Page 39 of Cursed Dreams
His eyes, sharp and wholly unreadable, dragged over her from the top of her head to the soft swell of her cleavage, to the curve of her waist, before flicking back up to meet her gaze. The intensity of it was a slow burn, a smoulder, one that promised wicked things.
Thalia’s breath hitched.
Her mouth turned dry.
And gods help her, but her mind betrayed her completely.
Suddenly, she was thinking of things she had no business thinking about, of what it would feel like to run her hands over that hard, muscled chest, to trace the sharp cut of his jaw with her lips, to bite at that ever-present smirk until he stopped teasing and kissed her properly.
To feel his hands on her, not in battle, not in dismissal, but in desperate, heated worship.
Her stomach coiled tight, heat pooling low, making her thighs press together beneath the bar.
Gods.
It had to be the alcohol, the buzz in her veins making her inhibitions dangerously thin. She blamed the drinks, the heady mix of mead and whatever else Cellen had given her, because there was no other explanation for why she suddenly felt like she needed to know what he tasted like. She wasn’t inexperienced, she had had a few trysts back home in her village, but they had been so long ago, she needed someone to feel close to, to help satisfy the growing need inside her, no not someone her mind raced, she needed him .
Vaelith’s smirk deepened, as if he could hear every single filthy thought running through her mind.
Thalia swallowed, heart hammering, pulse thrumming wildly in her throat.
“Well?” His voice was low, smooth, curling around her like a warm touch. “You were about to tell me more about how attractive I am.”
Bastard.
But gods help her, she still wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap that smirk off his face—or kiss it instead.
Thalia shifted in her seat, trying to ease the heat curling low in her belly. It was supposed to be a subtle movement, just a small adjustment, something to regain control over her wildly betraying body. But the second she did, Vaelith went utterly still.
Not just still, predatory.
His smirk disappeared.
His entire body tensed, like a bowstring pulled too tight, ready to snap.
And when he looked at her again, really looked at her, his expression was no longer teasing. It was hunger.
Something deep and dark and unmistakably male.
Thalia sucked in a sharp breath, her pulse hammering like a war drum in her chest. The air between them shifted, crackled.
Then Vaelith leaned in just enough for her to hear the raw edge in his voice.
“Five seconds, Thalia,” he murmured, his tone gravelly, as if the words were being dragged from him with significant effort.
Her stomach flipped.
He kept going, his voice dropping even lower, rougher, dangerous.
“Five seconds to turn around and walk back to your friends.” His fingers flexed against the table as if he was fighting to keep them still, as if he wanted to reach for her. “Before I do something we may both regret.”
Thalia barely heard the words.
Not when his gaze was scorching her alive, searing through her clothes, branding her to her bones.
She knew that look.
It was the kind that promised ruin. The kind that said he would take his time, that he would devour her inch by inch, that once he had her, he wouldn’t stop until she was completely undone.
