Page 232 of Ashen Torment

“Only you, Viscount, make me lose all decorum and force me to such obscenities before anyone,” he whispers in my ear, his voice hoarse.

I feel his length against my leg.

“It is you who...” I mutter, my lips grazing his, “it is you who have awakened my flesh, and make every last semblance of control vanish.”

I move my hips closer to his.

He must know what he provokes in me.

He feels it, and his body pulses in response along with mine.

“I never know what to expect from you,” he breathes, the veins in his neck taut, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You must expect nothing.”

The words come out calmly, but I see him stiffen as if I had shifted the very air around us. I grab the nape of his neck and bring my mouth to his chin. My teeth sink in. His arms tighten around me more, his cloak rustling against my side.

“It delights you to torment me.”

I smile without granting him a look.

Dorian lowers his forehead against mine, his breath brushing my lips. “You wish to torment me as you are tormented yourself.”

I pull away abruptly, taking a step back. Blood rushes to my face, I feel it warming my cheeks, betraying me right down to my ears.

“You know nothing.”

He reaches a hand toward me, hesitant for the first time. His fingers remain suspended in mid-air.

“Evander—”

Then his gaze breaks. I see him furrow his brow, lower his eyes, following an invisible line down his own leg. I look down to where his gaze has stopped and see a dark, damp mass pressed against the polished leather of his boot, stubby fingers clamped around his ankle.

The toad gives a faint croak, its glossy skin reflecting the pallor of sky. A shudder runs through me. I hold my breath, my eyes widening instinctively.

“What the hell—” Dorian snarls.

He shakes his leg with a sharp motion, then another; his cloak flies open, his hair sliding over his forehead, disheveled, as he tries to rid himself of that indecorous presence. I press my lips together, my shoulders trembling slightly. I look away, but it is useless.

“Do you find it funny?” he hisses, irritated, throwing me a grim look from beneath the messy locks.

Control slips from my grasp. Laughter explodes from my chest, full, sonorous, too loud to be held back. I lean forward slightly, resting a hand on my hip.

He freezes and looks at me, one eyebrow slowly rising while the corner of his mouth gives way to a soft smile, despite himself.

“So, you know how to laugh even when sober.”

“I see you...” I manage to say between breaths, “...in evident difficulty.”

His smile changes. It becomes thin, dangerous. He calmly leans down and seizes the toad with his hands. The animal flails slightly.

My laughter dies instantly. I take a step back, then another.

No.

“Don’t you dare.”

He straightens with the toad clutched between his fingers and looks at me.