Page 67 of Tempt

Eissa doesn’t move, standing still as I slowly peel the flowers and leaves away, careful so as not to tear them. There are times I want to stop and stare, to run my hands across his body, to make him moan, but I don’t. I stay focused, and if I do let my fingers brush against him more than necessary, well, that’s what he gets for trying to run away.

When I’ve finally peeled the vines away from his arm, I kneel down onto the dirt and work on the one wrapped around his leg. It’s wound its way up his tunic, and I have to push it up to get the tail end of it.

I half-expect Eissa to stop me, but as my fingers drift up his thigh, he doesn’t move. He just stands there, his chin on his chest, his ears fluttering as I work.

Something in me suddenly feels bold. I push the fabric up farther, wanting to see more of him, all of him, and he doesn’t step away.

Instead, his free hand curls into his tunic and bunches it up above his waist. As more of his skin is revealed, I see small lines cascading over him—the skin is thicker and a lighter blue—and I realize that they’re scars. My breath hitches in my chest, and I fight the urge to touch them. To ask what happened.

But I’m not distracted by them for long. He pulls his tunic up to his hips, and then I see it. His slit, and the tip of a cockhead trying to push through. I’ve never seen a Vyastil cock. I had no idea what lies beneath the clothes they wear.

I want to lean forward and brush my lips against it, to suckle on the tip, but I don’t. I won’t. Not until he’s begging me to touch him. I turn my gaze away and peel the last bit of vine from his skin.

When I finally lean back on my haunches, he inhales deeply. I see it in the movement of his chest, in the way his cheeks puff out like he’s relieved. Like he’s angry it’s over.

The fabric drops from his hands, and he steps back, far enough away from the rogue plant that was trying to weave its way around him.

I push myself up onto my feet and brush my knees off, my eyes finding his as I do.

The air is charged, thick with apprehension and tension. I want to lunge at him, to have him stick his tongue back down my throat, but he doesn’t move, his clawed feet almost seeming to curl into the ground to keep him steady.

His fingers flex, his claws poking out before retracting. He looks almost nervous.

‘What’s that plant called?’ I ask, not sure what to say to him. I worry that if I let my hands do anything else, they will beg him to take me. And I don’t want to beg. I want him to. I want him to take what he wants from me.

‘It is a thrassil, an invasive plant that won’t die.’

I laugh at that, and his chest heaves again. ‘Well, it seemed to like you.’

‘They tend to like those that try to eradicate them. They are chaotic.’

‘You seem to attract that kind of thing.’

‘Yes. Much to my dismay.’

Our eyes clash, and he lets his gaze drag down me once more. ‘Please put on clothes.’

‘Am I a danger if I don’t wear them?’ I glance around. ‘There’s no one around to see me.’

His shoulders sag before he nods. ‘No, most companions are naked with their Vyastil. But for me…for our arrangement…you are a distraction when you are not clothed.’

I watch him, debating whether I should give him some peace, should put some clothes on to make myself less of a temptation, but then I just shake my head.

‘Well, if it’s not breaking the law and it’s what companions do, then I’ll stay naked.’

His tail tightens around him, constricting his waist.

‘I think you need more chaos in your life, Eissa.’ I use the sign name I gave him, and his eyes soften when he sees it.

‘I don’t need your chaos,’ he replies, but I’m already taking a step toward him, my finger brushing against his chest, dragging down his tunic, making him shudder beneath me.

Then I meet his gaze, our lips just inches apart, and I say with my voice, “Yes. You do.”

fourteen

EISSA

I have not had proper rest since bringing Luca into my home. Each time I have tried, I find myself drifting into Luca’s mind. It sits wide open, especially in his sleep, and it’s there I’m drawn into his arms. His clever, perfect fingers find all the tender spots on my body I avoid acknowledging and yet can’t help but notice.