Page 58 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

Fire blooms in my lower abdomen and between my legs. “Maybe I want to go there.”

He leans forward, tilting his head down to mine. “Are you sure about that, Bladesinger?”

I swallow, my words lodged in my throat.

Asheros drops his gaze. Seeming to remember himself, he steps back. Unbuttoning his brocade jacket, he tugs it from his shoulders, the motion puffing out his chest. Without his jacket to cover him, the white fabric of his shirt, nearly opaque from the rain, adheres to his chest and abdomen. Freeing himself from it, he effortlessly pulls the shirt over his head and wrings it out in front of him, all while avoiding my eyes.

Once we’re free of our wet clothes, Asheros hands me a bedroll. Kneeling, we unroll them together as far apart from each other as the tent allows. We lie down and make ourselves comfortable, both seemingly too tightly wound to speak.

“Sleep well, Bladesinger,” Asheros says at last.

“You, too,” I reply.

Wishing for nothing more than to lower myself onto his lap and have my way with him, I force myself to close my eyes.

Hours pass, and as the heat of my desire fades, the chill of the night air and my damp shirt bite at my skin. Though my eyelids have grown heavy, and I’ve curled into myself, I’m unable to suppress the shivers wracking my body. Despite Ceren’s training, and the discipline that I’ve sought to cultivate in the face of discomfort, I’ve never been good at withstanding the cold.

“Come here,” Asheros commands, his voice worn with fatigue.

I slow my breathing, hoping to convince him I’m asleep.

“I know you’re awake, Bladesinger.” A pause. “Come. Here.”

“Why?” I ask without turning around.

“Because the incessant chattering of your teeth is driving me mad.”

“My teeth are not—” My words become lodged in my throat, leaving me unable to give voice to the lie. “You’re being dramatic,” I say instead. My teeth aren’t chattering that loudly.

“Oh, really?” His tone carries the weight of my challenge, amusement rising in his voice. “I’m the one being dramatic?”

Pressing my lips together, I attempt to still myself. I make no move to leave my bedroll, and he doesn’t wait for me to. Cloth rustles, and then despite the cool dampness still lingering on my clothes and skin, there’s the warmth of a body at my back. Beside me, Asheros waits on his knees, a pillow in hand.

I rise to a sitting position. My eyes lock with his. Even in the dark, I can make out his wet hair, the silky white-blond mess of it clinging to his long, smooth face. Chest bare, every detail of his chiseled torso is visible. His own damp pants generously hug his waist, and I can’t help but let my gaze fall to his defined hips before looking back up at his face. I breathe him in. Spruce and freshly fallen rain linger in my nose with each inhale.

“Make room for me,” he orders.

Swallowing, I move over to make space for him on my bedroll. I lie back down, turning onto my side, and feel him settle into place behind me. Strong arms wrap around me, draping across my chest, and pull me closer, eliminating any remaining distance between our bodies. The lean wall of muscle that I’d felt the first time I tried to escape him meets my back, surrounding me in an embrace. But this time it’s familiar. This time, it’s warm and…

Comfortable.

How can laying in the arms of my kidnapper be comfortable?

With his shirtless chest pressed to me, muscled arms holding me close, my rear brushes against his length. A breath catches in my throat, and without thinking, I arch into him. I play it off like I’m only trying to make myself more comfortable, but I can’t deny the trickles of desire that dance across my exposed skin when I do.

Asheros lets out a heavy breath. His arms tighten around me.

Especially the arm across my breasts.

I exhale, my breasts and nipples aching under the slight pressure.

He lowers his mouth to my neck, by my ear. “Playing more games, are we, Bladesinger?”

The gravelly, husky edge to his voice has my eyelids fluttering. I tilt my head back, baring my neck. “Perhaps.”

He lifts his arm from my chest, brushing the backs of his fingers against the soft skin of my neck. “I think yes.”

Gods above.

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