Page 121 of Lady of the Drowned Empire

Then it was time to cover his wounds. I bandaged beneath his eye first and had him lay back against a pile of pillows so I could place the cold compress on the wound. Then I bandaged everything else. He’d been kicked in the leg, close to his ankle, so I placed a pillow beneath his foot, keeping it elevated and praying it would heal come morning. It looked only slightly swollen—no doubt thanks to the healing abilities he had as a soturion.

Once he was cleaned and bandaged, I added a log to the fire to make sure he was warm. As I was about to open his bag to look for sweats for him to wear, I felt his gaze on me from across the room. I turned back to see his eyes glazed over, hooded with desire. He crooked his finger, beckoning me toward him, and gave me an equally crooked smile.

“Lyriana,” he sing-songed.

“What? No partner? No Lyr?” I teased, walking back to the bed.

“I love your name,” he said. “Lyriana.” He was definitely tipsy if not a little drunk. “But I love calling you Lyr. And I love calling you partner.”

“Do you?” I asked, unable to keep from smiling. He wasn’t in pain, and as far as I could tell, we were safe for the night.

I crawled onto the bed beside him.

A cool feeling, like the calm of morning snow, filled the room, as he turned on his side, his cheeks rosy and his hair wild.

“Rhyan,” I laughed and pushed him back onto his pillows. “Don’t move. You need to be still and rest so your injuries heal.” I readjusted his foot over the pillow, sliding my hand along his calf.

“But you know what I want to call you most?” he asked, his voice rough. His accent was heavier than usual, the lilt rolling his words together. He took my hand and brought it to his lips. “Lover.”

Heat coiled deep within me. His lips were soft against my skin, and goosebumps sprung up across my arm as he kissed his way to my wrist and pulled me closer, kissing up to the crook of my elbow.

I shivered, gasping as his tongue darted across my skin.

“I want to kiss you.” He turned his head on the pillow. “I know everything is crazy right now. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you…the other night. Imagining you, doing it again, but this time…with my hands on you.”

“And my hands on you.” My breath hitched at the thought. We were alone, outside of Bamaria, in our own private room. Not just a room. A brothel! My body seemed hyper-aware of this fact now, aware of the activities that might be happening in the huts around us.

But over a third of Rhyan’s body was bruised and cut. And he was drunk.

I brushed his hair back from his eyes, the scar through his left eye and forehead pronounced. “Trust me, I want more of that. A lot more of that. I want everything. I want it where I don’t just hear you, but I can see you, touch you, taste you, and feel you. But you’re hurt. Save your strength.”

He pouted. “My lips aren’t hurt.”

I burst out laughing. “If I kiss you,” I said, “you have to be gentle.”

“Oh, I’ll be gentle, partner. So so gentle.” His eyes darkened, and he started to turn toward me again.

“I said no moving.”

He shook his head. “I won’t move,” he promised. “I can be still. I can be so still.”

I eyed him carefully, my face stern.

“I’m at your command, my lady,” he said seriously. But he was already shifting again to reach me.

I stopped hesitating, stopped doubting. We both needed this. I straddled his waist, bringing my mouth down over his.

His hands gripped my hips before I’d even settled on him, his fingers digging into my waist in a way that was definitely not gentle but ripe with longing and a need that had been there far longer than either of us had wanted to admit. He pulled me down against him, already so hard beneath me, his length straining through his short-pants. I gasped at the contact, everything feeling heightened after so much adrenaline. He rolled up against me, hands sliding up my back and pulling me down across his chest, opening my mouth to his and swallowing my cry.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“I should be asking you,” I said, undulating against him, circling my hips until his cock stroked me exactly where I wanted him. Gods, it was taking all I had not to just grind down into him, but I was trying to keep my weight on my hands and knees.

“This is good.” He nipped at the corner of my mouth and groaned. “What you’re doing with your hips…so good.”

I pushed back against him, my knees digging into the bed as I sought more friction. “But tell me if anything hurts.”

“Nothing hurts. You feel so fucking good. And you taste good, too.” He smiled against my lips. “You taste like stew.”