Page 20

KYRIE

I take my time getting ready.

The Sword gave me plenty of privacy while I bathed, though I often felt the tug of his attention on my back as I washed.

Now, in one of the alcoves recessed into the stone walls of the bath, I tug another expensive confection of a dress over my hips, taking care not to tear the delicate fabric as I pull on the elbow length sleeves. Sage green and made of soft silk, emerald green embroidery vines up the hem to the waist, where flowers bloom along the fitted material.

It’s the nicest thing I never stole.

Which reminds me…

“Where is the treasure room?” I ask loudly, knowing that despite his silence, he’s still looming somewhere nearby.

“You know it’s not thievery if I’ve spent my life collecting it for you, right?” he asks.

I scowl, trying and failing to button the damn thing up the back. “Are you set on taking all of my fun away?”

“If you want to steal things that are already yours, be my guest.”

An indelicate grunt escapes my mouth as my fingers fail to make the tiny loop fit around the silk-covered button.

“Do you need help?” he asks, and there’s no mistaking the hint of amusement in the question.

“No, I’d like to meet all your friends half-naked. Tits out, if you like,” I say sarcastically.

His reaction is immediate, and honestly, I should have predicted it.

Silver hair flashes in my periphery, and then I’m being pushed up against the smooth alcove wall.

“No one sees your breasts but me,” he says, his eyes doing a quick perusal of my nearly fully clad body.

“What if I want them to?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “What if my entire life has been leading up to making tits out the new fashion statement?”

He turns me around with a growl, his hands gentle despite his clear annoyance with me.

I pull my damp hair away from my back, and I don’t even have to ask him to button me up as he makes quick work of the damnable things.

“If your goal is to have me keep you chained to my bed, tits out, then absolutely, yes, I approve.” His breath is hot against my neck, and a shiver of anticipation tickles up the base of my spine.

“Chained to the bed, huh?” I ask, then drag in a breath as sharp teeth nip at the juncture of my shoulder and neck. “I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing, Sword.”

“So it’s Sword, again, hmm?” A hot tongue laps at where he just bit, and his arm catches me around the waist as I go weak-kneed.

“Does it bother you?” I ask, light-headed and suddenly so full of lust that it almost hurts.

“I don’t care what you call me as long as you know how much I love you, Kyrie,” he says, the little damp spot he left on my skin evaporating as his breath caresses it. “As long as you know how much I fucking need you.”

My palms go flat on the wall in front of me, and I arch my back, pressing my ass into him.

“You need me, don’t you?”

A big hand strokes my breast through the thin silk, and I moan in agreement as his fingers pinch my nipple.

“There weren’t any undergarments with the dress,” I tell him, daring him to test that theory.

“Liar,” he says. “Shae readied this for you.”

“Oh, am I lying?” I bite out, gritting my teeth as he flicks my nipple through the fabric.

“Such a pretty fucking liar.” His lips brush behind my ear, and a little groan comes out of me.

Moisture drips down my thighs, and I rock back into him, loving the way he sucks in his breath through his teeth.

I turn slightly, so I can see the focused look in his eyes.

“What do I get if I’m telling the truth?” I ask, knowing that every time I do this with him, I’m only making things harder for both of us.

But when have I ever cared about making things easy?

Cool air washes against my bare legs as he hoists the hem of the dress up, past my waist. A feral growl sounds behind me, and then his hand reaches between my legs.

I whimper as he teases my folds. “So wet. You want this, don’t you, Kyrie?” he asks, his fingers a mere whisper of a caress on my skin.

It would be easy to lie, to tell him no, that I don’t want him, don’t want the release I crave.

“Please,” I grate out instead.

I get what I ask for immediately, his fingers expertly finding the exact place where I need him.

A shudder wracks my body, and he nips at my neck as I writhe against him. Relentless, his fingers trace circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves where I need him most. The hand holding me upright around my waist moves to my breast.

The double sensation leaves me gasping for air, and when he rocks two fingers inside me, making slow, sensuous circles with his thumb, I shatter on a swallowed scream.

I practically collapse, boneless, against the wall, some of my need sated but not all.

Not even close to completely satisfied.

I need him for that.

“Kyrie,” he growls, and I manage to right my skirts and turn from him as he pulls his hand away from me. His eyes close as he sucks the shining proof of my pleasure from his fingertips. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re dark with lust.

It makes me weak and needy all over again.

“You’re sleeping in my rooms tonight,” he says, challenge in his gaze.

“Don’t push your luck,” I tell him, but the words lack any real bite, and we both know it.

“If I didn’t push it, you would have walked away from me by now.” The lust flares, then dies, replaced by a sad, knowing expression that makes me tired.

Tired, and guilty. Guilty because of my reticence to admit what happened—what he did—might have been necessary.

I don’t like that, the truth of it, and the way it makes me feel like shit.

I smooth my hands over the dress, rearranging the fabric over my breasts, and start to make my way past him.

A muscled arm blocks my path away from the little alcove, and I raise my eyebrows at the black-clad male.

“My rooms, Kyrie,” he rasps. “Please.” His hand rakes through his silver hair. “I can’t sleep when you’re not with me.”

Both eyebrows shoot up at that. “What?”

His gaze drops to the floor, and when he doesn’t answer, I make a soft sound of derision.

“I need you near me. It hurts me to be away from you.” The words are slow, and they have the ring of truth.

“It hurts you?” I repeat, blinking like the answer will somehow shimmy into my line of sight if I do it fast enough.

Another ragged sigh, and he finally meets my searching gaze.

It hits me then, another truth.

“I don’t want you to hurt.”

It’s his turn to blink, and I idly wonder if the herb-scented air is stinging our eyes.

“Then stay with me. Stay at my side, my Kyrie. My truth.”

“Why?” I ask, and we both know I’m not asking why I should stay with him. “Why does it hurt you?”

“When I sacrificed you and brought you back as a Fae, I gave you a part of myself. I tied us together with the very fabric of death and life. I need that part of me, the part that lives in you, to feel whole. To be able to sleep.” Frustration wrinkles his forehead.

Swallowing, I nod.

Relief has him shutting his eyes, and the lines fade.

“You promised me chains,” I tell him airily, then I breeze past him like I’m not sweating my random proclamation.

That’s what I get for trying to ease the tension with some random thought. As if sleeping next to him wasn’t enough, now I’m asking him to chain me to the bed.

“That was a joke,” I yell back at him quickly, walking as fast as I can without risking him accusing me of running away.

Which, of course, I am.