Page 73 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

If it’s true that fae males can smell arousal, then there’s no way I can hide from him.

“If you want me to please you, then you need only say the word.” His words only confirm my suspicions.

“There could be others around,” I tell him. He seems to have forgotten that. Or maybe he wants them to see. To think we’re smitten with each other after our “romantic” time away.

“I don’t care.” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s holding himself back.

Part of me wishes he wouldn’t. That he means every word he says.

He moves his leg in between mine and raises his knee to apply pressure to my sex.

I gasp.

Viridian groans in my ear. The sound sends an electric current trickling across my skin.

“Tell me how that feels, Little Fawn.”

“So good,” I breathe. I’m so aroused now that even the faintest touch to my erogenous zones will be enough to send pleasure flowing through my body.

“That was quick,” Viridian remarks, no doubt sensing it.

I blush. My body has never responded like this to a man. Not even Loren.

Oh gods.

Loren.

In all this time gallivanting around Keuron with his captor, I’ve forgotten all about him.

Viridian touches his lips to my neck. I let out a breath.

He drags his lips down to my shoulder, then back up again. I grab his arm and squeeze it, so I don’t make a noise.

“If only we were alone,” Viridian purrs. “Then you wouldn’t have to be so quiet.”

“Gods,” I grind out. Since when was he so seductive?

“The gods are not looking, Little Fawn. There is only me and my mercy.”

I bite my lip.

A cough behind us tells me that we have an audience. Footsteps scurry in the other direction.

My heart leaps into my throat.

“Myrdin and Lymseia will be waiting for us,” I say, my voice stiffening. “We should stop this.”

His hands loosen their grip, but don’t leave my body. “Yes,” he murmurs, seeming to remember himself.

I slip from his touch, starting down the corridor. Viridian’s steps quicken behind me, and he falls in line beside me, keeping his distance.

I peer at him from the corner of my eye. His eyes have narrowed and are fixed ahead. Tensing his arms, he keeps them stiff, rigid at his sides.

Something in him has shifted.

What changed?

I almost think to ask, but the words don’t form on my tongue.

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