Page 159 of Ashen Torment
“Shame... hngh... has never belonged to me, Evander.”
My hands stiffen against the wall, knuckles turning white, shoulder blades contracted.
“And certainly... it won’t belong to me for something...” my chest rises and falls in a rapid cadence, “...that makes me burn so much that I wonder if I have ever been... before...”
That indigo captures me. The hand on my tip squeezes with resolve, and his eyes so intense, so close but not enough, stop me before I can even finish the sentence.
“...alive.”
The word leaves me more like a grunt than a sound.
My belly pitches forward and a sudden heat invades me, rapid, searing. A hot spill of cum slides over his hand. Another follows, and another still, and my perception narrows to that wet contact, to the tremor clawing its way from my hips to my shoulders.
He doesn’t move until I feel the end of the tumult in my body.
I reopen my eyes slowly, and after a moment that feels suspended, he takes a few steps back. He doesn’t turn his gaze from my eyes; with a calm gesture, he takes a handkerchief from the workbench.
Evander wipes it over his hands, slowly, as if to erase every trace, then throws it at my feet.
I furrow my brow, my breathing still ragged, my cock taut and sensitive.
It’s not enough.
I take a step toward him.
“Viscount.”
He remains motionless, but his chest heaves with a frantic rhythm.
My gaze slides between his legs, where the proof of his desire is still evident.
One more step.
Then another. Slowly, never taking my eyes off his.
Our breaths mingle just inches apart, I tilt my face over his.
I want to devour his mouth, to rip the tremor out of his silences and feel it vibrate against my tongue.
Two fingers drop onto my chest, between the sternum and the throat, firm as a seal.
“Do not dare.”
My heart accelerates, confused.
“Why?”
“It isn’t me you want,” he takes a step back. “...but the thrill you felt...”
Another step, the distance grows, “...a new form of lust, that empties and never remains.”
Heat invades my face. Rage seeps between skin and bone, a fire that mixes frustration and unquenchable hunger.
My mouth is dry, my hands seek something they cannot grasp.
Every inch Evander gains by backing away amplifies the desire, the lack, the silent rage burning inside me.
Ty kem sebja vozomnil? Who the fuck do you think you are?
