Page 68 of The King’s Commander

“Kiss me, Vanni.”

I would do that, and so much more. Kiss her. Be inside her.

Love her.

He warswith his sense of honor, but I’ve no more patience for it. So I pull Vanni’s head toward mine. When our lips meet this time, I know they won’t part anytime soon. His tongue tangles with mine, and all at once, Vanni’s hands are everywhere. As gulls cry above us, the gentle protector becomes something more.

A warrior.

Intent on winning . . . me. But Vanni does not realize his battle is already won. I’m so enjoying every nip and lick of his lips that it’s only when the breeze reaches my bare thigh that I realize he’s managed to pull up the hem of my skirts.

The very intimate touch should be shocking to me. Instead, I only feel excitement and a rush of warmth between my legs. And then, before I can form a coherent thought, his hand is there.

Cupping me.

When Vanni’s groan reverberates through our kiss, I press against him, emboldened by the knowledge that I too am bringing him pleasure. It drives me to kiss him harder, faster.

And then his fingers enter me, slowly at first. His fingers match the rhythm of our kiss perfectly, Vanni every bit as much of an expert at this as he is at combat.

Every thrust is an answer to my years and years of questions. Why are so many afraid of me, my grandmother, my ancestors? Why does Father Beald threaten me so? Why does the very idea of healing hearts and exploring love scare so many?

Thisis why. We feel more keenly than others, and even for those not so in tune with the healing arts of love surely must understand this as the most incredible feeling in the world.

I whimper against his onslaught, my body clenching in response. Tighter and tighter as his palm rests against me. Presses while his fingers continue to tantalize.

Unable to withstand the intensity any longer, I give over to it. Separated from my body, if only for a moment, I cry out and pull away, even as I press into his hand. Vanni watches me, I realize.

That watching is my undoing.

Exploding into him, I struggle to breathe.

The corners of his mouth tug upward, his sweet smile at odds with what he’s so deftly done to me. When he lowers his hand and rearranges my dress, letting it fall to the ground, so many thoughts flit through my mind. Many of which I dare not utter aloud, for I have learned to trust my intuition, and I know no other man can do to me what Vanni has done just now.

“How do you feel?” he asks softly.

As if I can answer such a question simply.

He cups my face in his hands.

“I would give you that, and more, were I able, Aedre.”

Why are you not able?

The question lingers on my lips. I do not voice it aloud, however, as I already know the answer. I may have captured a very small piece of Vanni’s heart, but the whole of it belongs to the king.

His father’s mentor.

The man who raised him.

And who could possibly compete with a king?

Certainly not I.

Still pulsing from his ministrations, his hands now gentle where they were powerful and commanding just a moment ago, I struggle to get out the words.

But I do, nonetheless.

“And I would take it.”