Page 55 of A Frozen Pyre
Ophir looked in both directions down the corridor.
“Don’t look there. Look at me,” he said assuredly. “I’ll let you know when you can look away.”
Heat consumed her. She’d spent her life commanding flame, yet it licked at all of the intimate cracks and parts of her, causing her toes to curl, her breath to catch, her breasts to peak against the delicate material of the dress. She resisted the flinching urge to check over her shoulder once more, eyes only on Tyr.
“You let your body go limp while I hold you, Princess,”he murmured. “Trust me to catch you. You know I have you. You know you won’t fall as long as you’re with me.”
She understood he meant more than tumbling to the ground.
“Tyr, let’s go,” she urged.
“I’m not done.”
“Then fuck me,” she begged.
He swept her backward in a single motion until she was pressed against the stones. She melted like butter over fresh bread, soaking into him. Her mouth absorbed each movement, the arch and caress of his tongue, the press of his lips, the grip of his hand as it cupped the side of her face, then half of her throat. She thought only of him. Of his mouth. Of his flavor. Of the fullness of him. Of how her heart expanded and squeezed at every touch.
“Princess?”
She looked up at him, eyes wide, desperate.
“You believe me when I tell you that I want you more than anything in this world.”
It wasn’t a question.
She nodded, shifting her head so her toffee-colored hair tumbled off her shoulder, baring her throat to his mouth. He dragged kisses down her neck, soaking whatever remained of the space between her legs. A distracting droplet of water dripped from her inner thigh. His thumb brushed over the soft curve of her breast. Given the abandoned fur, there was little more than a thread of hopes and prayers between his finger and the sensitive peak.
“And,” he said, eyes glazed, “you believe that what I feel for you is so much deeper than sex?”
She looked up at him, hazy with hunger.
“What if I only want sex from you?” she asked.
His lips quirked up in a half smile. “I wouldn’t blame you,” he said. “I’m fantastic in bed.”
She meant to grab his balls with anger, but his face flinched in a way that told her the graze of her touch had anentirely different effect.
“Tomorrow is the meeting,” he said. “It’s the last day of the summit.”
“I don’t want to talk about the meeting right now.”
“I know,” he agreed, “but there are things you don’t know. Things you deserve to know before you go into that room. Given the secrecy, my gifts for espionage, and Dwyn’s overall ability to be a demonic terror, I have no idea who knows what. But I know one thing for certain: You’re at a disadvantage. Can we go to your room and talk about it?”
“What disadvantage?” she asked, brows furrowing.
“Let’s go to your room,” he tried again. She could see his frustration, but she couldn’t let this be another thing shoved to the wayside to protect whatever delicate royal sensibilities people projected onto her.
“What disadvantage?” she pressed.
His nostrils flared as he forced himself into a state of calm. “There’s one I only learned about yesterday. The others…”
“What disadvantages!” she demanded, pluralizing the word as she pushed out from underneath him. The heat of anger replaced the desire that had consumed her mere moments before.
Tyr’s face fell into a concentrated frown, from the knit of his brows to the sadness in his eyes. His hand remained propped against the wall even though the princess had escaped from beneath him. His gaze traced her as she put just enough distance between them to size him up.
“Tyr,” she emphasized.
“That woman at your meeting,” he said. “The woman called Cybele?”
