Page 132 of Ashen Torment

“Lord Dorian.”

His muscles strain beneath the shirt clinging to his body, his shoulders trembling. His breath is hoarse, short, betraying the rising tension, and I feel a sudden heat course through me; excitement snakes through my veins and legs.

“Come... here,” he rasps.

I remain motionless, hands tightened on the blanket, my gaze not wavering from his wet face.

“Dorian.” I whisper, hesitant, throat tight.

He bites his lip, the gesture slow and unconscious, and the bulge in his lower abdomen twitches more visibly, more urgently.

I move slowly, knees creaking slightly against the damp wood of the shack, and I position myself where his head rests on the floor. I spread my legs, then bend my knees, lowering myself until I am looking down at him, forehead to forehead. Delicately, I catch one of his fingers, moving his hand from his face. His eyes scrutinize me.

I lower myself further, my face centimeters from his, lips close, yet they do not touch.

“It isn’t what you truly want.”

“And you, what do you desire?”

“Aucun désir ne m’est permis.”

“I can give you anything you crave.”

I smile faintly and lower myself even more.

You cannot give me what I truly desire.

No one can.

He lifts his head, trying to bring our lips together, but I only brush the tip of his nose with mine.

He remains motionless for an instant, eyes closed, and I see clearly every muscle of his body holding back, tense, as he fights the impulse to move toward me. I make to lift myself away, but his fingers close around mine. His grip is warm, feverish, he brings my hand to his lips without breaking his gaze from my face and grazes a single fingertip. Then he lets me go.

I jerk away and take two steps back, pinching that very spot to erase the remaining heat.

“You do not realize what you are doing.”

He remains stretched out on the ground, his breathing still irregular. “Are you still cold, Viscount?”

I pull the blanket tighter.

“Did you hear what I said?”

He looks up at the gapped ceiling. His cheeks are more flushed than before.

“I feel my body is on fire.”

Outside, the rain has lost its fury; it falls softly now.

“Go out into the rain, then.”

He stifles a laugh. “You cannot flee forever.”

“It isn’t that—”

“I will not permit it,” he interrupts, with a calmness that scares more than a shout. “You will bend of your own will.”

My blood rushes to my head. I feel my ears, my neck, everything warming.