Page 291 of Vasmora

“Fuck!” He stumbled to the side, catching himself on the edge of the bed, and still sticking from his chest, the blade slipped from my fingers.

Dread sank to the pit of my stomach. “Are you okay? Can you breathe? Did I do something wrong?”

His hand fell to his side. “No,” he croaked.

“No, you can’t breathe?”

“No … you didn’t … do it wrong. Could you … remove … the blade?”

“Oh! oh, gods.” Gripping the hilt, I yanked the blade from the wound, marveling at how it slid cleanly without a single drop of blood. Dizziness settled over me as I held it up, examining the gleaming steel. “I don’t feel so well.”

“I’m okay. You did … everything right. The pain is going away … now.”

I tossed the blade on the nightstand, wanting nothing more to do with it. When I turned back to him, his eyelids grew heavy, as if he were drunk, and the corner of his lips pulled to a slight smirk. “Zevander?”

His body swayed, eyes slowly blinking.

Gently cupping his face, I held him long enough to lift one of his eyelids, letting out a small gasp on seeing his pupil blown wide.

He turned toward my palm, gripping it with both hands, and sniffed. A deep rumble vibrated in his throat.

“I need your hands on me,” he rasped, drawing my palm to his chest, his muscles flexing on contact. He cradled my face, lips seizing mine in a ravenous kiss. Frantic movements between us hardly registered in my haze of passion, until he guided my hand down inside his unfastened trousers. “Everywhere,” he said against my lips, his rigid erection thick in my palm.

One long, lazy stroke over the piercings, and the urge to feel them inside of me tugged at my core. I freed the tip of it and smeared my thumb over the small bit of fluid there.

Eyes closed, he rolled his hips, grinding into my palm. A relieved groan ripped from his throat, as if that single touch was all he longed for. He seemed to savor the friction a moment longer, then he straightened, pushed his trousers down those powerful thighs, and tossed them away.

The hole where I’d stabbed him hooked my attention. Not a drop of blood poured out.

I couldn’t look away from it.

He leaned toward me, urging me back onto the pillows, his chest heaving, lips parted, that wild glint in his eyes never dulling. Pressure cuffed my wrists, as he pinned my arms to the mattress at either side of my head.

A delicious, masculine scent washed over me, lingering at the back of my throat. One I’d not smelled before, yet it seemed to satisfy a dormant craving I’d hungered for all my life. The decadence of warm pipe tobacco and sweet vanilla that mingled with Zevander’s personal amberwood musk, yes. But beneath that, a faint tang of something thrilling, as if fervor carried an aroma that smoldered on the tongue. So mouthwateringly irresistible, I wanted to lick it from the air.

Teeth grazed the edge of my throat, where he buried his face in my neck and dragged his nose across my skin, inhaling me in deep gulps. “I can smell your arousal,” he said raggedly. “I want every drop of it.”

The promise in his voice had me squirming beneath him, the tickle of anticipation fogging my brain.

His hand slid up the hem of my tunic, over my ribs, thumb tracing the soft contours of my breast. He pushed up from my body, and in one hard jerk of his hands, he split the tunic down the front, exposing both breasts. Wet lips latched onto my flesh, his tongue flicking over my nipple, raising it to a hardened peak.

The dizziness heightened, my senses flaring to life.

He switched to the other breast, imparting the same attention.

Warmth poured through my veins in what felt like a fever settling over me. An ache bloomed between my thighs. Not simply arousal, I’d grown quite accustomed to the way he affected my body. No, this was different. Deeper. More intense. A hollow inside of me that begged to be filled. Satisfied.

“Please,” I whispered. “It aches.”

“Show me where.” He kissed my throat, giving a light tug of both nipples as he pushed up onto his knees.

Fisting the sheets at either side of me, I raised my hips, offering myself to him, knees shamelessly splayed open.

The dagger from before sat loose in his clutch. His focused eyes hooded as he stared down at my sex with a dark and reverent gleam that sent a tremble to my thighs. A finger plunged inside of me, quickly joined by another, the slick of my flesh easing the glide. My stomach curled with relief, and I reached up, squeezing the pillows, desperate to bite down on something as he worked me into a boiling, squirming frenzy.

“Gods be damned, there is nothing more divine than watching you come apart at the seams.”

I clenched around his fingers, the friction sending a low cramping heat to my stomach. Every nerve in my body, raw and receptive, hungered for touch. Rolling my hips, I mindlessly caressed my nipple, my muscles tight, trembling. Climbing.