Page 84 of Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox
Drowning
Tsumiko woke when someone slid under the covers with her. There was little doubt as to whom, and she smiled at the familiar press of Argent’s presence. He smelled of damp and sea and the skies overhead, and she started when he touched her. “Your hands arefreezing.”
“It is winter, and you turned me out.”
“Did you have fun?”
He pulled until she rolled in his direction, and she let him drag her into his embrace. Usually, he was more sly about nestling, but tonight’s flight had left him bolder, wilder. She peered toward the balcony doors, which he’d remembered to shut this time around. That was a mercy. But dawn’s light wasn’t showing past its panes. It was still night.
“I thought you’d stay out as long as you could.” Tsumiko ran her hand over a bare shoulder. “Are you hurt? Did something happen?”
“I am uninjured.” He nosed her jawline and murmured, “Thank you for your concern.”
“Did you fly?”
He hummed an affirmative as he fit his body more fully against hers, and Tsumiko fought to keep her composure. This was different. He was different.
“Are you drunk?” she whispered.
“Are you offering?” His fingers made a slow slide to the beads at her wrist. With needy petulance, he demanded, “Tend me.”
Tsumiko might not be experienced, but she was far from clueless. Nestling was a comfort she could freely give, but Argent wasn’t behaving like an Amaranthine in need of tending. He was acting like a needy male.
“Argent, what are you doing?”
He kissed her, light upon her lips. “Whatever I want.”
“But you don’t want me.”
“I lied.”
His next kiss slowly deepened, and her resistance wavered. What was this restless energy thrumming under her skin? This urgency. Did it have something to do with her being a reaver? Or … was she acting like a needy female?
Oh.
She pushed at him, and he gave her room to breathe. Barely.
His words formed against her lips, close enough to caress. “Do not leave me wanting.”
. . .
Argent wasn’t drunk, but flight had left him giddy, and Tsumiko was responding to his attentions. He lapped at her parted lips, and his hand glided to the curve of her hip. This woman. Her soul had both seduced and sated him. He could do that for her. He could make her body sing.
But then she spoke. “Argent, no kissing.”
A command. A harsh reminder of how little his wants meant.
Obedience kept his lips from her skin, but not his teeth. Nipping her earlobe, he whispered, “Why not?”
“B-because you’re doing things out of order.”
She trembled, but not with fear, and his fingers retraced their lazy course, seeking more shivers.
“Because there’s a chance that things will change once you’re free.”
Argent stilled, insulted. “I know my own mind.”
“Then there’s no need to rush.”
