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He chuckles. "That's a yes."
A feather-light touch traverses the skin behind my knee, and I find my voice. "No, I- I'm not."
His gloved fingers dance higher, closer to the apex of my thighs, and I'm unable to move, unable to even breathe.
Somewhere in the back of my head, I realize that the gloves are for my benefit, that he remembers me saying I dislike physical contact and is doing what he can to respect that while also thoroughly, deliciously disrespecting me.
Then, the ability to think leaves me altogether as he gently moves my underthings to the side. As he drags a finger through the wetness gathering there, I whimper again, gripping his shoulders to keep myself from falling. Only barely does he graze my clit, and my legs shake from the contact. Trying not to make another sound, I bite my bottom lip so hard that the taste of blood gathers on my tongue.
As soon as the contact between my legs begins, it retreats, and a desperate, frustrated moan escapes me.
He stands slowly, watching me all the way, dragging his body against mine until I can feel the evidence of how affected he is pressing against me. Gazes locked together, he swipes that finger across my lip, collecting the blood there and mixing it with the wetness he gathered between my legs.
Before I can stop myself, I lick the mixture from my lips, reveling in the wild, primal, and incredible taste of his leather gloves and me together.
He lifts his helm with his other hand just enough that I can see as he sticks his finger in his own mouth, thoroughly cleaning me off it as I watch, completely and utterly enraptured.
He groans, the sound so addictive I consider letting him touch me however he pleases as long as he makes it again.
He husks, "You are so delicious, my beautiful liar."
I swallow, wholly wrecked by that one little touch. It was both entirely too much and not nearly enough at all. Then he turns and begins to walk away as if nothing even happened.
I stand, frozen in shock, outraged at him daring to touch me that way. Even more outraged that he started this fire within me only to leave it unsated. As he disappears around the corner he calls to me, "Come along, my Elva. You don't want to keep the witches waiting."
Shaking myself from my stupor, I run after him, slowing to a walk once I reach his side, remaining together until we enter the great room. While I see Maren and King Farhan, the witches are nowhere to be found.
"Where are they?" I ask Kairon.
He sighs. "They'll make their appearance when they're ready."
Thirteen
Elva
"There she is," a haunting voice fills my head, and I search for the source but can't seem to find it.
"She is lovely," another speaks behind me, leaving me spinning around to spot them.
A third cackles. "Look how she's blushing. Seems the king did not heed your warning, Onala." What warning?
"Ladies," Queen Maren chides from her chair across the room. "Play nice."
All at once, the three witches appear, surrounding me and standing far closer than I was expecting, causing me to jump from their sudden proximity.
"We're playing nice," the one in front of me says. If it weren't for the fact that she just materialized before me, I would never suspect her of being a witch. Her features are so soft and plain that she would blend in with all of us mortals without even trying, which I suppose comes in handy.
"We've said nothing untoward." Another moves to stand beside her sister, finally leaving my peripherals so I can see her properly. While this one looks like she might be 100 or 1,000 years old, there's something so beautiful about her. Like she's the world's grandmother, graceful and giving.
Then, the new, most terrifying woman I've ever seen enters my vision on the other side of her sister. Sharp angles, bright white eyes, skin pulled so tight against her cheekbones that I fear one slight misstep will cause it to rip through. "We will be nothing but courteous to Miss Aistin. As long as she can say the same, she'll have nothing to fear from us."
"Hello," I tell them all, erasing any proof of my nerves, though not for their benefit. If they can see all, know all, there's no point in pretending I'm not scared of them. But I don't need anyone else in this room to know that I'm shaking with terror at the casual display of their power. "I suppose there's no point in introducing myself." I laugh, "You probably know more about me than even I do."
Their cackles surround me once again before they speak in unison, "You have no idea, Miss Aistin."
"I am Olath," the one in the middle tells me. "These are my sisters, Ovoor and Onala. We are the Eyes of Time."
Ovoor tells me, "I know all that has come to pass."
