Page 89 of Foundling

His hands abandoned their work, instead coming round her waist to hold her hips. Like that, he drew her closer, into the curve of his body, as he leaned down to nuzzle her nose with his.

“You can do whatever you want with me, doe. I meant it then, I mean it now, and every day after.”

“Anything I want.”

“Anything,” he agreed, his hands sliding down to hold and squeeze her backside. “I mean to be whatever kind of consort you need. I’ll give you practice, comfort, support, children, even my life if need be.”

Leita snatched his chin. “Don’t say that.”

Attalus tickled her fingers with his forked tongue, grinning in the face of her frown. “But I mean it, agae. I would kill for you and die for you.”

“That’s not what I…” Leita’s forehead fell onto his chest. “I don’t want to talk about dying.”

“All right, then. What should we talk about?” he purred at her ear.

Leita shivered, gooseflesh rising along the nape of her neck where his breath cascaded down her back. The richness of his voice sent her initial ideas spinning out into something far more…stimulating.

Did she dare? Could it be that simple? Sometimes the simplest things or plans were the most difficult.

Could she really practice trusting with Attalus? Even…learning to be happy with Attalus? If she could learn these things, be brave enough to try, could that really unlock what she’d been trying for months to open?

“If not with you, then who?” She didn’t realize at first that she said it aloud, but that didn’t make it untrue.

He didn’t frown or ask what she meant. Instead, his hands were ever gentle, kneading at her backside, the tips of his claws just pricking enough to incite delicious sensation.

Wetting her lips, and gratified to see how his eyes tracked the movement, Leita whispered, “Will you lay on the bed for me?”

His tail began to thrash behind him, although the rest of him remained placid. “Of course, agae. Anything you want.” He bestowed a kiss to the top of her head before stepping back. Being Attalus, he couldn’t seem to help a waggle of his brows before sauntering over to the bed. A lascivious grin accompanied his question of, “Kilt or no kilt?”

Mouth dry, Leita answered, “No kilt.”

A pleased croon reverberated from across the chamber as he began to undo the knot at his hip. “As my Queen commands.”

Leita couldn’t seem to move, enraptured at the sensual, graceful way he disrobed. It only took a handful of movements, the thin fabric of the kilt easily falling away from his claws. He stood stark naked for her to admire for a long moment before finally climbing onto the bed.

“Back or front?”

It took her a moment to peel her gaze off his perfect backside to look at his face. “Back.”

He trilled with interest, flipping onto his back and spreading all seven limbs across the bed to take up as much of it as he could. His head lolled to the side on his pillow, those gold eyes following her as she walked—into her closet.

She heard his tail thump on the bed, no doubt confused, but she had a plan. Or, she thought she did. As she took off her simple tunic and trou and reached for the frothy silk negligee and dressing gown, she wasn’t so sure it was much of a plan at all.

But Leita didn’t let herself think. Instead, she let the cool silk ripple across her skin, falling over her in an elegant wave. The pearlescent fabric caught what little light there was in the closet, gleaming just a shade lighter than her own skin.

She doubted pretty clothes were necessary to seduce Attalus, but it was part of her plan. Over the past days, standing beside him, she rather enjoyed looking the Queen. It was something she could put on and take off, and dressing so seemed to garner her a little more of her council’s respect. She wasn’t some wild waif, she was the Queen.

Leita would never admit it to him aloud, but Attalus was right about appearances. Sometimes clothes were important, serving a purpose. And these silky garments were meant to allure and seduce.

Until it felt natural to do, she wanted their purpose and the confidence it gave her. She wanted to wear what it felt like to be desirable, to be someone who could take a lover by the horns.

He didn’t disappoint her when she reemerged from the closet, the long train and billowing arms of the dressing gown draped behind her. Attalus’s nostrils flared, and he propped up on his elbows to get a better view.

“I pulled that to the front hoping, but I didn’t think…” His smile widened. “You spoil me, phetala.”

“Remember you said that.”

Confusion bled into his eyes, but then his attention snagged on her magic wrapping around his wrists and ankles. Gently but firmly, she held him by his extremities, pulling his arms up toward either top corner of the bed, and his ankles toward the lower corners. His wings, left free for now, twitched and flapped in surprise.