Page 50 of Empire of Dark
Her lips parted, her tongue darting out, wetting her lips. “Touch me.”
Gladly.
“I’m going to take measure of your body.” Flexing my fingers wide, I left her curled on her side and I started down her back, my palms running along the tense, hard-as-rock muscles spasming along her spine under her thin black tank. My chesttightened at the thought of her down here in the cold dank of the undercrofts in just her tank and her thin yoga pants.
Rats running about. The cold seeping into her bones.
Despicable.
At her lower back, I didn’t so much as pause as I ran my hands down over her butt. No underwear discernable through her tight yoga pants. I dipped further, taking in the back of her thighs all the way to her heels.
At her feet, I pulled off each of her shoes and continued tracing the path upward along the front side of her legs, noting every muscle, every indent, every curve and juncture, creating a mental map of her exact shape.
Just by doing this—my hands moving along her body—I knew I was taking off the sharp edge of the pain, though it still had to be torturous for how it radiated through her body, tensing every one of her muscles to the snapping point.
At her knees, I paused and nudged her to roll onto her back. Compliant as a kitten, she did so.
“Where is the source? Is it in your head?”
She nodded with a warbled gasp. “The right side of my forehead.”
My hands moved up her thighs and she twitched when I approached her crotch—still poised to fight me—so I diverted outward, sliding my palms along her hips. Into the curve of her waist, my thumbs dusting across the strong lines of muscles along her belly.
For the life of me, I needed to cup each one of her breasts in my hands for the exquisite shape of her, but I stuck to the outer line of her body. There would be plenty of time for that later.
A slight gasp parted her lips when my fingers ran along her neck. I traced the lines up along her jaw, onto her cheekbones and my fingers stopped, then spread out along her forehead.
No blood, there were only a few faint pink lines where she had been gouging the blade into her skin. I needed an explanation for that, for I’d felt myself how sharp her blade was.
But now wasn’t the time. She hadn’t been lying about the pain. If anything, she’d been underestimating.
I could feel the mutilation screeching under skull. Pain that would sink a soul, send a lesser person to drive a dagger into their own heart.
There was only one thing to do. Use my tongue.
I usually saved this trick for the more interesting parts of a female’s body, but it was the easiest and fastest way to lessen the pain.
I bent over her, spreading my fingers out to her temples, concentrating on her shallow breaths.
I dove downward, my tongue slipping out, and I licked her forehead, pain sparking on my tongue. Sparking and dissolving like bubbles of the most exquisite champagne.
The softest moan lifted from her lips, almost wanton, and I took another swipe. This one slow, sensual—if licking someone’s forehead could even be considered as such.
More sparks. More vibrations on my tongue.
Another moan and her right hand lifted, grabbing onto the side of my shirt just along my ribcage.
She needed more—she needed pleasure spinning into her body in order to displace the pain.
My left hand dipped down along her torso, my palm centering on her lower abdomen just above her pelvic bone.
Another lick along her forehead and I took the energy of the pain and twisted it, turning it to pleasure before I returned it into her belly. Straight into her core.
Her moan turned into a growl. Carnal.
I slipped my tongue sideways against her forehead, a long swipe that took in almost more pain than I could handle, but Imanaged to twist the full of it and send pleasure down into her core.
At that onslaught into her body, she started to writhe, her hand gripping my shirt, tugging, demanding.