Page 25 of The Ever King

“I want . . .” I choked on my voice when his thumb brushed my inner thigh. Smooth leather roved dangerously close to my aching center.

“What do you want?”

“You,” I breathed out.

“Certain?”

“Yes.” I arched into him, seeking his touch.

In one swift motion, my stranger gripped both my wrists in one of his strong hands and pinned my arms over my head. A squeak of surprise melted to a moan when he arched his hips, slight enough the hard muscles of his leg nestled between my thighs, causing an unfamiliar rush of sensation.

My head spun; I hardly noticed my sleeves had slid up and his thumb gently rubbed the scorched scar near my elbow.

“What do we have here? A bind rune?” His eyes held firm to the mark.

Dammit. The fact he saw the straight lines of a rune amidst the bruising only heightened my unease that I’d done something horribly wrong by touching the edges of the Chasm. Most days, the mark was faded, but since returning from the shore last night, it was red and raised.

“It’s nothing. A clumsy moment with a bruise to prove it.”

By the hells, let that be the end of it. I didn’t want overwrought fears about the Chasm and runes to bleed into my thoughts and take away from this moment and this man’s hands on my body.

He dragged his thumb over the outline of the bruise for a few more heartbeats. I needed to steal his attention back. A slow roll of my hips brushed against his. The copper red of his gaze returned.

“Show me who you are.”

For a moment he seemed to gnaw on the request. “Then you must play a game with me, little bird. I’ll tell you two truths, and one lie. Guess the lie, and I’ll do as you please. Get it wrong, and you do as I please. Agreed?”

All gods.

When I paused too long, he tilted his head. “Afraid?”

To my bones. I simply didn’t know if it was fear a stranger might harm me, or that I’d be ruined for anyone else come morning. The precipice was there. I needed to decide if I leapt over the edge or remained unchanged. Comfortable.

“Agreed,” I croaked out at last.

“Good.” He shifted, so his hips were fitted squarely against mine, glided his other palm up my thigh again, and hooked my leg around his waist. “You have family, but I am the last of my line.”

My heart cinched. What a soft confession. His gloved hand kneaded the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. A gasp broke from my throat when he pinched my skin, a tease, but the bite of pain shocked my blood.

“Next one,” he said, voice rough. Again, his hand began its torturous climb toward my center. “My magic frightens others, so I am careful where I use it.”

“What is your fury?” I winced. He might not be Night Folk fae. “I mean, what is your magic?”

“Ah, I can’t tell you yet, or that would ruin the game.” He chuckled and released my wrists to hold me around the waist when the barest flick of his thumb found the wet slit of my core. I sucked in a breath and clung to his shoulders like a ballast in a maelstrom.

“Since boyhood,” he went on, circling his thumb over my sensitive flesh. “I’ve had a favorite folktale. You might know it.”

“What . . . what is it?”

“Have you ever heard the tale of the songbird and the sea serpent?”

My body stilled, frozen in place. He’d gone as still as me, and his fingers dug into my hip with an unforgiving grip.

“Do you know it?” he asked, voice rough.

“I-I think so.” Hair prickled on the back of my neck.

“Do you know how ittrulyends?”