Page 123 of Avalon Tower
“That blanket won’t be warm enough,” I say. “There’s plenty of room in the bed, you know.” It’s not entirely true. It’s just a double bed, and I know we’d be pressed against each other. “I’m perfectly good at keeping to my side.”
“Good night, pixie.” The wooden floor creaks as he rolls flat onto his back.
Without a fireplace, the room is only about fifty degrees, and his blanket is more fit for summer.
I’m fairly certain I won’t be able to sleep. Won’t be able to stop thinking about how it felt just then when he kissed me, the way he pressed himself against me, the way his tongue brushed against mine and I wanted to moan. I imagine myself lying in this bed with him, my face nestled into his throat. My thighs clench, and every inch of my skin has become sensitive and desperate for his touch.
“You’re still awake,” I say.
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve slept in a room with you before, and you snore horribly.”
“Bollocks, I do.”
I smirk. “Did you really not know that?”
“I don’t have many nighttime guests.”
Good.
My throat tightens.
He said he’d slept in worse conditions. Now, I’m thinking of what he would have looked like as a traumatized little boy at the edge of the Brocéliande forest, waiting for a sister who never showed up. Starving. Sleeping on dirt and moss.
I can’t bear the thought of him lying cold on the floor anymore. He deserves the bed. “Will you just sleep in the bed, Raphael? You’re being an idiot.”
A loud sigh. “Well, how could I resist that charming invitation? Have you been taking etiquette lessons from Nivene?” The floor creaks as he gets up.
My pulse races, and I turn away from him, facing the window. The rain slides down the glass, and I feel the bed sink a little as he climbs in. His body feels warm near mine.
I lie completely still. If I move, I’ll scare him, and he’ll run away to the floor again, and I’ll have to think of him as a little boy sleeping on the dirt. He spreads the thin blanket over the two of us, tucking us in.
The air is heavy with his seductive scent. And in fact, as long as he’s in the bed, I’m very much not thinking of him as a little boy. I’m thinking of how fucking perfect he looks as a man. The way the warm light of the candle caressed his muscles with shadows. I think of his hips moving between my thighs.
He’s not quite touching me, but he’s close.
I don’t even do it on purpose—at least, I think I don’t—but my hips shift back ever so slightly until my ass brushes against his hip.
“Are you trying to tempt me?” he asks in a low murmur.
“Hmm? No.”
I peer at him over my shoulder. His jaw is set with tension, and he’s gripping the blanket so tightly, it looks like he’s going to rip it.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. “It’s just cold in here, is all.” And yet, all my senses have narrowed to this one point, exactly where my ass is brushing against his hip, and I can’t bring myself to move.
You’re tormenting me on purpose, and I absolutely cannot stop thinking about the perfect shape of your breasts through that camisole, or what your nipples would feel like in my mouth.
I realize, with a thrill of shock, that I’m hearing his thoughts for the first time.
He lets out an agonized sigh and turns to me, curving his body around mine. Oh, gods, his thickly corded body feels amazing against my back. His arms slide around me, his chest like steel.
My hips shift back into him just a little more, and I feel the enormous length of him against my ass.
Oh, gods, Nia. I want to explore every inch of your perfect body.
He’s rock-hard behind me, and an ache starts to build between my thighs. And suddenly, that’s all I can think about, because apparently, demi-Fey men are blessed in every way.