Page 57 of You Only Love Twice
Under me.
The burst of odd familiarity swept over him, as if they'd done this a hundred times before, but it was the sudden surge of the hunger that made him look away.
Disconcerting. His memories of her were still thin, but it was the look in her eye he recognized.
He couldn't afford to touch her.
Because a part of him knew she would destroy him.
"Is there a-any chance they have a bath h-here?" Gemma slumped against the wall. "I don't think I've ever been so wretchedly cold in my entire life as I have b-been this week."
"Then you haven't lived through a Russian winter," he murmured. "And it's unlikely there's a bath. I can fetch you a basin of warm water and soap."
"Do you think.... Do you think you could help me out of m-my dress then?" Gemma tried to undo the buttons down her spine, but clearly couldn't quite reach. "U-unless you want to untie my other hand?"
"We're not playing this game again."
"I'm wet, Obsidian. And cold. Don't worry, I have more intention of giving all my affections to those lovely thick blankets on the bed. You have nothing to fear."
"I don't fear you."
"No?"
"Turn around," he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and forcing her to turn.
The row of buttons down her spine gleamed. Obsidian scraped the tangled snarl of her hair forward over her shoulder, and then set to work on the top button. Her skin felt clammy to the touch. It seemed she'd been telling the truth. For him to have even noticed, she had to be cold indeed.
"You were born in Russia," she murmured, glancing over her shoulder as she launched her opening gambit.
"Da." He concentrated on her buttons and nothing else. "My mother was Russian. She gave me a name from her country, and taught me her language. Sergey always told me I had a terrible accent, like a serf."
"I don't know." Gemma gave a minute shrug. "I quite liked it, and you sounded like the rest of the court to me."
Curse her.
"What happened to her?"
A knot of pain twisted deep inside him. "I don't remember.”
This time, Gemma almost turned all the way around.
He stepped back. "Your buttons are undone. I'm certain you can manage the rest yourself."
Gemma held up her manacled wrist.
Obsidian unlatched it, just enough to strip the sleeve of her gown over her hand. Her fingers felt like ice. He paused, but she'd find no warmth from him.Dhampirwere as cold-blooded as blue bloods.
And yet....
He rubbed his hand up her arm, feeling the burr of her goose bumps. Gemma tensed, but then she began to soften, her lashes closing in quiet approval. He used friction to warm her, and the gown began to slip down her body, revealing the upthrust mounds of her breasts. Soft and creamy globes that threatened to spill from her damp bodice.
"What do you mean, you cannot remember your mother?" She lifted her eyes to his.
He stepped back as she tugged her other sleeve down, revealing the straps of her chemise.
"I have little recollection of my life before Falkirk."
"And seemingly little recollection since it," she pointed out.
