Page 101 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
I’d found the one who’d stand by my side for a lifetime… formanylifetimes, and he was as glorious and beautiful inside as outside.
He lifted our hands and his eyebrows. “Shall we?”
The ritual. Of course. Feeling this connected to him, it was hard to believe we hadn’t already completed it. I laughed at myself and nodded.
With gentle patience, he extricated his hands from the cord, then pulled it from around mine. A low sound of satisfaction came from him. “We didn’t have to untie the knots to escape. That’s a good omen.”
“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows, looking up from his long fingers as he pulled the cord taut.
“Loose enough to allow us to go about our days, but still tied, symbolising that even as we do so, we’re linked.”
“I like that idea.”
He grinned and kissed my forehead. “I thought you might. Now”—his grin faded to a smirk as he took a step back—“I have another idea Iknowyou’re going to like. Remove your clothes.”
Just that look, so heated, made my skin flush and my body shiver at once in wonderful contradiction. Unhurried, I pulled the tie of my robe, the silk whispering as the bow slid loose.
Breaths a slow rise and fall, he watched my hands. He’d told me enough times that he loved them, so I slid the tie between my fingertips. The slipperiness of the silk sent another shiver through me as the sides of the robe fell apart, revealing a column of flesh from throat to toe.
Ly’s gaze trailed down my neck, between my breasts, over my belly, and I spotted the moment he took in what Sylvie had done to the hair between my legs, because his lips parted on a silentO. She’d shown me a lotion that removed hair and mentioned that some fae liked to go hairless or leave only a strip as it increased sensation.
Ariadne of Briarbridge really had disappeared because the idea of trying something new had thrilled rather than frightened me, so we’d taken away all but a narrow strip of dark hair.
And now Ly’s gaze was knotted there as he absently pulled the red cord between his fingers.
“My, my, Ari.” He exhaled, the edge of a smile playing on his lips, begging me to kiss them. “Just when I think you can’t surprise me further.”
For once, it wasmewearing the wolfish grin.
With a long breath and a bite of his lip, Ly’s gaze continued down that opening in my robe—along my thighs, my knees, shins, and feet.
At last he gave a slow blink and returned to my face. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask why I was still wearing the anything at all, and suddenly even the silk’s light weight was too hot upon my skin.
A roll of my shoulders and the satin slid away, rippling over me like it really was water
It landed in a pool around my feet, and Lysander’s eyes were just as dark, just as glinting. He took in every inch of me and nodded once. “My evening star, you are beyond beautiful. You’re divine.” His knuckles whitened as he squeezed the red cord as though keeping himself from reaching for me.
“You’re not so hard on the eye yourself.” I arched one eyebrow and cocked my head. “Although you’re wearing far too many clothes.”
His canines flashed into view as he grinned. “No, I’m wearing exactly the right amount of clothes. Patience, Ariadne.” He clicked his tongue and deposited the cord on the bedside table before retrieving a cobalt blue bottle. He spread its contents on his fingertips and the pads of his thumbs.
He prowled towards me, fingers and thumbs glistening as a woody, masculine scent reached me. It was some sort of oil and the scent was all him, without the sweet notes of rhubarb, and it made my head spin.
“My love,” he murmured, stopping a foot away, “my wife, my evening star, I anoint you.” He smeared the oil on my forehead, the tips of my ears, and along my collarbones.
I swallowed, fighting to keep my breaths deep and even as he moved lower. He ran that slick touch over my nipples, a softness in his gaze as he watched them pebble in response.
“My sweet love, my darling wife.” His voice took on a soft, lilting quality, like he was speaking from somewhere far away as he drew a line down from my belly button.
The muscles of my stomach tensed and my breath caught in anticipation, but he stopped at the strip of hair Sylvie had left.
So far, he’d remained intent on his fingers’ progress over my skin, but now he met my gaze and lowered to his knees. Something about the gesture jumbled my insides. I was bare and he still clothed, yet he was the one kneeling.
More oil circled on the curve of my hip bones, dotted on my knees, traced over the tops of my feet.
Graceful as a sabrecat, he rolled to his feet and produced the bottle of oil from his pocket. “Your turn.” He peeled off his shirt and unbuttoned his breeches, letting them fall before kicking them away.
The candlelight’s constant movement toyed with the lines of his body, highlighting this muscle, shadowing that one, before shifting and gilding an entirely different stretch of tanned skin.
