by Anya Bast
“You say you don’t intend to teach, but I wondered, if while I’m here, maybe you could impart to me some of what you know. If it’s too much of an imposition, just forget I asked.”
His eyebrows rose and he wondered for a moment if she was sincere, or if she was only trying to lure him in, using something she knew he loved in order to grow closer to him. But judging from the blush on her cheeks and the embarrassed way she wouldn’t meet his eyes, he came to the conclusion her request was genuine. Either that or she was a wonderful actress. “It’s not an imposition. What topic would you most like to learn about?”
She shrugged and met his eyes for the barest of moments. “You’re better suited to selecting one. Your choice. I have only a rudimentary grasp of the history of Rylisk.”
He nodded, his mind already whirling with possibilities. “We can start tomorrow morning after breakfast.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, leaned in, and kissed him on his cheek. He went very still at the feel of her soft mouth on his skin and the barest waft of her scent that surrounded him for a moment.
He was still standing there like an imbecile after she’d backed into her room and closed the door.
That night, after the fire was doused and the lights were out, Lilya found herself unable to sleep. She tossed and turned in the huge four-poster bed. Even though the mattress was comfortable and the blankets stroked her skin like the soft wing of a bird, she couldn’t find rest.
Sitting up, she surveyed the room by the waning silver light of the moon coming in through the large windows. It cast shadows along the thick area rugs, the sofa, and the chairs. The hearth showed the muted red coals of a fire that wished to be.
The fire inside of her didn’t wish to be—it burned. Ever since Byron had shown up at the temple, she’d been in turns uncomfortable, frightened, bliss-filled, and desirous. That man seemed to sow nothing but emotional chaos in his wake. She’d been happy to see him again, yet a part of her wished for the bland reality she’d been living since he’d left.
Thoughts thus occupied, sleep was only a distant aspiration. She rose, found her night wrap, and headed downstairs for a drink of water.
“Lilya?”
She froze at the bottom of the stairs and searched the darkness for Byron. She spotted him at a window to her left and walked to him. “You scared me. What are you doing staring out the window in the middle of the night?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She studied his profile in the silver light of the moon, stony and a little rough. No, he wasn’t pretty, but she thought he was beautiful.
Clearly, she was doomed.
With a sigh, she settled in beside him and stared out the window at the sweep of lawn that surrounded his home. “Usually when I can’t sleep there’s a reason for it.” She had a reason tonight, but she wasn’t about to share it with him.
He moved a little, seemingly restless. He remained silent for a moment longer than it took for her to wonder if something was really wrong. “Bad dreams. Why are you awake?”
“I often have trouble sleeping when I’m away from home. I was going to try and find the kitchen for a glass of water.”
“I’ll show you where it is.”
She followed him down a corridor and into a large kitchen, larger than the one at the Temple of Dreams. Their footsteps echoed. He lit two lamps, sought a glass for her, and filled it with water from the water pipes running through his home. Not many could afford pipes or had a large enough water supply to draw from.
“Don’t you get lonely in this big house all by yourself?” She accepted the glass of water and sank into a nearby chair. It was chilly in the huge room and she shivered.
“Now that my family is gone, yes, sometimes, but I’m used to it being big and empty. You’re used to a bustling house with lots of people in it at all times.”
“It helps me feel less lonesome. I hate feeling lonely.” She sipped her water. “I guess I felt so alone after my father died that I developed a serious aversion to it. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t stay in the house you so graciously provided for me. After what happened, I could have easily become a recluse there.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. The world benefits from your presence.” He paused. “Alek is already warming to you.”
In the low light of the room, she studied him. “You’re a strange man, Byron, wanting what you want from me. I don’t understand it.” She finished the rest of her water and stood, pulling her wrap more firmly around her against the chill. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“I’m unique, am I? I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Indeed, you’re matchless in your inscrutability.”
His brows rose. “Am I now?”
Hiding a smile, she walked over to set the glass on the counter, coming deliberately close to him. She was pleased when he didn’t back away. His body felt nice, warming her through her clothes. They had nice rapport. There were few men she shared this kind of energy with and, with this particular man, she wanted to explore it further. And not because she could control it, or use it, or because she wanted him to pay her.
She just wanted him because he was Byron.
He turned toward her and cupped her face in his hands. Lowering his head, he tasted her lips and her knees went weak. His mouth dragged across hers slowly as he rocked her back against the counter. It seemed like she’d been waiting forever for this.
“Lilya, I want you,” he whispered. “Having you here, so close to me, and not touching you, it’s torture.”
“I want you too, Byron, you know that.” Her hands found his waist and the hem of the shirt he slept in. His skin beneath felt warm under her palms, the muscles of his back tight as he moved. He brushed the shoulder of her night wrap, pulling it down and off. It slithered to the floor at her feet. She didn’t even feel the cold, not when she was in his arms.
“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he murmured against her lips.
“So have I.” Her nipples had gone hard and pressed through the thin fabric of her nightgown. “I’ve chosen all my partners, but I’m not sure I’ve wanted to be with a man as much as I want to be with you right now.” Her voice trembled from the force of that desire.
