Page 57 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, muscles working at his jaw. Seeing how he’s barely moved, I smirk and avert my eyes.

Rolling his eyes at our display, Orim hands me a slice of bread slathered with jam.

“Thank you,” I tell him, resisting the urge to look Asheros’s way.

“Of course,” Orim replies warmly. He throws me a mischievous look before waving to Asheros. “Sometime today would be nice, my lord.”

Asheros stalks over to us and takes the slice of bread and jam Orim offers. He sits across from me, beside Savell, just barely under the tent’s cover. Rain falls onto the back of his head, droplets running from his neck down to his chest.

Taking a bite of my bread, my focus lingers on the beads of water collecting on his sun-kissed skin, wishing I could lick it from him.

Noticing my attention, Asheros grins as though my eyes roaming his body has won him something.

Two can play at this game.

Sensing his wordless challenge, I savor every bite of my bread, closing my eyes as if it’s pleasurable.

Asheros growls as he chews, low enough only I seem to hear. His forearms tense, flexing, and he widens his shoulders.

But I don’t relent.

I go as far as to moan softly, the way one does when they taste something delicious, slowly, torturously, sucking my fingers clean when I’m done.

Licking his lips, Asheros’s crystalline irises flare.

“Gods above,” Savell grumbles, waving us away. “Get a tent.” To the others, he adds, “I’m going to bed.”

Ronan and Orim stand. “Us, too.”

Kheldryn agrees, rising to her feet, while Gryska does the same beside her. “Good idea. Goodnight, everyone.”

“Goodnight,” Asheros says roughly, though his stare remains locked on me.

The others disperse, shedding their jackets and boots before vanishing into their tents.

Asheros stands utterly still, as if waiting for me to move first.

The thrill of the challenge dances along my skin, lifting the corner of my mouth. I sashay across the camp toward our tent.

I step inside, holding the flap open for him. “Are you coming?”

“Of course.” He swallows and enters the tent behind me.

With my back facing him, I move farther inside and take my time unfastening my leathers. His footsteps sound behind me, and he stops, close enough that I can feel his presence at my back. Undoing the last buckle, I let my leathers fall to my feet, then bend over to pick them up.

“Gods-damn me, Bladesinger.”

I roll my body upward, arching my back as I rise to my full height. “What?”

He forces an exhale. “You know perfectly well, what.”

I look at him over my shoulder, at his mouth, wrought with sweet agony. “Oh, do I?”

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warns, a feral beast clawing to be set free.

“And why is that?” I taunt, high on the power that comes from knowing I’m the reason his calm and collected mask is slipping.

“Because you might push farther than you’re willing to go.”

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