Page 77 of The Ballad of a Bard

West gave in.

His long fingers pushed the waistband of his pants down, his undershorts following. They weren’t normally tight but after holding Crimson to him, after roughly, passionately kissing her, they’d become unbearably rigid.

As had he.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched himself, let alone had someone else touch him. There was one memory within his head that hardened him even further, one that he allowed himself access to in order to get this done as quickly as possible. Hammering guilt already consumed him for thinking about taking her to bed, making her moan his name and making it all worth it.

The fabric slid off her body with ease, revealing a cream corset below and similar undergarments that covered her enough that he let out a breath of relief.

She’d looked so tempting that night, gorgeously clad in her namesake and he wanted to strangle Muse for it. He knew what the Saint was up to. A blind man could have seen it.

But West allowed himself to relive that memory.

The sensual way he’d pushed her gown off her shoulders, slowly caressing her pale skin, even if he’d known it was a bad idea at that time. Even if it had been his body taking over for him, fueled by his desire instead of any rational thought. He’d enjoyed the small shiver that ran through her at his touch, savoured it even. Then he’d seen the undergarments under her gown, the primal male part of himself half hoping to see nothing in their place.

But the righteous Saint part of himself had shuddered inrelief to find her not bare. To take a calming breath and remove himself before he did something utterly foolish. The one that had dragged his knuckles across her shoulder just to see if it would make her squirm, gasp, inhale sharply.

It had.

West fisted himself at the way her body had reacted to him, so perfectly. He wondered what it would be like to have her turn around then, to have her enticing eyes find him, long lashes dipping across her full cheeks.

Her hazel eyes were dark, pooling pits of desire as he held her there.

He began to move along his length, hard as stone as he pictured letting her red hair down. At watching it curl around her shoulders and frame her pretty face. At the way he would have helped her out of the boned corset, one lace at a time before kneeling before her and lifting each leg out of those skimpy undergarments.

West grunted and sped up.

Her words from that night filtered back to him.

“I want you to make me burn.”

West could control the power of the moon, full, crescent, and waning. He could curve it in his palm, summon it to his will and harness the light that poured from it. A different sort of burn, and he had been so tempted to offer it all to her at that moment.

To make her burn himself.

He panted through his teeth as his balls tightened, precum glistening on the tip as he let his head fall back and meet the bathing room wall that he was propped against.

“I want your mouth on mine.”

He’d lost control when kissing her now, and it was the feel of her mouth on his that he remembered, moving his hand along himself accordingly.

West had almost kissed her until there was nothing but them. Kissed her on her mouth, then kissed her elsewhere. He would have trailed his lips all over her until he’d tasted every inch, understanding just what it was about her that drove him wild.

Crimson looked as though she tasted sweet.

Like nectar.

What he would give to find out, but those attached strings pulled him back like a marionette, controlled by the impish Saint that represented the mind.

“I want your fingers inside me.”

He thought about slipping his fingers into her pants, between her thighs and finding the heat there. About running his thumb against the apex of her tempting legs and making her wriggle in his grasp. About holding her there, making her ride his hand until she found her pleasure. Then plunging into her and taking his own.

“I want you inside me.”

West let out a shuddering breath as he pretended his hand was her warm sex, thrusting in and out as his fingers wrapped around the full length. It wasn’t the same, nor did he expect it to be but he’d lived for centuries. He could imagine similarities. His thumb curved around the tip, teasing his head and he groaned.

It wouldn’t be long now.

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