Page 32 of Seduction of a Psychopomp
Inga was the name of the woman who had taken my measurements.“New marriage? I’ll make you extra. He’ll like it,”I recalled her saying with a happy wink and a mischievous grin. Had she sent this? Or had Victor requested it? Was this his sign that he finally wanted to join with me and become aproperhusband and wife?
Footsteps sounded in the hallway before I had time to react, and Victor froze two steps into the bedroom, his eyes widening the tiniest amount as he stared at me.
“This is what was in the package,” I told him, confusion clear in my voice as I turned toward him and fingered the silk strap that came over my shoulder. “Did you order it?”
Victor didn’t respond except to slide his gaze up to meet mine from where it had lingered on my torso, his eyes widening even farther, but I was getting better at reading him. As far as responses went, that was the equivalent of a stuttered, “Wha—what?”Not him, then,I decided.A wedding gift from the girl in the shop who had giggled about us being newly married.I decided to tease him a little anyway, and I could feel the mischief on my face as I fluttered my wings in a flirty little flickering motion.
That got more of a reaction out of him. “What is it?” His voice was hoarse.
“Lingerie,” I stated, but my voice pitched up like it was a question.
“Lingerie?” he repeated, his focus drifting downward to take in my garment again.
I felt a little silly standing here, dressed like this in front of him, with him being fully clothed. But hedidseem to like it. “So that’s a no, then? You didn’t buy it?” I took a step toward him, and his eyebrows came together like he was doing intense mathematical equations in his head.
He started to shake his head in denial, but only got as far as turning it to one side before he seemed to get stuck, still looking terribly confused as he stared at me out of the corner of his eye.
My smile was probably blinding. This wasfun. I’d never seen him so flummoxed. Perhaps if I had looked forhisreaction on our wedding day, rather than being afraid and searching for support from Apollo, this was what he might have looked like when I’d entered the great hall for our ceremony. It made my heart ache to have missed it. The thought occurred to me that I had been afraid of death for so long, and I hadn’t even really been living.
Now here I wasflirtingwith him.
What is it about proximity to death that makes someone feel more alive? In this moment I feltsoalive. “Are you sure?” I asked as innocently as I could, knowing I was doing a terrible job keeping a straight face. “Men purchase lingerie for their lovers, right?” I teased, knowing we couldn’t really claim to be lovers yet, but enjoying the process of getting there. “For theirwives?” I settled on, probably laying it on a little too thick, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He was too busy having an aneurism or solving the mysteries of the universe or whatever it was he was doing while staring at my tits. It’s not like he’d never seen them before. He’d cared for me while I was sick, bathing and dressing me. But I had been unconscious then, and he had probably seen himself as my caretaker more than my husband. Even after I’d woken, he’d been gentlemanly to a fault, turning his gaze away even as he helped me dress. Now I was practically offering myself up on a platter for his viewing.
His eyes snapped to mine, flaring in the same way they had when I’d traced his tattoo a few days before. It made me pause to consider that maybe his reaction was less about the tattoo itself and more about what it stood for. He may not have known what to do with me or what it meant to be a husband yet, but helikedthat I was his wife.
I decided to test my theory, stepping close enough to touch him again, and trying not to let my nerves get the best of me when he didn’t step away. “I believe it was actually a wedding gift from the tailor girl. She said myhusbandwould like it,” I said, stressing the word. I laid the nail of my first finger near the top of his binding mark and dragged it lightly down the tree from the top of the leaves to the tip of the longest root. I looked up at him through my eyelashes to find him looking dazed.
“Does he?” I prompted, and he responded with a silent nod. “I think I’m going to need your help to take it off,” I whispered.
He gave a rough exhale, and when his eyes focused, they were decidedly hungry. I wondered what kind of beast I had unleashed. How does one seduce a reaper? At least for this one, I decided to appeal to his desire to provide for his wife. His need to protect me and give me space to heal had been warring with both his own personal desires and his desire to give me what I want. And so I voiced very clearly what I wanted. “I want you to make me your wife.Properly.”
His pupils bloomed so large the pretty blue ring around them was scarcely visible. Still, he spoke through a mouth that barely moved, as if he thought moving any part of his body might make him lose control. “You are my wife.” I suspected if he had a tail, it would have been swishing.
“In my culture.”
He was silent as he considered this, his gaze making a circuitous route over my form. Not in a lustful way, as one might assume, although that part of his brain was definitely engaged. His expression was suddenly detached in a way that made me think he was judging my fitness for such activities. Was I well enough? That had been his stipulation before, after all.
“Okay.” The word was the quiet click of a lock turning over after weeks of trying to open it.
I blinked at him, unsure if I’d actually heard him agree. “Really?” I asked, studying his face to see if he’d truly meant it.
He nodded slowly, a single movement. His posture was stiff, and he stood preternaturally still. “Yes,” he said. “I’m at your service.” His eyes were maelstroms of desire, locked onto mine and pulling me into their depths. Nevertheless, he made no move to touch me.
I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering what his game was, and considered the books he’d been studying in the library. If he was unsure of how to go about doing this, then perhaps he was simply waiting for me to take the lead. He certainly didn’t seem… reluctant. I suspected my husband was somehow even more nervous than I was, which, strangely, made me feel even less nervous about it. I decided to start with something we had already found some measure of success with and work from there.
“I think we should practice kissing again,” I told him, infusing my words with bossy confidence.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Do I get to choose where I practice my kissing?”
I blinked at him, not expecting that. “You have somewhere you’d like to kiss me?”
“Yes,” he answered simply. I waited until he dropped his gaze from mine to the side of my neck and raised a finger to brush the skin there. “Just here.”
Sparks of delight shot through me, and I shivered at his touch. He’d been thinking about kissing me? “Then do,” I told him breathlessly.
He bent slowly, tilting his head until he could graze the delicate skin at the base of my neck with his lips. My heart was already racing as he raised his hands to touch my face and arm, only making contact with the lightest pressure from the tips of his fingers. It was the softest, most feather-light kiss I’d ever experienced, as if I were the most fragile flower bloom in existence. Heat coated my neck as he released a small sigh, and the next press of his lips was firmer, and then firmer again as he began to make his way up to my jaw. I felt his tongue dart out to taste the skin just below my ear, and I sighed his name as I arched to give him more access. At least… I thought I’d sighed his name. What I’d actually said was “Husband,” and I didn’t realize it until he’d groaned in response. He practically melted into a puddle, moaning into my neck with a husky, humorless chuckle. Stepping around me while continuing to work his way over my jaw to kiss my mouth, he backed toward the bed while gently drawing me along with him. We broke our kiss for him to seat himself on the mattress, and he quickly removed his jacket while toeing off his shoes.
