Page 87 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

And then I wake up.

I open my eyes and stare at the drapes above me. I raise my arm to my forehead and rest it there while I catch my breath.

A dream.

It was all a dream.

I know now that none of it was real, but my body…

Lust courses through my veins. My nipples harden under my nightgown, poking through the thin fabric. I feel my tender mound throbbing at the apex of my thighs.

I run my hand up to my neck and gently touch my fingers to it.

My other hand grazes my chest. Then I slip my hands under the neckline of my nightgown and cup my breasts, inhaling deeply.

Closing my eyes, I open my mouth. I lightly squeeze my breasts and then I let go, turning my attention to my aching nipples. I swirl my fingers in circular motions around them, before flicking my thumbs back and forth across my nipples. I bring one of my hands lower, to my abdomen, while the other continues lightly pinching and rubbing my nipple.

The sensation sends pleasure tingling through me, soaking me with need. While keeping one hand on my breast, I move my other hand lower, until it rests just above my sex.

I kick off the covers and spread my legs wide.

The air meets my tender skin, intensifying the throbbing ache I feel gathering between my thighs.

I drag my fingers across my sex, letting my hands explore my inner thighs until I can barely take it. Then I press my fingers to my tender mound and slowly move them in circular motions.

A breathy moan slips from my mouth.

While I rub myself, I knead my breast with my free hand. Arching my back, I bite my lip to stifle my moans.

The door bursts open. Instinctually, I clamp my legs shut, my hand still caught between them.

Viridian barrels into my room, haggard and disheveled. His wispy black hair is tousled and unkempt, and his shirt untucked, like he rushed out of bed.

“How did you—”

“You think I can’t hear your whimpers, Little Fawn? That I can’t smell your arousal?”

I push my skirt down to cover myself.

“No.” He pushes the door closed behind him, still lingering by the entry.

“No?”

“No. Lift your skirt.”

Slowly, I do as he says, stopping when the hem of my skirt is just above my knees.

Viridian’s voice is low, husky. Hungry. “More.”

His gaze leaves burning traces on my skin. I pull my skirt up further, until it’s bunched around my hips.

“Good,” he says. “Now spread your legs.”

With heat dancing across my cheeks, I part my legs and open them until they’re about a shoulder-width apart.

“Wider,” Viridian growls.

I slide my ankles farther apart, fully exposing myself.

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