Page 61 of The Frost Witch (The Covenants of Velora #1)

But even as my power quieted, he did not release my hands. Instead, he leaned in closer. Or maybe I was the one leaning into him.

The corner of his mouth curved in that smirk. The infernal fucking smirk. I was going to wipe it off his face. Kiss it off his face?—

“You are intoxicated.”

Had I said all of that aloud?

“That cannot possibly be true,” I said, even as I swayed. Garrick released my hands so he could steady me, one taking up residence on my hip, the other settling just above where my belt tried to nip in my waist.

He lifted his brows—another infernal habit. I reached up and pressed my thumb into the divot between them.

“Your clever little spell backfired,” he said. Why did his voice sound labored?

“It shouldn’t even be this effective, not without my coven’s power to ground my own.” I shook my head, regretting it instantly. The tavern blurred around me.

Garrick chuckled. I thought the smirk and the eyebrow raise were bad? The sound of that man’s laugh, deep and resonant and impossibly precious as it rolled over my senses, did something irrevocable to me, more dangerous than any god or gate.

“Perhaps you are more powerful than you realize,” he said. This time, I knew it was him drawing me closer. Probably just to keep me from falling over, but I was not about to complain.

“You think you know everything about me, don’t you?” I pouted out my lower lip, hot satisfaction filling my chest as Garrick’s eyes lingered on my mouth.

Which made me want to look at his. They were full and luscious, a soft contrast to the hard line of his jaw and the silvery stubble on his chin. I watched in fascination as they formed around his next words. “I can barely begin to fathom your depths, witch. But I want to know them all.”

My mind could not process the feeling behind those words. “Are you intoxicated, too?”

“Unfortunately, not. Your spell does not seem to work on those of us cursed with fae blood in our veins.”

I wrinkled my nose.

I could not be drunk. I’d finished my wine before I said the spell…

right before. I could not even bring myself to appeal to the Dark God.

I’d stumbled right into this mess all on my own.

But when I considered my current position—Isanara snapping her jaws at anyone who approached, my chest pressed against Garrick’s—I could not bring myself to feel any regret.

Though I was parched. I wet my lips but it wasn’t enough. Garrick had finished his liquor. We needed more drinks, though water would be wiser. Maybe it was time to go back upstairs. Or try my hand at a game of thrall. I licked my lips again.

A low groan reverberated through my chest—our chests. It caressed my breasts and sent heat spiraling through my stomach, then lower. “Please stop doing that.”

I tipped my head back so I could see the expression that had accompanied that groan. “Why, Garrick? Why should I stop?”

His eyes were actually glowing. Not the illusion of glowing from reflected light. That inner circle of green lit with some sort of internal flame, the edges bleeding into the cerulean blue. It was otherworldly and unnerving and beautiful.

I’d thought his gaze was intense before. But when he leaned down into my space, closing those inches of height that separated us, I nearly melted under the force of it.

“Because if you do not, I am going to lay you down across this table and show you exactly what you do to me with that wicked mouth of yours.”

I licked my lips again. “Do you promise?”

He pressed his eyes closed. “Witch.”

I took that as an invitation. I lifted myself to my tiptoes, trusting Garrick’s solid form to keep me upright, and pressed my lips against his.

His lips were as soft as I’d imagined. But gods, he tasted so much better.

There was the cinnamon that always lingered, tinged with the burning remnants of the liquor he’d been drinking earlier.

But the taste of him, the unique combination of spice and sweat and heat…

I could not get enough of it on my tongue.

I curled my hands against his chest, gripping the leather of his vest around the lines of blades that he wore strapped against it.

The contrast of his soft lips with the urgent demand of his mouth sent my malleable mind spinning.

I needed the next swipe of his tongue more than I needed air.

I welcomed that bold touch inside of my own mouth, granting him access without a second thought.

My only regret was that I’d waited so long, denied myself for so long, when we should have been doing this from the beginning.

I should have taken Garrick the Red to my bed that first night before the Mercy Gate?—

“We need to stop, witch.”

How dare he take his mouth away from mine.

“Or we could keep going.” I tugged on his vest, but he did not move, holding himself just far enough away that I could not reach him without his consent. Or without wrapping my legs around his waist and attempting to climb him.

Garrick’s eyes flicked over my shoulder. “In front of your familiar…” Isanara made an indignant sound. “And the entire tavern?”

I’d forgotten about both of them. For once, Isanara had stayed well out of my mind. And as for the rest of the tavern… they were as lost to my spell as I was.

“We have two rooms,” I reminded him, settling back onto my feet. Isanara could take one. We’d take the other. “What foresight.”

Isanara hissed. “If you think I am letting you out of my sight with your mind in shambles ? —”

I tried to erect that wall of ice between us, but my drink-addled brain could not manage it.

I turned my face up to Garrick, writing all of my desire into my face.

I slid my hips forward, pressing against him suggestively.

He was hard, and though it was difficult to judge precisely through so many layers of clothing, the impressive length of him had a surge of wetness pooling between my legs.

But instead of appreciating the fact that I was rubbing myself up against him like a cat in heat, Garrick released his hold on my waist. He caught my shoulders with his hands, while my body screamed at the loss of his touch where I wanted it most.

“Koryn.” His voice shook. My eyes flew open, the weight of his tone permeating my lust and alcohol fogged mind.

“When I take you to bed, you will be in full possession of your mind. You will remember every moment clearly, because I will not take you in a drink-addled haze. When you beg for me to make you come, I want you to mean it with every fiber of your glorious being.”

My mouth fell open.

Garrick swore in that foreign tongue.

“Get her to bed,” Isanara snapped.

I tried to tell her that Garrick could not hear the words she spoke into my mind. But she must have gotten her meaning across just fine, because the next thing I knew, the world went horizontal, and Garrick the Red carried me upstairs.