Page 113 of An Empress of Fire & Steel

It was like she had fallen off the face of the earth, hiding behind some magic veil.

Lorta had darted out the room when the chat had turned to fashion and frocks, squealing that she must show Emara a few ball gowns that had come in from a seamstress in the city. The girls had gone over colour palettes from green all the way through purple as they sat atop Emara’s bed. A debate had sparked on if she should wear lilac or silver, and Emara smiled as she clamped her lips shut, not willing to get involved.

“You could always wear black.” A deep voice came from the doorway, and she instantly cranked her neck around to see Torin standing in the frame, his body competing with the space to fill it. “Or red.” His eyes found her gaze as a lazy smirk developed on his lips. Pleasurable nerves infiltrated her stomach at the sight of it. She hadn’t even heard him come in. “Red always suits you.” His lips parted slowly, and she watched them open, seeing all the things he wanted to say lingering on them silently. He peeped over his long, dark lashes at the girls, smouldering his gorgeous eyes at them. “Could I have a moment alone with the Empress of Air?” His voice was low and alluring, making her imagination turn to all things delightfully mischievous.

They hadn’t been alone in days. She had been busy meeting new witches, witches of her coven, or she had been training her craft. With the Winter Solstice Ball coming up, she had also been arranging with the empresses and Supreme how the palace would be decorated for the festivities. The only time she had seen Torin was at combat training in the mornings.

A taunting pleasure ran through her, landing straight in her centre at the thought of them being alone. It sent a wave of shivers over her skin.

“Of course,” Sybil croaked like she had just snapped out of his invisible charms. Emara dragged her eyes from Torin’s and looked at the girls. They were stunned stiff, not moving.

“That would be kind of you.” His smile dripped of pure sexual masculinity. “Make sure you look after my brother,” he shot at Sybil.

She stood, cheeks as red as her stunning hair, and just about squeaked, nodding her head.

Emara rolled her eyes.

He wasn’t that good-looking. She glanced at Torin again. He knew exactly what he was doing as he winked at her.

Okay, maybe he was that good-looking.

Folding her arms over her chest, she tutted. He probably used his charm to get his way with women all the time. Her brows lifted and she watched as the girls brushed past him, taking their leave at his request. His jaw tightened to hold a smile, pressing his lips together. After the door closed, she shook her head.

“What?” he asked, dimples already deep on his cheeks.

“Just by flaunting a little charm, smouldering your eyes, and smiling obnoxiously wide, do you think you are always going to get your own way with every woman you come across?”

“I am sorry, was that a question or a dig at my character?” His lips tugged, showing every sign that he was trying not to laugh. “It’s getting harder by the day to tell.”

“That eye thing that you do”—She pointed one finger at him, and the other hand rested on her hip.— “it doesn’t work on me. So you can cut that out.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He walked slowly to her, taking his sweet time as his gaze trailed over her. “Maybe my eyes don’t work on you…” he said as he reached her. He dragged a strand of her hair between his fingers, watching it as it glided through them. “But I know what does work.” His stare found hers again.

Her heart punching out of her chest, Emara dared to ask, “And what would that be?”

“My mouth,” he said in a way that stole the air from her lungs.

Almost all at once, she pictured his lips on her flesh, travelling with no boundaries.

“Is that so?” She pushed out her chin, trying to hide behind a façade she wasn’t even sure she thought believable.

“I am sure of it.” He looked down at her, his shoulders relaxing, setting out even wider than before.

“And what makes you so sure?” She cursed herself for asking the question, knowing full well that his answer was about to stir unholy feelings in her.

“Because every time my mouth meets yours”—he looked down at her lips like he was stopping himself from claiming them with his own that very second—“your body reacts in a way that tells me you like it.” He wrapped one hand around her waist, dragging her to him. “And that pleases me.”

“It pleases you?” A strangling sound escaped her throat.

“Mmmm…” His brow pulled down as a deep rumble left his mouth. “It pleases me when I can see you fighting against the pleasure and knowing that I am giving that feeling to you.”

“I see.” Her voice was two stages huskier than before.

“There are a few things I have noted that you like, actually.”

“You are so very observant,” she said, breathless.

“I know you like it when I put my mouth here.” He brushed her hair back, his eyes on the sensitive spot on her neck which always made her toes curl when his mouth found it. “And you like it when I kiss you here.” He trailed a fingertip along her jaw and then to her lips. “And here, actually.” His finger dragged down her lip, causing them to part. She fought a moan as the soaring heat from his touch made her want it all the more. Her heart thundered, but she wouldn’t let him win his wicked little game of who would cave first. She was on a winning streak.

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