Page 107 of Glow of the Everflame

“Don’t make me ask again,” he said in that same rumbling, commanding tone.

Though I threw him a scowl, I lifted my other leg and gingerly placed my heel in his hand. His eyes lit up—not with victory, but with excitement, like I’d just given him a gift.

His thumb stroked my ankle, tender and feather light. “Good girl,” he murmured.

My thighs clenched.

Diem one, Luther ten.

With both legs propped against him, there was no keeping the hem of my dress from sliding profanely high. I squirmed in an effort to push it down—even I wasn’t brave enough to bethaton display—but Luther dutifully held my gaze, his eyes never leaving mine for a second.

He reached first for my dagger, his fingers plunging down my thigh. I sucked in a breath.

He stilled. “I can stop, if you’d like.”

My heart took its own drunken stumble at the way his voice had suddenly gone gentle, tinged with concern.

But I didn’t want his concern. Concern meant feelings. Feelings were real, and I didn’t—couldn’t—want real. This was just a game.

I rolled my shoulders back and straightened my leg, forcing his hands further. “Go right ahead,” I purred.

He flashed me a whisper of a smile as he adeptly unbuckled my thigh strap and slid the dagger free of its sheath. Still holding my stare, he twisted it again and again in his hand, then leaned forward to set it on my stomach, its point stretching to the soft curve of my breasts.

When I reached to grab it, Luther stopped me with a subtle shake of his head. I frowned at first, not understanding. The dagger was heavy—I’d left Brecke’s blade behind in favor of something bulkier, wanting to show off the threat rather than hide it—and still warm from its contact with my skin. The longer it lay there, the more it felt like a hand—Luther’shand, pressing me to the mattress and holding me at his mercy.

This time, he made quick work of unwinding the straps and discarding my shoe. He started at the sore ball of my foot and worked his thumbs in slow circles over my flesh, smiling wider with every whimper and mewl I couldn’t hold in.

Diem one, Luther one thousand.

My muscles tightened and loosened, lust-charged blood pounding in my ears. “When you said you wanted to serve me, a foot massage isn’t quite what I had in mind,” I joked, my voice turning hoarse.

His face angled toward my leg, his lips nearly brushing my ankle. “Tell me then, my Queen, how would you like me to serve you?” Both palms dragged down my legs, resting low on my thighs and nudging them apart with the faintest pressure. “Shall I get back down on my knees until I earn another kiss?”

Heat exploded in my core. The room spun around me, my skin feeling like it might ignite with one more touch. I swallowed hard. “I doubt your lover would approve of that.”

His chin lowered. “Neither would yours.”

Game over.

The words were a bucket of frigid water on my desire. I tossed the dagger off, then yanked my leg from his hands and swung them to the side, hurriedly smoothing down my skirt. With several chains now broken, my dress hung off my shoulder by a single gleaming metallic thread.

I pushed past him and stalked to my wardrobe, snatching a silken robe. I threw it over my shoulders just in time for the last chain to surrender, sending the dress tumbling over my hips and pooling at my feet.

I wrapped the robe tighter and irritably knotted the sash, then slammed the wardrobe shut and whipped to face him. “You were sulking outside my room, so you clearly have something to say. Spit it out.”

Luther’s eyes narrowed, his pupils wide and midnight black. “Your first magic training session is tomorrow.”

“The ball is tomorrow.”

“The ball is tomorrow night. You can train during the day.”

“I need time to prepare.” I tried to remove my diamond hair clip and winced as it snagged in place. “It takes a lot of work to make me look this presentable.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He crossed the room and batted my hands away, deftly untangling the clip and setting it aside. “You forget the conditions I’ve seen you in. I know how easily your beauty shines through.”

He combed his fingers through my hair to smooth it back down. Tingles prickled down my neck as his hands wove through my long waves, catching on the knots and tugging lightly at my scalp.

My pulse spiked—at his touch, at the compliment, at the memory of all those times he’d seen me at my most pitiful, and how little it had done to turn his eye.

---