Page 67 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

ELECTRIC DESIRE

LUELLA

L uella awoke to a hand against her breast and a throbbing between her thighs.

It was a strange thing, to wake up from a dreamless sleep to a world without sight. Her body held an awareness of the room’s temperature, chilled; the feel of the silken sheets under her, cool; and a body pressed flush against hers, hard.

An arm was thrown over her chest, keeping her trapped.

A hand rested casually against her breast, fingertips brushing over her hardened nipples every time she breathed.

Her body felt as though it held an ocean of electricity.

Restless, she turned her head, inhaling a scent of spiced bergamot, thick and rich like blood.

Bastian rumbled as she moved against him.

He nuzzled against her neck. "What a way to wake up, pet."

She shivered from the overload of feelings. Why did she feel like this?

"The lightning nearly struck you. Your power is begging to be rejuvenated, so to speak," Bastian answered her question out loud. He pressed a kiss into the hollow of her throat. "And what better way than a bit of pleasure?"

"Oh," she managed. A shudder wracked her frame, and her toes curled against the silken sheets. Bastian trailed kisses up to her jaw, holding her face tenderly. "But I cannot…"

"Hm?" Bastian’s fangs brushed against her, and she was so aware of the quietness in the room, the faintest, lazy drizzle of rain against the windows. "You cannot what?"

"The bargain," she supplied. "I cannot feel that way. Not with you. Not with anyone." Her breath hitched as he brushed a finger over the silken edges of her blindfold, turning her head on the soft pillow to face where he lay. His breath ghosted over her flushed cheeks.

"The bargain does not say you are never allowed to feel pleasure, pet. Only that your first be given to Tharen."

Luella nodded, feeling a stirring in her belly as he continued to lavish soft, wet kisses on her flushed face.

She felt for him, fingers curling against his bare chest. His muscles were smooth under her, his skin cool. She swallowed thickly.

"And I will never give him that piece of me. You know this, Bastian," she murmured.

"Why?" he asked. All the sensuality had evaporated from his tone, leaving only a probing seriousness.

"I… I will not give in to him," she whispered. "I will not give in to what he wants."

Bastian breathed her in. In the darkness, her hands tangled in his hair, holding him to her.

Her seductive, almost mercurial protector, taunting her in the forest with images of her fears, and then begging for forgiveness with gifts left in the quiet.

She could never quite figure him out. But perhaps that was what she liked about him.

He was softly enticing, where the others were not. Elegant and sultry.

"What if by not giving in, you’re doing exactly what he wants?"

"What do you mean?"

The bed dipped as he shifted, and she felt his hands by her head, holding himself over her.

"What if I told you, you had power still," he murmured.

"What if I told you, you were wrong," she murmured back.

He laughed against her skin, and she felt his lips on her neck.

"You can use your deal to your advantage, pet. You don’t have to give him yourself if you don’t wish. He knows this, so show him what he cannot have."

Bastian’s hand skimmed down her side. Her thin gown had ridden up to her hips as she slept, and his bare hands touched her hip, clad only in lacy undergarments. She blushed.

"Who changed me?" she couldn’t help but ask, knowing the lace she wore was not what she would have chosen for herself.

He nipped her neck; she felt his fangs prick her skin. Not breaking it, just flirting with the temptation—he was good at that, teasing.

"Don’t try to distract me. You know my words have merit," Bastian said.

"I don’t know how I have power when… when all of it has been stolen from me," she revealed.

"Don’t allow yourself to falter." He held her face between his hands. "Not anymore."

Suddenly, her mind was filled with images that felt familiar to her, but altered.

She was seeing herself from a different view—his.

Luella lay curled on the ground, amid charred earth and charged air. Her cloak was askew, soaked, just like her white hair, so wet it appeared almost dark grey. The white blindfold on her face was pure and untouched; her skin was pale, and her mouth was slightly parted. Destruction all around her.

A tree split in half, bark sagging as leaves fell in ashy swaths to the muddy ground of the forest.

Her skin crackled with electricity, lightning rushing under her veins like she was the very force of nature that breathed out and made the sky roar with thunder; breathed in, and made bolts of lightning crash to the ground.

