Page 66 of Consort's Glory
But he didn’t need to. Not right then. He could coax her, gentle her. Somehow.
Yes, they are. Margot, I know you—
The sound of a rusty latch unlocking cut him off. Theodore watched, wide-eyed with disbelief, as the old, grimy window slowly rose. The hinges squealed, and it wasn’t meant to open all the way even when it was new, but it was enough.
Stand back, darling.
Elves were, by nature, more graceful and flexible than most species. By dint of his lifetime of combat training, Theodore was in a league all his own. Three quick movements, a twist of his torso, a swift, silent leap, and he was in.
Even as he reached behind him to close the battered window, Theodore’s eyes landed on his consort without missing a beat.
Margot stood several paces away from him in the center of a checkered floor. He didn’t need light to see her with perfect clarity. Scanning her face, Theodore was immensely relieved to see all traces of her bruises and wounds from the blast erased and no new horrors from her jump at all. Her expression was wary, her rosebud mouth pinched, but the dark circles under her eyes were gone, and he could see a bright flush infusing her cheeks.
Theodore’s eyes dipped reflexively, his need to reassure himself of her physical wellbeing a pounding drum in the back of his mind, and felt his heart stop.
Oh.
Of course, he knew she was sleeping when he finally tracked her down. The way their bond hummed low felt almost drowsy. And he understood that to sleep, one generally did not wear day clothes. Theodore was of the “no clothing is meant for sleeping” camp. Still, he was blindsided by the sight of Margot Goode in nothing more than an oversized t-shirt, her lithe legs peeking out from beneath the hem and her little, clawless toes curling against the checkered tile.
His gaze skittered down her body before running right back up to start again, slower this time, starting with the top of her sleep-mussed head and down over every tightly compact inch of her.
Her collar bones and soft shoulder peeking out from the sagging collar of the t-shirt; her small breasts, nipples pebbled with the cold air against the thin fabric; her clenching hands curled against her soft thighs; her legs, smooth and faintly muscled — all of it only a handful of feet away, ready for him to explore.
Theodore’s mouth went dry in the same instant he went painfully hard.
A sharp bite of pain-pleasure told him his claws had retracted beneath his claw-caps, his body primed and ready to show her exactly how little she had to fear from him, exactly how much he needed her.
He didn’t even realize he had taken a step toward her until Margot scrambled backward, her eyes huge in her startled face. “W-what are you doing?”
Theodore ran his tongue over his upper fangs as he sucked in a huge breath. The scent of the room was layered with mildew and dust and the potent mix of things from the Market beyond the door, but above all of that, he smelled her. Ozone and Margot; desire and sweet, delicious woman.
Three days ago, Theodore would never have imagined giving in to his baser impulses with her. There was a multi-step plan to winning her, after all. But what was the point in holding back now? Margot knew she was his, that he was hers. They shared one mind, one soul, through the goddess-given lightning crackling in the very heart of her. He kissed her until it felt like he was burning up from the inside. She kissed him back. She bit him back.
They were well beyond the point of propriety, of cautiousness, now.
“Come here,” he rumbled, a purr building like a storm in his chest.
Margot made an indignant sound. “Why? We can have a conversation just as well with me standing here as we could with… with me closer.”
“Why? Because I want to touch you.” He held out his hand and curled his fingers twice, beckoning. The dim light from the street, barely enough to break through the layer of sentient fog obscuring the city, made his wicked clawtips gleam. “Come here.”
He watched her eyes dart towards his hand. They stayed there, fixed on his claws, as he held his breath. It did terrible, wonderful things to him to see her pupils expand, almost eclipsing her coppery iris in time with her deep inhale.
“Any sane person wouldn’t let those claws near their bare skin,” she whispered.
A thread of heat in her sharp scent, tantalizing and familiar on an instinctive level.
Glory save me.
Swallowing hard, he replied, “Who said anything about touching bare skin?”
Margot’s cheeks flushed. Her shoulders, so dainty compared to his massive frame, bunched. Before she could offer a retort, he soothed, “Would it make you feel more comfortable if I took them off?”
He watched, rapt, as her small pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. “I… I shouldn’t want you to touch me at all.”
“But you do.” That, at least, he was certain of.
Did she realize that she was slowly inching closer, her bare feet shuffling across the checkered floor in inches? Going by the look on her face and the way she hadn’t taken her eyes off of his outstretched hand, he would wager not.
