Page 192 of Ashen Torment

“Viscount,” His forehead rests against mine, hot and sticky with sweat.

“Fuck... but you are... burning up.” His chest rises and falls in an irregular rhythm.

“Why... why didn’t you tell me?” The words barely come out. “I don’t—” he sighs, “I’m sorry.”

His nose brushes mine, he holds me tight again, but now the grip feels like a punishment.

I don’t know if I want him to stay or withdraw.

I don’t know anything.

I push myself up to a sitting position, my hands seeking balance on the edge of the table.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Do not feign magnanimity, Lord... it does not suit you.”

I try to stand.

“Stay still,” he orders.

I sneer. “Regretting it already?”

“You are raving,” he snaps, walking away with a rapid stride, his hands foraging through the furniture.

“What are you looking for?” I ask, trying to mask my raw voice. “Biscuits, perhaps?”

He turns toward me with a hostile look and furrowed brows.

“Where is the bell-pull?”

“You do not want my biscuits?”

Without shame, I point to the bulge in his trousers.

“À moi, il me semble que si.”

Dorian tightens his jaw but does not answer. He finds the bell-pull and handles it with precision.

He approaches again.

“Your servant will come now.”

“Étienne?”

He sighs. “Him... and I shall lead you to your room.”

“You?”

“Then you will tell that servant to leave.”

“Why ever should I?”

“Unless you wish for me to break a few of your servant’s bones, obviously.”

I slump back onto the table.

“Étienne won’t like that.”

“I don’t care.”