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“How?” she asked again, her voice a little breathless. He was close enough that she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eyes.
His hand rose to grip her face, and the fabric of her mask dug into her skin. “Because you’re a knife in a room of cowards. You’re an apex predator, head and shoulders above every person in that party.” His voice was a sensual purr, and Fey whimpered in his hold. “I can sense you, Fey. You feel like heat and fire and power. There’s not a single person in the world who could hold a candle to it.”
He bent his head down, kissing her, his lips pressing the gossamer material of her mask hard against her lips. Kissed her like she belonged to him, kissed her like she was his everything, like she was the Goddess come to life.
Kissed her until he felt the tip of her blade press against his stomach.
Startled, Alastair pulled back enough to glance down at the knife between them. Fey’s hand was steady, and though she pressed the tip of her blade into him enough to hurt, she wasn’t pressing enough to draw blood.
Yet.
“What are you doing here, Alastair?” she asked. Her head was spinning from the kiss, but she drew on every ounce of restraint she had to keep herself steady.
“I told you. My father drags me to these things?—”
“No, what are you doing here?” With her free hand, Fey gestured to the darkness around them, to the space—what little there was—between them. “What are you doing here, with me? What do you even want from me? You know what I am now; you know?—”
She stopped. Some emotion she couldn’t identify was stuck in her throat, and it was hard to form the words around it. Instead, she tightened her grip on the hilt of her blade and pushed it harder against him, drawing a small bead of blood that spread over the fabric of his dress shirt.
Fey expected him to move away, to take a step backward and put a little distance between the two of them. The distance that she needed if she was going to catch her breath. She expected him to shout, to curse. Expected him to do anything but what he did.
Staring down at the knife between them, at the welt of dark blood on his dress shirt, Alastair smiled.
Fey blinked at him, in surprise.
“Aren’t you scared of me?” she asked.
“Scared? No,” Alastair answered, still looking down at where she held the blade against his midsection. “Fey, I’m fucking terrified of you.”
The answer startled a laugh from her. “You are crazy, you know that?” she told him, shaking her head and smiling.
“Maybe,” he conceded. He brought his own hands up to cover the hilt of her knife, wrapping them around hers. His gaze rose to capture her stare, and she felt like she was drowning in his golden eyes. “I see you, Fey,” he whispered. “I see every part of you, and what you are. And I want all of it.”
Fey’s grip loosened, and the blade clattered to the floor between them. She reached up, pulling her mask off. Then she grabbed his head in both hands and pulled him down to kiss her again.
Chapter 36
Alastair groaned into their kiss, moving even closer to pin Fey between the wall and his body, crushing her against him.
Every thought in Fey’s head vanished as she felt his body against hers. She wanted to touch him, needed to touch him.
Her hands moved from his hair and down his chest, feeling hard muscle beneath the silk of his dress shirt.
Not enough.
Alastair’s tongue danced with hers as she fumbled with his buttons, finally getting his shirt open enough to run her hands along his skin. He was perfect, all smooth skin taut over muscle, no scars, no sigils. Her hands slid lower, over his stomach. Lower, over his hips. Lower…
Alastair hissed when she gripped him through the fabric of his pants, pulling back from their kiss a fraction to curse. But it still wasn’t enough for Fey. She craned her head up to capture his mouth again, and he kissed her back even harder than before, nipping at her lips with his teeth. Her fingers worked swiftly, unlatching his belt and pulling his zipper down, releasing him.
When she wrapped her hand around his cock, marveling at the thickness, he threw his head back and groaned.
“Fuck, Fey,”
His skin is like silk, she thought as she trailed her fingers up the length of him, feeling him twitch under her light touch. A bead of precum glistened at his tip, and the sight of it made Fey dizzy with desire. She gripped him again, wrapping her fingers around the base of him, and he groaned, his hips rocking forward, thrusting into her hand.
Before she could explore his body further, Alastair crushed her back against the wall, knocking her hand away and reaching between them for her clothing. The laces of her pants melted away under his quick fingers, and Alastair pushed her hips back as he slipped his hand under the soft leather fabric of her pants to touch her.
Fey’s head rolled back, and she gasped as his fingers slipped down her center. Her hands rose to grip the back of his neck, twisting her hips to give him access.