He stilled in the semidark, one hand at the nape of her neck, and stared down at her as if he couldn’t believe what she’d just said. For a moment he looked like he would say something, but instead he lowered his mouth and kissed her again, this time slanting his mouth hungrily over hers and slipping his tongue deep into her mouth.
She gripped his upper arms, appreciating the bunch and flex of them as he made minute movements. Anticipation thrilled through her body, raced through her veins, and set her heart to thumping out a crazy rhythm she hadn’t felt in years.
He broke the kiss softly and murmured against her lips, “Then come to my bedroom and let’s do this right.”
Her answer came without hesitation. “Yes.” She forced herself not to whimper and add a please. The depth of her desire for this man frightened her, yet she was far too immersed in her need to put a stop to this. Desire overrode good sense and she didn’t care.
He took her by the hand, a hand that felt warm and strong in hers, and led her up the stairs to his bedroom. Anticipation of being intimate with him raced through her blood in a way she’d never experienced. Six years ago he’d been all she’d wanted and had never been able to have.
And now, he was hers, if perhaps only just for a night.
A low fire burned in the enormous stone hearth that dominated one wall. To her right stood a divan, two chairs, and a low table. At the other end of the room was a huge four-poster bed, the size of which only the very wealthy possessed, covered with pillows at the top, soft sheets, and a thick comforter, all mussed from his body. For a crazy moment she resisted the urge to dive across the room, into the bed, and roll in the scent of him that undoubtedly lingered in the blanket folds. Soon she would have the real thing—his bare body up against hers.
> They’d left her wrap on the floor of the kitchen. He lifted her nightgown over her head, tossing it to the couch. Then he stood back and took in her nude body, bathed by the gentle glow of the fire that burned in the great stone hearth.
“You are more beautiful than I ever imagined.” His voice was low, gruff, filled with an intense arousal that heated her blood.
She stepped toward him, intending to make him every bit as nude as she was, but he lifted her suddenly into his arms, making her squeal with surprise. He walked her over to the bed and tossed her down onto the mattress. The softness of the bed enveloped her, making her laugh for the sheer joy of being with him. She rolled in the comforter, burying her face in his pillow and inhaling the scent that clung to it—leather, a little wood smoke, and a hint of his spicy aftershave. Heaven.
Byron made a low, hungry sound in the back of his throat. “You look good in my bed, Lilya. I may decide to keep you there for the next three weeks.”
She rolled onto her back and looked at him. “I have no problem with that.” The words came out a little breathless. “Come here.”
Seven
He pulled his shirt over his head and Lilya’s breath caught. Like Alek, Byron was not as weak-limbed as one might presume since he was rich and, therefore, relatively idle. She would have to ask both of them about that soon. She’d always known that Byron had strength; it was apparent under his clothes. His chest and upper arms were pleasingly muscled as if he engaged in some kind of hard exercise on a regular basis.
It was rare she had such men in her bed, but she enjoyed it. It made her feel protected in a way that she supposed harkened back to the primal days of their species. Woman, wanting the protection of a man’s strong arms. Byron was the first and only man ever to make her feel that way . . . truly protected.
This was the first time in years she’d had a liaison with a man that wasn’t carefully planned out, but this was Byron. She felt free to let herself go with him. She trusted him.
Byron lowered himself onto the mattress, coming over her, his gaze completely caught with hers. “You’re going to break my heart, Lilya,” he murmured a moment before his mouth came down on hers.
She wanted to reply, to protest that eventuality, but his mouth dropped to her breast and she became suddenly incapable of speech. His hot tongue skated over her nipple, making it hard, sending shocks of pleasure through her. All the nerves burst to life and she arched her back, moaning, while he sucked it into his mouth.
Her fingers found his hair and tangled through it, mussing the thick tendrils, before she dropped her hands to his shoulders and slid them down his back. She loved the heat of his body, the smooth iron silk of his warm skin covering hard muscle. Touching his body was a sensual treat.
Her hands smoothed downward, finding the waistband of his cotton sleep pants and pushing them down. Her fingers found and wrapped around his cock, and a low groan vibrated up from his throat. He was thick and long against her palm, utterly fascinating. She stroked him and he moved against her, murmuring her name. Then he moved down her body, out of her reach.
His hands slid over her breasts and her abdomen, finding her thighs and parting them. He ran his mouth over the sensitive place where her inner thigh met her sex and brushed his lips against it, giving it a kiss. He remained that way for several long moments, making her want to squirm with anticipation. Right when the word please had risen in her throat, his tongue found her clit and licked. She shuddered with pleasure, her fists finding and clenching in the sheets and blankets.
Making a hungry sound in the back of his throat, he pinned her thighs to the bed and closed his mouth over her achy, swollen clit, gently sucking the aroused area between his lips. The thought of Byron’s sensual mouth on her was even more exciting than the actual act. The sight of his dark head moving between her thighs nearly undid her.
