself in him.
“And if I see something I don’t want to see?” I asked. “Like you said?”