Even in stillness, power radiated from her.

Bastian extricated himself from her mind as quietly as he had entered it.

"That’s how you are," he said reverently. "Powerful, even if you cannot quite grasp it yet."

Her body reacted viscerally to the vision of the electricity on her skin, the well of power inside her growing and growing. She ached from fullness, but something was still missing.

"You know what’s missing," he muttered. "Your power needs me— needs us—to feel full. Let me help you… Let me help you play with Tharen. Just a bit."

He was using sensual skill on someone untrained like her. It wasn’t fair.

Her resolve cracked like the split tree in her mind, and she found herself nodding slowly. "Only to taunt Tharen." She shakily smoothed her palms over his chest. "Nothing more."

"Of course," he purred.

And as if the currents that ran under her skin jumped to his, he grew restless above her.

Bastian wasted no time in taking her mouth. He pressed his lips to hers urgently, and she found herself arching up to him.

The thin strap of her gown slipped off her shoulder. She was indecent and naive, and a part of her feared being so vulnerable with him. Surely, he must have seen countless male and female bodies, alike. How could she compare?

Trepidation forced her into a stunned, waiting stillness.

Hands gripped her thighs and waist, fingers indenting in her soft skin. His mouth was so hot compared to the rest of him. He kissed every bit of her face, even pressing soft pecks to the blindfold.

"You don’t know what the sight of you wrapped in silk does to me," he murmured.

He went lower, grazing his fangs over her jaw, down to her jugular.

She gulped at the predator at her throat.

She felt him smile against her skin, and he playfully took her neck between her teeth, his jaw slack, but she knew all it would take was a mere instant, and her blood would soak the sheets and fill his mouth.

He pulled away, her skin wet from his saliva. "Don’t tempt me."

Bastian went lower still, and the power inside her welled and welled. The threads cried out as if desperate for the males who were absent, missing from this moment.

Her thighs fell open without her permission, and she shuddered as he fit himself between them, perfectly locking into place over her like they were two pieces of a puzzle.

The throbbing feeling increased, and she shifted, restive. "I feel so…"

Restless, he once more shifted, and she felt his cold, lithe fingers against the neckline of her gown. I cleaned and changed you, by the way , he whispered into her mind as his tongue lightly traced over the beginning swell of her chest. Azgorath helped. He was the one to suggest the lace.

Remind me to get him back, then. Even in her mind, her voice was breathless.

Hot breaths puffed over her silk-clad breasts, and her nipples hardened into firm, eager peaks.

With pleasure, he crooned.

And Bastian’s mouth fell upon her silk-covered breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth. She arched her back, a pleased whimper escaping her.

She had never felt anything like this before. Confused by her body’s reaction, she didn’t know if she should push him away or pull him closer.

"What are you… You cannot do that, can you?" Her voice shook.

He laughed against her breast, and she felt vibrations running through her from the sound. "I can." He licked against the silk of her gown. "And I am."

It was too much, entirely so. She shivered from the overwhelming sensations, and the air shimmered around her.

"Bastian," she breathed, threading her fingers through his silken hair.

Her body swayed, tugged somewhere else, to someone else. And Bastian’s words rang in her mind as she was pulled away from him:

"Show Tharen what he cannot have."

She landed on something hard.

Off-balance, she wobbled, but strong palms slapped against her bare thighs and kept her steady.

"Well, look at this," Tharen said. She felt his breath stir her hair, and she shivered, shifting against whatever it was she had toppled on.

She traced her fingers over the surface, feeling the smooth, swirling grain of polished wood. Her hands brushed against stacks of paper and rolled up parchment, a few pieces tumbling away from her searching touches.

She couldn’t speak, undone and worked up from what Bastian had just done to her.

Done with her. Her breasts ached; she was hyper-aware of every bit of her skin, where the cool air in the room left goosebumps in its wake, the soft warmth that radiated from somewhere to her side—a fire.

The faintest pop and hiss of bubbles made her dizzy, lulling her.

"Careful there, little lamb. I like my workplace neat." Tharen took her hand and tugged it away from the papers. "Though, I could be swayed if you had other ideas."

He stepped closer, forcing her thighs to part as he gripped her knees with his large hands.