Page 16 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

She stared, fascinated by both the mystical plant species—and Garin. She felt he could go on forever about his studies in botany, and she would gladly listen to them if it meant hearing him speak about what he enjoyed learning.

“And this plant, then?” She looked down to the thorn.

“This,” he said, sealing her wound with a last pass of its warm, clear sap, “is Aloe vera , found in warmer regions, used for healing and medicine throughout the world. This one’s from Spain, a recent gift from one of Lorietta’s trades with her passing travelers. As were the seeds from the New World”

“A human trader?” she guessed, and her eyes widened when he nodded.

“There are much older, greater empires in other corners of the world who don’t run screaming from the likes of us, believe it or not.”

He unwrapped a corner of the cloth from the knuckles on his opposite hand and brought it to his mouth, tearing a long strip of it effortlessly with his teeth. She found herself rocking forward, unable to keep from staring at his full bottom lip.

He seemed not to notice, or at least pretended as much, but he cleared his throat as he wrapped the base of her finger thrice, loosely, and expertly tied it so there was enough room for her to flex her hand.

“There,” he said, looking pleased with himself.

“The salve will allow you to heal normally.”

“There will be a scar.” She wasn’t concerned with the scar at all, wanting instead to feel his mouth on her.

“My saliva only heals vampire-made wounds,” he reminded her. “The scars we choose to wear are the ones that make us human.”

“Like the ones on my legs.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think better of it.

Lilac would be lying to herself if she really believed she hadn’t said it on purpose.

She leaned back onto her arms while Garin shifted to his knees and delicately cupped his hands on the backs of her ankles, just above her boots.

He looked up at her softly, his brows raising in silent question for permission.

When Lilac nodded, barely able to breathe, Garin’s chest heaved as he slid his hands beneath her dress, along her lace stockings, from her ankles to her calves.

His pupils were enlarged and fixated on her, his hands never breaking contact, and the bulge at his throat bobbed repeatedly as if his closed mouth had flooded with saliva .

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” she said, voice barely a whisper, entirely unable to concentrate.

He silenced her with a shake of his head. “No, you’re not.”

He was ravenous and did a poor job of hiding it, but his collected calm immediately broke the moment his fingers brushed against her dagger on her right thigh.

Licking his lips, he paused, carefully extracting it from between the material and her skin and placed it on the bed beside her.

They both stared at it for a moment, its jeweled silver pommel winking knowingly in the firelight, before he slipped back under her skirts.

He froze briefly when he reached past the lip of her garter and met bare skin.

His fingers roamed her upper thigh, tracing lazy circles as his eyes slowly darkened.

He shut them, frustration seeping into his carefully crafted demeanor.

Lilac bit her lip to withhold a laugh as his hands rose and met her hip bones, his thumbs slowly reaching inward. The laugh escaped as a surprised moan when he dragged a thumb through her arousal, encircling her clit.

“ Modron ,” he cursed, running his tongue along his lower lip. He ran his fingers along her inner thighs. “Where are your undergarments?”

She could barely answer with him toying gently with her cunt, stroking the sensitive creases of her inner thigh on both sides, making her blood pound through her veins. She savored the look of desperation on his face. “They’re packed away.”

“And I suppose tormenting me is your idea of fun?” His index and middle fingers found her next, stroking teasingly along her opening.

She was already so wet, she could tell by the way his skin slid over hers, the way his breath stuttered as she shuddered at his touch.

He gave a disbelieving laugh, the only pleasant thing about him in this moment, despite the greed in his eyes, which flicked up to hers. They narrowed.

“ You were going to hold our meeting like this ?” His fingers hooked into her garter, and he rolled the material of her stockings down, taking his time as he slipped her boots and the rest of the material off with them.

She flexed her bare feet as he courteously lifted one side of her dress, then the other to examine the fading bruises and scars on her legs. The one on her right leg—the one she’d shown Henri—made him stop.

His expression shifted from annoyance to something sinister as he reached beneath her skirts again, and two fingers found their way to her.

He made her wait, eliciting a growl of impatience as she wiggled, desperate for pressure—for relief.

Garin shushed her and bent; before she knew it, his warm mouth was on her inner thigh.

He inhaled, groaning low in his throat as he kissed along her skin, his tongue lapping at her arousal and causing her to shudder violently as his fingers encircled her cunt.

“I can leave a scar of my own,” he growled, smirking against her thigh. “Right—” He broke off, as if kissing her couldn’t wait a second more. “Right here.”

He pushed his fingers in easily, groaning at her wetness, and curled them upward as he thrust into her. Once, twice—sending tortuous waves of heat through her body.

“Wait. The guests are arriving,” she gasped. Anxiety warred with pleasure at her tightening core. “Upstairs.”

“You won’t take long,” was all he said. He drove his fingers deeper, his throat bobbing as he rose and shifted the rest of her skirts up.

Her fingers curled into his thick waves as he came down on her, his tongue lavishing her clit, causing her to gasp, her toes curling in anticipation.

She braced herself, had to remind herself to breathe as he thrusted into her and teased, sucked, flicked her until she began to come apart in his mouth.

He was right. It didn’t take long at all.

“Garin,” she whimpered, but he wasn’t done.

She came alive as he rose again, climbing over her, his thick erection digging into her thigh through his pants.

She opened for him as their mouths met, but not quite fast enough; he caught her bottom lip between his teeth.

