Page 22 of The Frost Witch (The Covenants of Velora #1)

BEFORE

“Where are you taking me, lovely?”

The hairs on the back of my neck rose, an accompanying shiver sliding down my spine.

“Just a little farther,” I said without turning. His hold on my hand tightened. I tried to ignore it. We were almost there. But his touch turned insistent. He tugged me back, and though I could have fought him, I turned instead, letting him pull me flush against his body.

“There you are,” he said a second before taking my lips.

I opened under his touch, letting him into the warmth of my mouth.

The heat between us was a nice contrast to the cool midnight air.

Sultry summer nights were a thing of the past, of the years before the curse.

But I found comfort in the cold, and I hated that sticky hot feeling.

“Oh, lovely,” he groaned against my lips. He took the hand he held and slid it between us, taking hold of my wrist and rubbing my palm against the bulge in his trousers.

I hated nicknames. They’d always felt infantilizing. I’d spent my life confined to the role of the childish, forgettable youngest sister. A nickname was the last thing I wanted to hear from a lover’s lips.

Almost the last thing, my mind corrected, still irritatingly sharp when I should have been pulled under by lust.

He rubbed my hand back and forth, even began thrusting his hips forward into it. When his hand finally moved away, a trickle of wetness finally broke loose between my legs. At last, I was going to get some attention.

But his hand went to the buttons at the top of his trousers, not to me.

Men were too predictable. This one was no different. A year older than me, but still a boy. Maybe that was the problem. I was wasting time with boys my own age when I needed a more experienced man who thought of someone other than himself.

Before he could shove my hand into his trousers, I caught his and brought it up to cup my breasts.

Men loved my breasts—full and heavy, large enough to fill their entire hand.

Overflow, really, but I was not about to complain.

I loved having them touched. So at least I would get something out of this exchange.

He pawed at the fabric of my dress, trying to get to my skin. I obliged, shrugging my shoulder forward so he could pull my breast out. He pulled his mouth away from mine and dropped it to my breast, going straight for the nipple without any preamble. How original.

Maybe Rylynn had the right of it, shutting herself in her room instead of chasing boys down dark alleys in search of a distraction.

She was still unmarried. The horror of Janessa’s womanhood ceremony had seen to that. Soon, they would begin to call her an old maid. Jealous words from younger women who were angry that a woman nearing thirty was still more beautiful than any of them.

I curled my fingers in the man’s hair, pressing him harder to my breast. His mellow suckling was doing nothing for me.

“Tell me your name, lovely,” he said, peeling back his mouth. Typical, doing the opposite of what I needed.

“We don’t need names,” I said, tugging his hair to get his mouth back up to mine and to cut off any more nonsense before he could spout it. Less talking, more touching. I had not approached him for his rapier wit.

“But how can you scream my name if you do not know it?” he panted into the night, his breath wet and heavy.

I threaded my fingers with his and slid them down between my legs. My other hand took care of lifting my skirts. “This is how you make me scream,” I breathed against his mouth.

He pulled our hands away in a sharp jerk that freed his cock. “You first, lovely.”

The last of my lust burned away, replaced by the sharper edges of temper.

I shoved him off of me.

He stumbled backward, tripping over a heavy wooden crate. “What is wrong with you?”

“With me?” I threw back my head and laughed at the ridiculousness of it. How dare I ask for my pleasure to be considered.

“You dragged me back here,” he spat.

His cock still flopped around outside of his trousers, softening by the second.

“Get out.” My hands curled into fists at my side. I would have no problem swinging one at his face. He stared me down, chest heaving, contemplating his options.

Options? I was not a fucking option. I’d already said no. If he came at me again, I would punch that pretty face he was so proud of. I would claw out his eyes. I would make him pay for thinking that I belonged to him, that he was entitled to any part of me. Even my name.

“Get out!” I screamed, rage billowing out of me.

He shoved his cock back into his trousers and took off down the alley, not quite running. But not strolling easily, either.

My breath moved in and out of my chest in time with the ferocious beat of my heart. I took a few steps back until I could lean against the wall on my side of the alley. I let my head fall back to rest against it.

I’d have to choose my distraction better next time.

Why wait until next time?

It was past midnight, but the city was still wide awake. No one at home would miss me. Rylynn would have to come out of her room to notice I’d left at all. My father had not really looked at me since my mother’s death.

But my feet didn’t carry me to a tavern or a dance hall. They took me home, because no matter how foolish it was, I still had hope that someone might care.