Page 52 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
But right there in that moment, I needed him. I needed him so badly to erase the violation of the nahashim. I needed to be touched softly, needed a touch that wouldn’t tear through me but would make me feel good.
I pulled his hands onto my waist, breathing the familiar scent of him—mint and the salt of the ocean, like the shore outside my bedroom window at home. He sucked in a breath.
“Touch me,” I said.
I barely breathed as his hands flattened over my hips, fingers digging into my flesh before he pulled me forward, our hips flush. “Like this?” he asked, voice hoarse.
Swallowing, I stared up into his brown eyes, so deep, already hooded with desire.
I brushed my lips against his. He stilled, letting me offer one kiss, then two. On the third, his lips crushed against mine, hard and desperate for me to open to his mouth. He groaned, pressing me closer. My hands rushed up the muscles of his back, tangling in his hair, grabbing his face, then sliding down his stomach to the silver belt buckled low on his hips. His scabbard poked out to the side.
I withdrew his stave, seeing him again in my mind’s eye as he bound me. I could feel the burning of the ropes he’d conjured as I pointed the stave at his heart.
Tristan froze.
“Never use this on me again,” I said. “No matter what.”
“I swear.” His brown eyes widened, sorrowful.
I pushed it into his chest, hard enough that if it had been my dagger, I’d have drawn blood. Then I tossed it on the floor, watching it roll under a table—revenge for the indignity my own broken stave had been afforded. My hands played with his belt buckle, unfastening and letting it drop to the ground so I could pull up the hem of his tunic. I traced the length of his thighs and hips. My fingers splayed across his stomach and then up his chest. He pulled the cloth over his head and shucked it onto the couch.
“Blow out the candles,” I said, backing away. Within seconds every flame and torch was extinguished. Only the waning moonlight and the torchlights from the city remained. I removed my own top next, secure in knowing he couldn’t see any scars, or bruises left on my skin. His hands rose up my torso, cupping my breasts, thumbs rubbing over my nipples through the rough material of my shift until I gasped.
“Lyr,” he said, kissing my neck.
“Take me to bed.” I grabbed his hips and walked us backwards, steering him into the bedroom, past the naked dummy.
The backs of my knees hit the mattress first, and I fell back onto it, Tristan’s weight on top of me. I opened my legs, sliding up to the headboard, and he followed, settling on top of me, pulling the straps of my shift off my shoulders as he kissed his way down my jaw and neck.
I arched my back, wrapping my legs around him. The contact was almost too much, too much after a week where no one had touched me once. “Take it off,” I said.
Clumsily, he untied the bow beneath my breasts, sliding the material off, baring me to him.
“Gods,” he said. “Beautiful.” He kissed the corner of my mouth before pulling back, palming my breasts, bending down to kiss them.
I undulated beneath him as he took one peaked nipple in his mouth, his fingers teasing the other. His other hand rose up my neck, his fingers caressed my lips. I froze as something silver caught my eye.
His signet ring, the sigil of Ka Grey. Silver seraphim wings beneath a silver moon. He’d worn that ring since he was a boy, inherited it from his father after he died.
“Tristan,” I said breathlessly. “What are we doing?”
“Whatever you want.” His palm moved down my belly until his fingers skimmed the edge of my riding pants. His mouth sucked harder, drawing ripples of pleasure through my body, until heat coursed through me, pooling between my legs. “I know you wanted to wait, and we can, or…whatever you want.”
I pulled away from him, scooting into a seat, and took his hand. I’d said I’d wanted to wait until we were engaged to have sex—not that I actually cared about that sort of thing. I’d wanted to buy myself more time to mentally prepare before I fully gave in, and I’d known I’d needed to lessen the times he’d see my naked body when it carried cuts and bruises. But now…now that we were here, now that I felt actually ready to complete our relationship—it was hitting me. I still had no ring on my finger.
“You were supposed to propose to me last week,” I said.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I know.”
I threw my hands up. “You know? What does that mean? Are you still proposing?”
He sat back on his heels, swallowing hard, before shifting awkwardly to adjust his pants. “She won’t allow it.”
“Your grandmother won’t give you permission?” I snapped.
“Gods, Lyr. Don’t say it like that. She’s not just my grandmother. She’s the Lady of Ka Grey. She sits on the Bamarian Council. You know Godsdamned well this is bigger than us.”
“So now because your grandmother won’t let you, you don’t want to marry me anymore?”
