Page 113 of Burning Ice
“You will.”
Kylix growled low in his throat, pressed his forehead to Mirel’s.
“But I fucking didn’t. I’m not drunk enough to forget it. And not sober enough to stop myself from taking you apart for it.”
“Then take me apart,” Mirel said. “But don’t pretend it’ll fix you.”
He stepped away then, quiet, measured, backing toward the far wall of the Waltr.
Kylix blinked.
“You’re running?”
“Not running,” Mirel murmured, looking over his shoulder. “You want the chase. That’s what you need right now, isn’t it?”
He raised his wrist.
The chain that had once kept him leashed snapped with a cold crack, frost blooming outward, freezing the copper clean through until it fractured and fell away in pieces.
Mirel stood free.
And he waited.
Kylix smiled slowly, his jeweled incisors flashing as the fire stirred under his skin. “Oh, you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”
Mirel didn’t reply, just walked one step further, backlit by the storm.
They stood in silence, predator and prey locked in ritual tension.
Kylix unbuttoned his coat and let it fall.
“You think I won’t pin you down and make you feel every second of what I’ve carried tonight?”
He slipped off his gloves next, tossed them aside. His fingers flexed, hungry.
Another step. Mirel didn’t flinch.
“You think I won’t worship you with my tongue and punish you in the same breath?”
He pulled open the first few buttons of his shirt. The gold at his throat caught the light.
Mirel’s lips parted, a flick of tongue over incisor, frost-blue flicker in his right eye.
Kylix licked his own fang. “You think I won’t make you scream?”
He shrugged off the shirt, bare now to the waist, fire-lit skin gleaming in the Waltr glow.
Then he lunged.
Mirel gasped as Kylix caught him mid-step, spun him, shoved him against the curved glass wall of the Waltr. He didn’t hesitate. Dropped to his knees.
Kylix dragged the sleeping gown up, baring Mirel’s thighs. He paused, breath catching, then muttered with a crooked grin, “Where the fuck did you get this thing?”
Mirel’s lips parted, breath shaky. “Cyprian.”
Kylix chuckled darkly, then mouthed up the inside of one thigh, biting softly, sucking bruises there. Then licked a hot path to the center.
Mirel’s cock was already hard, straining, the soft fabric of his underwear soaked through. Kylix mouthed him through it, slow at first, wet and deliberate. He let his tongue trace the curve, pressing in with just enough pressure to make Mirel twitch. The scent of him hit hard.
