River of Mists (The Waters Aeon Book 1) by Sylvie Greenhart

Author:Sylvie Greenhart [Greenhart, Sylvie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Latte Literary
Published: 2021-08-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Bhiarai

The walk back to the cabin seems to take an eternity.

All I can feel is Giam’s hand in mine, his urgency in every step, the sudden yearning that has overtaken me.

When we open the door, Thampistór barely looks up from his new favourite chair, where he is curled up in a ball. May the waters keep him that way.

With the door closed firmly and latched, the room is quiet. Too quiet. I can hear my heartbeat pounding as if dinner was just a dream and we never left this room.

Almost.

The thought of where we were last in this room almost makes my knees buckle. It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with someone that I forgot what it was like to want.

Giam runs his hands over my shoulders, which does not steady me. “Are you sure?”

Breathless, I can barely answer. “Yes,” I say. “I’m sure. Are you?”

His hands move to my waist and take hold of me so firmly I think my knees really could buckle and I’d hardly drop an inch.

A smile ghosts across his lips. With one movement, he pulls me up against him, actually lifting me ever-so-slightly off the floor and nudging my legs apart with his knee just enough that when he lets gravity pull me back down, and the slight friction and pressure of his thigh between my legs makes me hiss in a breath.

“Yes,” Giam says. “I am quite sure.”

With where he has positioned me, I can feel him hard and hot against my right leg.

He lifts me one more time, tickling a memory of mine of a sensuous dance I saw once at one of the Tiled Quarter’s many fairs. The dancers flowed on their own and then together, their movements provocative and tantalising, and like that dance, as gravity slides us against one another once more, he pulls away, spinning me until my back is against his chest.

With his left arm encircling my waist, his right hand slowly pulls my hair away from the right side of my neck, and I feel the momentary cooler air for only a split second before his warm breath chases it away, and then his lips touch the sensitive skin at my throat.

His right hand slips under my arm, his lips moving against my skin in tandem as his fingers brush the side of my breast. I cover his left hand with my own, and in a moment of boldness, gently guide it downward toward my hip. His fingers dig into my hip around the bone, and I lean back into his chest.

There is nothing like wanting someone and feeling their intent in every touch, the anticipation of each new place their fingers will roam, the tingles that cascade outward from every point of contact.

With Giam’s lips still lighting pathways of fire up and down my neck, he finds the hem of my tunic and hooks his fingertips under it just enough for his hands to touch the flesh of my sides, and his thumbs slide beneath the waist of my leggings.

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