Page 91 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)

SINFULLY GUILTY

LUELLA

T haren was a warm, imposing presence at Luella’s back. Her spine brushed his shirt with every breath; that was how close he sat to her.

Her skin prickled with chill bumps, the wooden stool cold against her bare thighs.

Bastian’s shadow was large, and she traced the slight narrowing of his waist, the way his strong thighs were slanted open, unabashed.

If only she could be so brave. She placed a hand over the Binding mark on her chest, her toes brushing against her discarded gown as she shifted on the stool.

She felt turned inside out, everything she had tried so dearly to keep buried deep down, lying freely in the open.

Her ribs were cracked, her heart flayed, bare for all to see.

For tonight, Luella could keep no secrets.

Her whole body was shaking, small tremors that quaked her thighs. She couldn’t get comfortable. The ribbon around her wrist tugged as Tharen did something at her back, and she was forced to pull her hand away from her chest from the tension in the silk.

Thunder rumbled.

"How long will it be like this?" Her words filled the quiet of Bastian’s room.

Tharen tensed at her back but remained silent.

"Do you mean the storms?" Bastian murmured .

The white sheet fluttered from a cool drift of air that appeared from nowhere, as all the windows and doors were shut. She shivered.

"All of it," she replied. "The storms… the feeling inside me. Will it grow in intensity? Will it ever cease?"

Bastian hummed. "That depends on you, pet." Just the sound of his voice made her blood roar like an inferno, and she squeezed her thighs together.

How could she make that pulsing feeling cease? It tormented her.

The vampire’s voice was filled with knowing as he said, "How would you like another gift?"

Guarded, she answered, "That depends on what it is, Bastian. Your idea of gifts to earn my forgiveness always seems to come with strings attached, and truthfully, I don’t much enjoy the idea of being tied to you."

He let out a shocked laugh that skittered over her skin.

"You say that now. But when you let yourself feel how wonderful it is to give up control, you will change your mind. I know of your thoughts. I know that there was something… freeing you found in being blindfolded. Tell me I’m right. Or lie and say that I am wrong."

Luella gritted her teeth, feeling the truth crawl up her throat. "You’re right." She had enjoyed being in the dark, something about it had made her head feel fuzzy, especially in those quiet moments in Az’s arms; or when she let herself exist and allow someone else to take control.

"You wear this so sweetly, pet… but I’d rather the lace and silk wrapped around you came from me."

The idea shouldn’t make her feel so breathless but?—

"How can you tell what I’m wearing?" She wrapped an arm around her midsection, nervous. Even as a part of her reveled in the idea of his eyes on her.

"Your shadow… The shape of it, unhindered by fabric. It’s sinful," Bastian quickly replied. "And I do have an imagination." Something deeper was laced between his words, but her skin was too sensitive—she felt too empty—to uncover the hidden meaning.

She released a shaky breath, shoulders curving inward. The action made her press back further into Tharen, and he shifted, the stool groaning under him.

As if her touch had ignited a spark of rebellion against Bastian’s command of silence, the mage taunted low:

"And you’re guilty,"

"Guilty?" Luella asked. "What have you done?"

"Hm, just a little imagining," Bastian said. "Nothing terrible. He’s a tease. Ignore him." Behind the sheet, Bastian’s head tilted, revealing his profile. He was looking somewhere to the side, but she was afraid to turn her head and lock eyes with Tharen.

"Is your imagination what comforts you on lonely nights? Because I cannot imagine anyone ever finding comfort in your—" Her words stalled, held back by an invisible force.

A lie.

"Finding comfort where , pet?" Mirth clouded Bastian’s tone. "In my bed? Because I can assure you, many have. But not whom I desire."

"Is that what you tell yourself while trying so desperately to earn my forgiveness?"

"No." His shadow grew larger. "That’s what I tell myself whenever I think of you. Only you."

She huffed. "What’s so great about me?" Now that she had started, she couldn’t seem to stop. Her thoughts were unfiltered water, streaming from her brain to her mouth.

"You truly want to start this again?" A pause. "Do you remember yesterday’s lesson—when I let you feel what I felt, see what I saw?"

"Make-believe is a powerful thing. I should know. I’ve spent my life wishing I could be someone—somewhere—different, wishing I could fall into the pages of books that I love and wear the mask of someone else.

