Page 36 of Ashen Torment

He presses harder.

My breath vibrates in my throat, I can feel my heart beating beneath his sole. He is looking at my face, and a different spark appears in his eyes. Something ripples in that glacial calm. A thin flash that makes my fingers clench in the mud.

“Does something please you right now?”

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

“It suits you, Lord Dorian.”

Lord Dorian?

He leans over me without easing the weight of his boot. His breath grazes mine, while the mud clings to my back like a second skin.

“To be covered in mud.”

“Do you really think so?”

He doesn’t blink, looking at me as if he could pierce right through me.

If he thinks he can overpower me, he is mistaken.

I quickly seize his ankle. His calf muscles tighten, I yank him down effortlessly. His body hits the mud with a dull thud. Before he can turn, I am on top of him, my weight pinning him to the ground.

“Did you truly think your actions would have no consequences?”

“Let me go immediately!” his voice vibrates beneath me.

Ridiculous.

I grab his face. His breath hits my palm, hot. I twist his head and shove it into the mud. The sound is soft, unseemly.

“I just wanted to see what you would look like covered in mud, too.”

He sputters, spitting rage more than dirt. His shoulders quiver, his hair slides through my fingers as I hold him down.

His hair is... soft. A softness that doesn’t belong to this cold, rigid man. It is as soft as precious fabric, a heat I find indecent rushes through my fingers, and I let go abruptly.

In an instant, he exploits my distraction and turns, managing to lift his torso slightly, though not enough to free himself entirely. His face, his hair, everything is stained with mud, and the contrast with his blue eyes is fierce.

“You are a brute.”

My heart quickens, a sudden heat rushes through my chest.

I want to see that face in the mud again.

“You aren’t so innocent yourself,” I hum, and I feel that the more he struggles, the more my body awakens, betraying me.

Our breathing grows heavy, his forehead almost grazes mine, his scent mingling with my own. Instinctively, I move a lock of hair from his face.

“Viscount Evander.”

“I never gave you permission to use my name.”

“You called me Dorian earlier.”

“You are hallucinating.”

“You did. Perhaps... when you are angry is the only time your sincerity emerges,” I say, barely holding my breath.