Her back arched, and her head fell back against the pillow. Body tightening, she cried out. He’d taken her to the very edge of a climax, where only teasing, delicious pleasure existed. Her mind emptied of all but his mouth on her and the ecstasy slowly building to a shattering crescendo.
He dropped his mouth down a degree and found her sex, spearing his tongue inside her and thrusting in just the way she wanted his cock. Men rarely did this to her and never with such sure hands and mouth. Instead she was usually one the taking the lead and giving all the pleasure. It made sense, she guessed, since it was her services the men had paid for. This was different, something that even in all her experience she’d never had for herself.
He licked over her as though he’d waited forever to do this, like he loved it. Lilya clung to the bedclothes and hung on, dangling deliciously on the precipice of a powerful climax. He sucked her clit into his mouth again, tonguing it, while two of his thick fingers found her entrance and pushed inside. He found a sensitive place deep within her and dragged his fingertips over it.
“Byron.” His name came out a low, pleasure-laced gasp a moment before delicious, explosive pleasure burst over her body, sweet as the ripest berry, stealing her thoughts and nearly her ability to breathe. She hung on as it washed through her body, making her tingle and moan, making her toes curl and her sex convulse around his thrusting fingers.
Then he was there, above her, his dark gaze intense. The head of his cock found the entrance of her sex and she welcomed him, tilting her hips up and guiding him inside her. He rocked in and out, easing himself deep within her inch by inch, stretching her inner muscles until he’d seated himself root-deep inside her.
Her arms came around him and she buried her nose where his throat met his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him. His hand smoothed down her back, cupped her rear, and he began to move inside her, first with long, slow strokes, coming nearly completely out of her with every outward thrust and then filling her again. She could feel every inch of him deep inside her, every vein, and every ridge of his shaft. Then his rhythm grew faster and she met him stroke for stroke, their bodies fitting together perfectly. They moved like one being, sharing pleasure.
Taking her hands in his, he stretched them over her body, pinning them to the mattress as he moved deep inside her. His mouth found hers. He murmured her name against her lips in a way that made emotion burst through her chest like she’d bitten into the sweetest piece of cake.
Heaven.
Tears pricked her eyes. His lips brushed hers and then slanted over her mouth, his tongue finding hers in the deepest part of her mouth and then his physical possession of her was complete.
They came together, their limbs and mouths tangled and enmeshed. A second climax exploded through her body, making her sob. He murmured her name, gave a hoarse shout, and spent himself deep inside her.
When it was over, he clung to her like he didn’t want to let her go—or maybe that was wishful thinking on her part. Tears silently squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. She didn’t want him to leave her body and hung on to him as though drowning. She’d never known she’d been drowning until now, until this man had made love to her.
And this had been making love, even if they weren’t actually in love. There was no other term for it. This hadn’t been fucking or even merely having sex. This had been no careful act, where she’d taken the lead, coaxing some shy man to touch her. This had been powerful, explosive, an even give-and-take of pleasure.
Slowly, his cock went flaccid inside her. He rolled to the side and pulled her toward him, kissing her lips gently. “Why are you crying?” he whispered.
She wiped a stray tear away and laughed. “I don’t know. It’s stupid.” Her emotions were a painful mess inside her chest and she couldn’t seem to parse them all out. “That was beautiful.”
He kissed her again and sighed against her lips. “We fit well together, you and I. In almost every way, even in bed.”
She cupped his cheek. “I always thought we did.”
“Mind what I said. I might just keep you here in my bedroom for the next three weeks.”
/> She smiled and ran her fingers down his cheek. He needed to shave and his skin prickled her palm. “That won’t help Alek.”
“Fuck Alek. I want you for myself.”
The vehemence with which he said those words made heat flare inside her. She snuggled into his chest and enjoyed the feel of his bare body against hers. She hadn’t been this content in a very long time and she intended to enjoy it for as long as it lasted.
Alek entered the kitchen, found a pot, and filled it to make coffee. As soon as the heated cooking counter had been made available for sale, Byron had had one installed. It was very nice. Alek didn’t even have one in his kitchen yet.
The Tinkers’ Guild had been releasing many useful inventions since the fall of the royal family and the populace watched them all with interest. Alek already saw that the new devices were creating a rift between the haves and have-nots, however—not unlike the rule of the Edaeii family. It would be fascinating to watch how materialism widened that gap in the coming years and the effect it would have on their society.
He set the pot onto the heating implement and his shoe caught in something on the floor. He looked down to find a filmy woman’s night wrap under his boot. He knelt to pick it up, frowning as to why it would be there, when realization dawned. A whole possible nighttime scenario played itself out in his mind.
Of course. And why not?
They hadn’t come out and said it yesterday, when Lilya had been telling him her story, but her feelings had been clear enough in her voice and eyes when she looked at Byron. Alek knew Byron well enough to know that he never would have taken advantage of a woman who’d gone through something like what Lilya had endured. That meant the emotions between them had been simmering for six years. It was about time they give physical voice to them.
Just as the water was growing hot, Byron and Lilya entered the room, both laughing. They saw him and immediately sobered, but Alek caught the bright look of happiness in Byron’s eyes before his smile faded.