If only for a little while." She pinched her thighs, trying to wake herself up from the dreamy, lustful haze that had ensnared her.

"For me, seeing isn’t believing. It will take much more than that if you want me to forgive you. "

"You’re the only one I desire, Luella." The sound of her name on the vampire’s lips allowed her to understand how serious he was.

She bit her tongue.

"We have time for me to prove myself to you, but for tonight, the moon falls, and with it, our time together," Bastian murmured. "Watch, and do as I do. Touch yourself."

Through the white of the sheet between them, Luella watched as Bastian’s shadowed hand reached down between the strong line of his thighs.

The flickering candlelight behind him left the act in mere shadows.

The impression of his body burned behind the sheet, and knowing that neither he nor Tharen could see her, she still found herself watching with interest, cheeks hot from shame.

"You should touch like this," he said, his hand disappearing into the shadows. The point of his elbow stuck out from his form, and she easily made out the movement of it.

She swallowed. That thing, that feeling… It was growing again.

Good. Let it , Bastian said into her mind.

He was showing her how to touch another male, yet his words never alluded to it, as if he were in some bubble of his own making. That was why she couldn’t help but say:

"You mean I should t-touch Vale like this?"

A low growl rumbled through her back as Tharen shifted—but he didn’t speak again.

Silence lingered.

A shaky breath spilled from her parted lips. The power within her swelled like ocean waves, and in the distance, the thunder grew louder. But no deluge.

Finally, Bastian spoke:

"Yes." His voice had lost its soft croon. "You should touch Vale like this."

She nodded, even though he could not see; swallowed, but the sound was too loud in the hush of the room.

"Use your words," said Bastian.

"Okay," she breathed. "I will touch him as you instruct me to."

"Good, pet."

His shadow grew, a flickering hand pressing against the sheet—just as he had done the night prior. With one hand still disappearing between his thighs, the other ghosted over the sheet. She shivered like she could feel his touch on her skin.

The air held a faint shimmer, sparkling in her periphery. No, no, no .

She thought the ribbon would help. Maybe it was her imagination.

Luella’s fingers tightened on the ribbon around her wrist, forcing Tharen’s hand to brush against her forearm. That one touch sparked a tempest of feeling inside her. A soft gasp fell from her lips. She could’ve sworn tiny sparks zinged between them.

Unaware of how worked up she was—or perhaps not, given that he was inside her mind—Bastian’s shadowed hand traced over the sheet, fingers dipping down and slowly following the path of her curves where they were cast onto the fabric between them.

"And he will touch you here."

He spread his thighs further apart, allowing the shape of his hand to be visible, and she watched as his fingertips moved lower, hovering over the space between her thighs. Her breath hitched.

"He will part your thighs."

The air was heavy between them.

"He will coax you open."

A question lingered on the tip of her tongue. She felt his prodding nudges in her mind and couldn’t contain the full-body quake that overcame her as he rifled through her thoughts.

"The place where your body yields," he answered her unspoken question. "Your most intimate spot." The sheet fluttered and caved inward under his fingertips. His hand was held right between her legs—when had she parted them?

"The King will guide you."

But Luella wanted Bastian’s guidance.

He inhaled sharply, his shadowed hand pulling away from the sheet. "Don’t ask for things you aren’t prepared for."

"But what if… what if I am?" she breathed.

Bastian’s shadow grew still. "If you have to ask, you are not ready."

"I’m not even touching you, yet I feel so guilty—" Her voice faltered, breaking into the softest of whispers. "Is this wrong?"

"No," he said, "nothing about us is wrong. Not the way you look. Not the way you ache. Or the way you look at me. None of it is wrong. We are everything right."

The ribbon grew taut around her wrist, the soft silk cutting into her skin as her hand was pulled from her lap to dangle at her side.

For the first time, she looked away from the sheet and saw the strong line of the mage’s shoulder in the corner of her eye.

Her eyes fell to her limp hand. The soft ribbon tied around her wrist, and Tharen’s large fingers wrapped around the silk as he pulled her hand toward him.

His skin brushed against hers. She wondered if he was even aware he was doing it…

Bastian’s voice pulled her attention back to the sheet. "You watched me, now I will watch you."

"You mean…"

"Yes," he said. "Touch yourself. Touch my shadow."

"Oh," she managed. "Okay." Suddenly, all her forced bravado was washed away, replaced only by trepidation and tremulous embarrassment.