Page 93 of Fate

She shrieked, her hand coming to her chest, and she had to suppress the urge to smack his arm in reprimand.

But his grip held her fast, and his chin came to settle on her shoulder. “Why are we quarrelling?” he asked, his hand coming to spread against her middle, bringing her back fully against him.

She wanted him to touch her all over. Wanted him to kiss her, to turn her about, to lead her back to their new bed and love her.

“I want to be seduced,” Firen blurted out. As if he hadn’t. As if she had always been the one to instigate their affection. Which was a lie, surely. But suddenly felt a weighty truth as she grabbed hold of his arm and held him there. “You don’t get to just... be over there and expect me to do all the work.”

He chuckled lowly, and his hold on her tightened. His lips found her neck, and he... nibbled.

Which was the oddest sort of sensation. Tickling and warming her all at the same time. “Not doing my part, am I?” Lucian asked, not shifting in his hold, not straying to any of the parts of her that thrummed with awareness.

Firen did not argue with him. Did not make allowances and apologies that she’d reacted too strongly. Again. But she confessed the little niggling voice that kept her from simply sinking back against him. To letting him do as he pleased and being swept up in the pleasure of it. “I get to be immodest withyou,” she murmured. “And I get to want you. And to seduce when it pleases me.” She swallowed. “And that does not make me a poor mate.”

Lucian stilled. “Some would argue,” he answered seriously. “That would make you an excellent mate.”

She turned her head as best she could so she could look at him with wide, entreating eyes. “Would you?”

He didn’t sigh. Didn’t tell her she was being ridiculous. Didn’t ask where she was getting such foolish ideas.

She could not even name where they had come from. Perhaps it was how little she understood of his world. She tried to imagine Orma undressing freely. Climbing on top of the mate she loved and whispering her intentions into the dark of their shared room.

And she couldn’t.

They seemed... more proper than that. As if all the joy and fun of it was stripped away, leaving only a perfunctory act when the bond urged them together.

He turned her around. Gently cupped her face in his hands as he leaned forward. Kissed her once. Twice. Just a brush of warmth, a glimmer of how much more there could be. Had been.

And there was the temptation to clutch at him. To pull him back and hold him there. To forget the rest and indulge. Because she was being silly, and everything was fine. They were fine. They could have this and not... and wouldn’t...

He pulled back, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You are magnificent,” Lucian stated, nothing in his eyes suggesting it was an exaggeration merely to pamper her vanity. “And I would defy anyone—havedefied anyone that would suggest you are anything but mine.” He kissed her then. With a bit more force, with his hand cupping the back of her head, keeping her to him.

And then...

He purred.

A rumble of sound that turned her muscles to liquid, and left her helpless against him. Made her trouble, her doubts, seem so terribly unimportant. He turned her around again so she could feel it for herself, feel the subtle vibrations against her spine.

“What do you think I was doing?” Lucian continued, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Allowed his hands to creep up to her uncovered breasts. “But seducing you?”

“Oh,” she managed to breathe out. She thought he’d done rather a terrible job of it if that had been his intention, but she didn’t say that. Maybe she’d simply mucked up receiving it. “Well.”

He chuckled at her. A warm breath of sound that interrupted his purr, and she did not like that so much, but she did like to hear him laugh. Even if it was slightly at her expense. “Are you pleased with your kitchen?” he asked, and it was such an odd turn to their conversation, yet filled her with such excitement that she could hardly complain. Most especially because he was still touching her. Still moving his thumbs against that particularly sensitive spot against her breast, still pressing his lips to her throat, her cheek, her temple.

Waiting for her to answer him.

“Very pleased,” she murmured. “Although I’m going to have Mama come look and see if I’ve got things just right.”

He hummed, which was an entirely novel sensation when it pressed against her from behind, when his lips were still pressed against her skin. “A fine idea,” he agreed.

She swallowed, trying not to simply lose herself. “I thought so,” she demurred, and tried her best to keep still and not start squirming. She’d wanted this, hadn’t she? To let him lead in this dance, and it would hardly be right for her to give him only a few moments before she tired of it and took over. “You did a very nice job with the bed,” she added, because she should compliment his other efforts as well as his more... physicalaccomplishments. She could be pleased in many ways, whether it was little domestic tasks, or how well he loved her.

He snorted, his head shaking as he glanced at it. “It is hardly the first bed I have made, nor will it be the last.” She eased back against him, allowing herself to simply enjoy him. Enjoy what he was doing to her.

With her.

“Not so spoiled, then.” A declaration. A tease. She knew just how well he could scrub, as she’d watched him with much appreciation as he’d helped her conquer the soot in their loft room. He was no stranger to hard labour in the pursuit of cleanliness, and she found herself glad of it. For those tasks not to seem beneath him, most especially when eventually it was the washroom and laundry that needed their attention.

She liked it even more when she thought of their future fledglings. When messes were a daily sacrifice. When order was exchanged for tiny wings and bright smiles.