Shock flooded through her, mixing with sweat, heat, and salt as his tongue entered her mouth and swept furiously over hers.

She tasted her own blood, and he groaned as his tongue greedily moved against hers.

Garin slid his fingers out to circle her flesh teasingly. Lilac whimpered into his mouth, rubbing herself against him. “Please,” she begged, sliding her hands from his dark curls toward her stomach, struggling to reach for his belt. The meeting could wait.

But Garin pulled away.

“If I catch you flaunting yourself like that again,” he breathed, his lips ruddy, keeping just far enough out of her reach, “I might not be able to restrain myself from taking you where you stand. ”

She could barely pull together her answer before he began slowly, gently stroking her clit again along the pads of his fingers. The tenderness of his touch clashed with the way he looked at her—into her.

He broke their gaze, only to slowly lower himself onto her collarbone, kissing up her throat.

The movement still caught her off-guard.

In defense, on instinct, she bucked against Garin, but this only seemed to excite him.

His fingers entered her once more, and with his teeth tortuously grazing her skin, his shoulders pinning her down, she didn’t know what to do.

Could he control himself?

Lilac shuddered, rocking forward into his hand, desperate to feel him deep inside her, desperate to feel his teeth pierce her skin.

Did she want him to?

“Drink from me, Garin.”

A low, strangled sound escaped his throat when felt him shake his head no , somehow resisting her invitation.

His other hand clamped over her mouth. Lilac whimpered under him, yearning to feel his teeth, the pain—her nostrils flaring for air as he silenced her with his palm, bringing her to the crest with his other.

Waves of fire and pleasure slammed into her.

It was instinctive and vengeful all at once—his fangs teasing the side of her throat, too careful to break skin as his fingers thrusted into her, pushed her over the edge.

Lilac breathed into her orgasm, convulsed under him, around him, and she tasted it before she realized what happened: the sweet savory of figs and honey on her tongue.

Lilac shut her eyes and saw something other than darkness.

The gilded edge of a desk. A white quill, and the warm haze of a fireplace beyond .

It was so brief that she could have imagined it. It could’ve been her own memory, and she would have thought it was if she hadn’t experienced seeing into Garin’s mind before, when he’d prompted it in her room with his blood drawn by a prick of his finger.

It was a blink, less than a second, then it was gone. And so was he.

Lilac lay there, breathless, before rising to her feet.

Even with him standing on the opposite side of the bed—his palm slicked in red—every inch of her body was flooded with sensation, as if his hands were still on her.

She wanted to ask how his hand was, but when she approached him he held it out to stop her.

It was barely a scrape, already healing .

“There’s a commotion upstairs.” His breathing was hard. “Please get dressed.”

“I have clothes on.” She hesitated. Barely. Her stockings and shoes were askew on the rug beside her, and her dress hung halfway off her body. “What kind of commotion?”

“It smells like Lori’s burnt something.”

Quickly, he crossed the room and threw the closet along the wall open. Tucked past his collection of cream and black tunics were several long garments in cloth, leather, and ribbon. Dresses. Velvets and corduroy, some of them mutely glimmering. He skimmed his hands through, trying to pick one.

The words left her tongue scathingly. “Are those from your other visitors?”

“Yes, nice of you to notice.” Garin extracted one and tossed it at her. “Each of my mistresses coincidentally have your exact build and height.”

She caught and unfolded a beautiful cream and forest green kirtle with a tan leather corset.

“There, that one matches the dress you’ve got on.”

“What’s wrong with the one I’m wearing?”

“These are different. Protected .”

Lilac glanced down at the piece of finery she held, willing her pulse to slow. The lace that ran through the built-in corset shone brightly in the firelight, silver and slightly glowing. “Where did you get it?”

“Shh.” Garin wasn’t listening. He was at the base of the steps cocking his ear, looking like he was struggling to focus.

Those garments hanging in his closet. Were they all for her? “What are those?—”

“Lilac, if you don’t put that dress on this instant, I’ll make you regret coming down here tonight.”

Heart racing, she stepped out of her gown and into the kirtle.

The material had a generous stretch while the corset was light, seeming cosmetic more than anything.

The leather was hand-carved in a curious pattern of filigree filled with angles, swoops, and leaves.

It was pleasantly shorter than her castle gowns, falling mid-calf.

Lilac donned her stockings and boots, then slid her dagger into the scabbard on the belt that sat at her hips .

When she joined him near the staircase, he was alert, eyes trained on the cellar ceiling. There was a loud bang , followed by a flurry of muffled voices and the scent of smoke. She blinked as they were cast in a beam of warm light.

“Have you been eating the queen?” The blond vampire’s head popped down into the room. His nostrils flared. “Oh, thank heavens, you were just fucking her.”

“What is it, Bastion?”

The inn shuddered before Bastion could reply—a low, resounding vibration that jolted the three of them.

Bastion jumped. “What the bloody hell was that?”

“A warning,” Garin growled. “Of any threat to the inn. What is going on?”

“Whenever you two have a moment,” Bastion drawled, “there’s smoke coming from one of your bags, Your Majesty.”

She and Garin exchanged glances. “Which one?”

“The one that isn’t your inconveniently sized trunk. And your most diligent guard Hywell won’t let any of us near it.”

Before she could ask anything else, Bastion’s head was gone.