Page 86 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

She stared as his shadow traced along his side, skimming up over his ribs, elegant fingertips brushing along his thighs. He turned his head, revealing his perfect profile cast onto the sheet—the line of his nose, the strong curve of his jaw, the slope of his forehead… his plush lips.

She saw the long line of his fingers reflected onto the sheet as he held a hand up, tilting his head back.

The shadowed strands of his hair fell, tickling his shoulders, and she watched his throat bob as he swallowed, intimate and exposed, as his head remained tipped back, his hand held perfectly before him.

It was as if he were an entertainer on a stage.

A part of her hated it, that he felt inclined to put on a show for her—it was only her , after all.

Another part loved seeing this side of him.

The carefully curated movements, every action, every breath orchestrated.

Luella watched, breathlessly, realizing that she, too, was putting on a show for him. She was both an actor and his audience.

It was so quiet, she could hear the soft crackle of flames from the candles. The misted fall of light rain outside the castle drenched them in intimacy.

Head tipped back, Bastian slowly ran the tip of his finger over the line of his face, tracing down from his forehead, over his nose, following the dips of his lips and rise of his chin, until that finger traced along his bobbing throat, dipping lower. And lower.

Luella’s hands ached. She didn’t realize she was gripping the fabric of her gown so tightly that small tears marred the delicate material. She released her skirts, wiping her clammy palms on her thighs.

She wanted to look away.

She didn’t want to look away.

She was caught. Torn.

Hyperaware of her dry mouth. From nerves. From desire.

She had never felt this way before. Not when Graves had stolen her first kiss. Not when her bargain with Bastian had been collected, and he had first pressed his lips to hers amid the raging revelry of the Solstice. Not when Az had so lovingly tasted her.

Not when Tharen devoured her from the outside in—amongst a swirl of air, their joined magics.

And not when she danced with Vale, his hands spanning her waist, and those green eyes searing away every layer she tried so desperately to keep herself shrouded in.

Never.

Fidgeting, shifting. She couldn’t find a comfortable way to sit without becoming aware of the tingle on her skin and the pulse of feeling between her thighs.

"Do you know what pleases a male?" Bastian’s voice was a stream of heated water, building her up, up, up.

Luella licked her lips. "N-no."

A brush against her mind, and she was wrapped up in images, snippets of feelings. An ocean of desire. She was suddenly seeing herself from a different angle.

Through Bastian’s eyes.

The vampire let his vision of her trickle inside her, filling her with heated temptations and unadulterated desires.

She saw the small shadow of herself, shoulders curved in.

A few wisps of stray strands frizzed around her silhouette like a dark halo.

Her elbows pointed out, leaving a small triangle of empty space on the sheet where her hands disappeared into the larger mass of her shadow—clasped on her lap, she knew .

" This pleases a male, pet. A warm body and soft hands. Those breathy little sounds you try to stifle, but aren’t quite able to.

" Bastian’s eyes traced over the shape and dips and curves of her silhouette, and she watched it all through his eyes.

"Your shape, hidden just enough to let the mind go wild.

A canvas to reflect your grandest wishes and deepest desires upon…

Someone like you. A perfectly beautiful temptation, spun from the hidden parts of a heart. "

Everything felt too light, like she might drift away. "Are these lessons not to please the King?" she breathed. She didn’t wait for him to respond before she said, "Why do you speak of me as if you w-want me?"

The sheet rippled, and his shadow grew larger. A hand pressed upon it, and she itched to trace the shape of his fingers and the lines of his wrist.

Touch , he urged in her mind.

Luella let her shaking hand hover before the sheet, dwarfed by the shadow of his outstretched fingers. The fabric of the sheet tickled her palm as Bastian spanned the last breath of space between them and touched his hand to hers, the sheet the only barrier.

"Have I not made my intentions clear enough, pet?" he purred. "Have I not been open about how desperately I ache for you? Don’t tell me you have forgotten what it feels like to be on the receiving end of my desire."

A flash of his mouth against her breast, hands on her waist. Lips on her lips, her neck, her jaw, her cheeks.

I remember the taste of your flesh in my mouth. I ache for the day I can taste you again. More, deeper, better. Lower.

Her breaths stuttered out of her chest.

"Do not tell me you don’t lie awake at night, staring up at the ceiling as you wonder and your hands wander," Bastian said.

