His fingers had found the band at the top of my thigh-high. They tightened, flexing and unflexing, scraping blunt fingernails over the lace. When they dipped under the top, I couldn’t help but shiver. “Oh, I am fairly certain we can,” he said.
I met his eyes, brimming with heat and humor, and felt something inside expanding, decompressing. It was as if it had been there all along but there hadn’t been room for it until now. I was suddenly afraid that we could, too.
Chapter 24
I realized that the dress was being undone, but then nails scratched lightly down the length of my back and I forgot why that was a problem. The double heat from Mircea’s body and the fire had caused sweat to pool between my shoulder blades, hovering on the verge of trickling down my spine. As each ribbon pulled loose, his tongue was there, licking up the salt drops, tracing patterns on my skin. His lips brushed lightly over me, closing briefly on the individual knobs along my spine, sucking gently.
“You don’t understand. The geis—” I stopped because a particularly hard shiver had caught me. I had the definite sensation of being on a train with no brakes heading straight off a cliff. Mircea chuckled, which wasn’t anything like reassuring, and it was also a little alarming how fast the clothing was coming off. But then he was murmuring low, musical Romanian against my shoulder, and I understood every word down to my bones.
I felt the silk slip and start to fall as the material pulled apart. He laid me on the rug and bent over my right leg, touching his lips to the inside of my thigh. My shiver turned into goose bumps when his tongue met skin through the silk, and his teeth closed around the lace top of my stocking.
“Mircea, listen to me,” I said quickly, to cover the stab of arousal caused by watching him pull my stocking down with his teeth. “The geis went wrong. It isn’t the original spell anymore, it—”
“Is delightful,” he said, having tugged the stocking completely off.
“Now, maybe. But it gets stronger!”
Mircea had curled his hand around my other thigh, his thumb resting on the lace edge of my remaining stocking. He started absently moving it a little bit up and down until he hit a particularly sensitive spot and paused. He stroked lightly, as if he somehow knew exactly what his touch was doing to me, while I tried to remember how to breathe.
“I look forward to it,” he whispered, before pulling me into a kiss as slow and luxurious as cold honey.
Things became a little hazy for a few moments after that. I remember him stripping me slowly, his expression hungry and intent and strangely tender. I remember swift fingers slowing to stroke over bare skin while he watched me with suddenly dark eyes. I remember being stretched out on the blanket with big, careful hands, and touched everywhere, while the fire muttered smokily to itself and the snow fell harder outside.
“Mircea—” I stopped because a finger painted my lips with wine, silencing me before he kissed it away. More wine followed, running down my torso in dark red rivulets. I inhaled a deep, stuttering breath as he started licking a trail downward.
He brushed over a nipple, sucking gently as I shivered, tracing patterns on my skin with his tongue. Every touch of his lips, every breath, caused pleasure to run like wildfire along my nerves. I guess I finally know how he takes his wine, I thought hazily, before he suddenly thrust into my navel and I lost all thought.
Wine dribbled down my stomach, over my hips, down my thighs. He looked up, eyes gleaming with more than just candlelight, as he stroked over the center of me. My whole body tightened with longing for what I’d never gotten to have, what I’d never stopped wanting. I shuddered and pushed back against the fingertips when they passed over me again, and the hand withdrew.
I stared down the length of my body at him, aching, uncomprehending, until one finger returned, coated with wine, and slowly pressed inside. Tension leapt in my muscles at the intrusion, even though I’d wanted it, but the instinctive tightening of my body couldn’t stop the slow, deliberate penetration. Then it withdrew and a warm tongue replaced it, chasing the wine, tasting it, tasting me, as his thumbs traced restless little circles on my hips.
I was the one to break eye contact first, molten heat flooding out reason, my head dropping back to the rug even as I arched upward. His tongue talked softly to me, some unknown lan
guage of the body. But it seemed that part of me understood, part of me was pretty close to fluent, because ripple after ripple of pleasure spilled through me. He teased me by flicking his tongue just a little too slowly until I whimpered helplessly.
The darkened windows reflected the impossible sight of that proud head bowed over me, that clever tongue pleasuring me. I closed my eyes and breathed through it, desperately; almost too much sensation. He had begun with a gentle touch, but it quickly grew more assured, more demanding, until his hands tightened on my hips, jerking me nearer in an almost greedy way. And I guess my body must have been talking to him, too, because somehow he knew the pace I wanted, knew exactly the touch I craved. Pleasure slid up and down my spine like hot wax until it gave up and melted entirely.
Without being asked, I shifted my legs farther apart for his touch. And the geis instantly rewarded me: the feeling I had whenever I resisted, like my chest had been caught in a vise, suddenly eased. I took what felt like my first full breath in days.
And it terrified me.
I’d been a fool to think I could control this, crazy to let it go this far. If I became Mircea’s servant things would be bad, but if he became mine, they might be even worse. I didn’t think the Consul would be too pleased about having one of her senators under anyone’s control, especially mine. I didn’t even have to guess what her response would be: if I didn’t stop this, I was either a slave or dead.
My body was no longer taking orders from my brain—I literally wasn’t in control anymore—but I could still talk. “Mircea, listen to me. We have to—” I stopped suddenly, unable to finish; I was too busy swallowing the groan that wanted to slip free of my throat.
He heard the small noise I couldn’t quite suppress, and it crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I was beginning to worry,” he said lightly. “Most women are not still coherent at this point.”
I kissed him to wipe the smirk off his face, jerking him up to me by the two halves of his shirt. He drove the kiss deep as I shoved the silk off his shoulders and worked it down his arms. A toggle went skittering across the floor, but the heavy material wouldn’t rip—it caught on his wrists. I pulled back, glaring at it, and tugged harder, until it finally came off. Mircea let me, his eyes glinting, a smile playing over his lips. I ignored it this time.
“I’m glad you’re braver than your counterpart,” I said, as he laid me back on the rug. I still had one stocking on, I noticed. It looked a little strange, as it was all I was wearing.
“What counterpart?” Mircea murmured, kissing his way downward again.
“The one from my time.”
“And why is that?” he asked, his breath ghosting over me.
I tilted my head back, already so close—“He was afraid to touch me.”