Page 156 of Ashen Torment

21

Hollowed

Dorian

My breath hitches as his fingers slide back over the marble. Those indigo eyes don’t leave me, fixed, challenging.

The rain beats against the window, but it’s nothing more than a distant noise. Everything else is concentrated on him; every curve, every tension, every breath.

I take a step.

Then another.

The space separating us vanishes.

I lift my hand toward him.

I have to touch him.

But he blocks it. His grip is firm, hard fingers tightening around my wrist. I feel the veins pulsing under his thumb, the beat is running faster than my own.

“Do not.”

“Evander...” I find myself lost in the depth of his gaze.

“You cannot.”

His breathing becomes irregular, and something inside me burns. My fingers want to slide over his skin, to graze, to seize.

I want to feel every muscle that offers resistance.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t move.

A motionless doll.

I do not like the emptiness in his eyes.

I feel the pressure between my legs, insistent, reminding me how alive this desire is. Then he pushes me, my back hits the wall. The contact is hard, cold.

I should be irritated, I should resist... instead, my cock swells even more. I swallow, my throat constricting.

“What game are you playing?”

My voice comes out low, hoarse, as if he had reached a hand inside my chest and squeezed it shut.

He merely lowers his gaze slowly, not toward my face, but lower. I feel the heat rise to the nape of my neck as he reaches out and slides his hand between my thighs.

His fingers brush the taut fabric of my trousers, the touch is barely a whisper, but it tears an involuntary groan from me. He traces the shape of my erection with one finger, prominent beneath the cloth.

The contact is so light it only makes everything worse, it offers no relief.

“No game,” he murmurs.

His breath touches my cheek.

“I am helping you.”