"I-I…"

She had wondered, but had never allowed her hands to wander, afraid that it was wrong.

He pulled his hand away from the sheet, and she let hers fall back onto her lap.

"Do you know what spots best please a female? "

The suddenness of his question made her splutter. "W-why is—why is that pertinent?"

"Answer the question, Luella." The letters of her name rolled off his tongue.

"No?" she said; she asked.

"You don’t sound so sure. Remember our kiss, pet. How it felt. My hands on you. My lips on you."

She remembered, oh, how she remembered. She could never forget.

"Was that not pleasing to you?" the vampire questioned.

Through the white of the sheet, she watched as Bastian’s fingers drummed over his thighs; her fingers copied the motion, tapping along her skirts, a flutter that mimicked her heart.

Luella exhaled, unable to speak—knowing it had been pleasing to her. He was inside her mind, he heard her thoughts. That was why he said:

"I want you to try to repeat what I did to you. Touch your breasts."

She gasped.

"Follow after me," Bastian murmured. "Watch what I do." He tilted his body at an angle, allowing her to follow the shape of his hands as he traced over his neck and along his chest.

She was frozen. But cracks were forming in the ice encasing her.

Luella’s teeth dug into her bottom lip. He couldn’t see her, not truly, just the impression of her.

Perhaps the anonymity was why she obeyed.

Or maybe it was curiosity, held back from temptations for so long, that she was begging for any crumbs she might be thrown, willing to chase after the forbidden.

She found her hands lifting to her chest, cupping the hollow of her throat. Felt herself swallow. Flowed down, fingertips tickling the swell of her breasts, grazing the delicate chain of Tharen’s amulet; she could not feel her Binding mark, but she knew it was there.

"Good, pet," he praised.

The pitter-patter of rain shifted from a lazy, misty drizzle to a soft and steady fall, shifting with her roiling emotions.

Take your breast in your hand. Feel yourself. Your softness.

The words were said in the privacy of her mind, but she trembled nonetheless from the utter lasciviousness.

Slowly, so slowly, Luella’s hand drifted from where it rested over the chain of her amulet and settled over her breasts. Her palm brushed over her nipple, and even through her gown, it was all she could focus on. She bit down on her bottom lip so hard she was afraid she’d make herself bleed.

Don’t tempt me, Bastian whispered.

What would you do, she thought, if I did bleed?

The sheet fluttered. The shape of his silhouette blotted out everything else as he drew closer to the only thing keeping them separated. Her hand flexed on her breast; she resisted the urge to pull away from him.

She imagined the shape of his plush lips moving as he spoke:

"I would rip this curtain away and take you to my bed.

I would start with a taste of the blood on your lips.

Just enough to quell the urge. I would explore every sliver of your skin…

until you felt me on you for the rest of your existence—until all I could taste on my tongue was you.

I would make you desperate for me." With his every word, a heartbeat thrummed between her thighs.

She squeezed her legs together, finding the pressure only made her more aware of the sensation.

"And only when you begged, when your blue eyes were filled with the shine of tears"—her eyes widened at the notion…

to cry from pleasure and not pain—"would I let myself taste you.

Let my fangs pierce your flesh and drink from you fully. "

With a paintbrush tipped in sensual reds and silky blacks, Bastian painted a picture she would not be able to recreate in even her wildest of dreams.

"But how would I—" Her cheeks were hot.

How could she enjoy the feel of his fangs inside her?

A low laugh laced with sensual promise. "I promise you this: you will enjoy every moment of it."

Bergamot made her dizzy, and further, reaching out to her with wicked tendrils of psychotic need, the crispness of winter.

"Does it feel good?" Bastian asked.

Luella still cupped her breast, heavy in her palm.

"I—no," she lied .

It did. It did. It did.

So good.

But not as good as his touch.

He hummed. "We’ll have to do something about your little lying lips. Can’t have you believing the lies you try to tell yourself."

She traced the stitching of the sheet, anything to not look at his shadow.

Electricity coursed through her veins. One more spark, and she would ignite. He sensed how she teetered on the edge of desire, scared to fall. And he pushed her.

With a touch in her mind, Bastian flooded her with feeling. She was overflowing with his thoughts, his wants.

Different than how he let her see herself through his eyes; this time, he let her feel his desires through his perspective.