Page 63 of The Princesses of Ruin
“Don’t get attached,” I say.
“I won’t,” he lies, the color of his words tainted gray. I don’t tell him I can see his dishonesty because I’m a selfish bitch who wants to fuck.
I tuck my face against his reddened cheek and kiss his neck. “Come to the tent with me.”
He takes a step back but doesn’t let go. Another laugh bursts out of me, this one high and unrestrained, as we trudge little shuffles at a time toward the tent.
“We’ll get there faster if you let me go.”
“I don’t need to get there faster. I need to hold you.”
The words are pure white and glistening like sharp daggers against my chest. This stupid man isalreadyin love with me.
And if I take him to bed, he will be heartbroken…
He peels back the tent flap and kicks off one boot, then the other as he steps inside.
I swallow the disgust for myself and follow him in.
Chapter twenty-four
Adrik
Ipull Emillia into the tent and kneel before her. When I look up there’s hunger in her eyes, matched only by reluctance. The expression on her face is one of pain.
“It’s just your boots,” I say, grabbing her left foot.
Her hand comes to my head for stability. She runs her nails through my hair, and I sigh, relishing the scrape of them. I’ve never felt something so right, and so necessary. I work the laces as she caresses my temple down to my jaw. She grabs my chin and turns my head to meet her gaze again.
Her eyes are severe, a pinch of anger in her brows. “Don’t. Get. Attached.”
I swallow my plea for her to let me love her. She’ll think me pathetic and this night won’t happen. But if I can show her how good I can be, that I can fill her needs, she’ll want me the way I want her. Need me how I need her.
I slide her foot from her boot and place it on my knee. “I won’t.”
Not any more than I already am, however much that is.
I press my fingers into the arch of her foot in circular motions. Her hand grips my shoulder and she groans, bending slightly at the knees.
“Bad?” I ask.
“So good. Please…”
She trails off and doesn’t say more, so I continue. I work my way up to the ball of her foot and then squeeze her toes softly with one hand, while the other massages her heel. Her fingers dig into my shoulder, and the sensation of her anchoring herself to me is better than any other.
I keep my attention split; most of it on massaging Emillia’s foot, but a portion focused on the fire and keeping it in check. I dug down and made a ring of stones to help contain the wandering embers, but a few have already escaped. I snuffed them with a burst of cold before anything could catch, but the concern is still there. I wouldn’t want to burn our tent down mid…mid wherever we get to tonight.
She takes off her coat, throwing it aside and drawing my eyes up to her chest. Her fingers pop the buttons on her thick vest one by one, and I’m entranced. I hardly know what my hands are doing as I get lost in the motions of this goddess undressing for me. She stops when she reaches her thin, tight undershirt. It clings to her skin like a lusty embrace, revealing the peaks of her nipples but not their color. Her breasts are full teardrop shapes, bulging at the bottom to create a delicious crease I want to run my tongue along.
She arches an eyebrow at me, and I realize my hands have stopped their massage. I put her foot on the ground and unlace the other boot. She watches me with feral impatience, like a bear that knows it’s about to eat. She licks her bottom lip into her mouth and bites down as I place her right foot on my knee.
I stare up at her, watching every micro expression on her face as I work out the aches of the day. Her eyes trace my mouth, my throat, then up to my hair as she runs a hand through it. She’s learning myfeatures and craving them. I’ll let her drink me in, need me, and then I’ll let her take what she wants.
Instinct moves my hands to her legs when I finish with her right foot. I follow the flow of her curves up to her trousers. I unbuckle her belt and pull on her pants, my gaze still locked on her face. The reluctance in her eyes gives me pause, but the tightness in my chest is assuaged when she takes a hand from my shoulder to help me.
I draw the pants down her legs and let my eyes wander. She’s tanned and scarred. Some scars are deep and long, others shallow nicks, some new, but most old. There’s one on her knee that looks to be the oldest of all. It’s rough, and patchy, like she tripped on stones while running as a child.
My cheeks flush with heat and I lean forward, placing my lips on the mark. She sucks in a gasp and her legs lock together.
