Page 57 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
Somehow, I was reaching up, though I didn’t recall telling my hand to move. His chest stilled. My fingertips slid up his jawline, stubble abrading my sensitive skin. When my thumb stroked his cheekbone, tracing those shadows that so loved him, he pressed into the touch.
“Ariadne,” he murmured. The word fanned the inside of my wrist, making me shiver.
“You’ve charmed me, Ly, and I’m not sure I care.”
He made a sound that wasn’t quite a scoff. “You’re gifted; I couldn’t use fae charm on you even if I wanted to.”
So Iwasimmune to fae charm.
Everything I felt about him and every ounce of want—it was all real. Just me and him, no magical interference.
All I could do in answer was lift my chin, repeating yesterday’s invitation.
Good gods, if he didn’t take it, I would die of embarrassment, but the Lady of the Lake had said…
I swallowed as his gaze caressed every inch of my face.
If he liked me, I didn’t understandwhy, but maybe I didn’t need to. Did it matter what insanity had us both in his grip?
He was not what I’d expected from a fae lord. Perhaps I wasn’t what he’d expected from a human woman.
His hands slid around my waist, gentler than all those times he’d lifted me on and off the stag. But after that gentleness came a commanding grasp that pulled me against every solid plane of him.
My body thrummed with anticipation as he bent closer, closer, closer.
He brushed his lips against mine. It was barely a graze, but it set them tingling. One side of his mouth rose as though he knew the effect he had on me. His nose nudged mine, followed by another graze.
For all that he seemed content to take his time kissing me, his hands told a different story. His fingers splayed across the small of my back, bare skin upon bare skin. The other hand slid beneath the jewelled strands draped across the back of my gown, as though they were an obstacle between him and his prize.
I rose onto my tiptoes, sinking my fingers into his hair, thumb skimming the edge of his ear.
“Don’t,” he gasped, shuddering. His throat rose and fell in a slow swallow. “Don’t do that.” His voice came out raw.
I tried to pull away, but he kept hold of me against him. “Sorry, did that hurt? I didn’t mean to—”
He exhaled a soft laugh. “Nothurt, quite the opposite.” His teeth flashed in the gloom and I could only hope that same darkness hid my blush.
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.” His low rumble of laughter reverberated into me and I hung my head.
The damn stories hadn’twarnedme a fae’s ears were sensitive.
With a gentle grip on my chin, he coaxed me into meeting his gaze. His laughter had faded and that intense look from earlier had returned. “I’ve wanted this—youfor weeks, Ari. By no means am I going to rush this.” His chest heaved against mine. “We were interrupted earlier when I tried to tell you…” He shook his head, thumb tracing a tiny circle on my chin. “The evening star is the most beautiful, the most precious, the most special star in the sky to us folk of the Dusk Court.” As he spoke, he bent closer, until his lips were an inch from mine. “But you put even her to shame.”
His fingers slid into my hair, and he closed that last inch.
True to his word, he didn’t rush. He made a slow exploration of my lips, kiss after kiss after kiss, until I didn’t know where one ended and the next began.
I clung to his jacket, sure he was the only thing keeping me upright, as I tested and tasted each touch, the fire in my flesh stoking hotter.
Then it wasn’t slow anymore. It was deep and dark and sensuous, his heat matching mine. I might’ve whimpered as he used that hand buried in my hair to angle me for better access, tongue delving, stroking, coaxing. My body throbbed and ached in want, pulse pounding at my throat and thighs.
He broke away, just a fraction of an inch. The breaths coming from him were as ragged as my own. “Are all humans so damn short?” He grinned as he lifted me onto the balustrade, putting us almost level.
“Are all fae so damn tall?” I narrowed my eyes at him, but couldn’t keep the answering grin from my face.
He shook his head, expression straightening. “You are perfect as you are, Ari. What I wouldn’t give to call you mine, to make myself yours.”
