Page 51 of The Legend of Meneka
“Oh, there are many words,” he says quietly. “I’m not sureyoushould say them, though.”
His hand comes up to my own, though he does not touch me. He simply moves his palm back in a smooth, lazy gesture, and the sleeves of my kurta fall back, goose pimples rising on my skin. It is a small thing he does, to control this without making any contact, but my eyes widen.
I lift my chin. We are still not touching, but the air between uscrackles, the heat of him sizzling with the water of my own power. I feel parched, and my tongue flashes out to wet my lips. Kaushika watches me, and his own tongue mirrors the movement.
My thighs clench and I swallow. I am finding it hard to keep track of the conversation, but I cannot let him win this easily. The both of us know what we’re doing, this quiet challenge to see which one of us is going to give in first, which one of us is going to reveal our secrets fully, or relent when it comes to battle. It is dangerous, this game, but I move closer. The fabric of my kurta brushes against his bare, muscled chest. Kaushika inhales deeply, his eyes never leaving me. His pulse quickens as his breathing becomes a beat uneven.
“If you disapprove of what I say,” I ask softly, “why do you keep me close to you?”
His other hand rises toward the crown of my head, and of its own accord my topknot unravels, hair cascading down my shoulders. I blink, not understanding, but then as he drops his hand I see the crescent comb—hiscrescent comb—spinning between his fingers. A sudden gust of wind, either natural or created by him, surges around us. Strands of my hair sweep against his cheeks.
His eyes gleam in hot desire, and slowly he brushes my hair back from his face. His fingers twirl around the locks, his touch so gentle that it might as well still be the wind.
“Because I need you,” he says quietly. “Except for me, you are the most powerful within the hermitage. Despite how much prana you use, it continues to shine inside you, barely requiring replenishment.”
I tilt my head and study him between my lashes. “Then you intend to use me.”
“I intend to use you,” he agrees. “If I can convince you.” He moves slightly, once, and I feel that male part of him stroking my belly, the feeling so very subtle that I cannot tell if it is his movement or the magic still crackling between us.
“Tell me,” he whispers. “Are you convinced?”
My mind reels. My legs tremble, and dampness grows between my thighs. The heat from him leaches into me, or perhaps it is my own heat. I do not know; I can’t make sense. The pure thrill of our positions reversed rushes through me. That he should ask me this when I am the one trapping him with my body. That he understands me in a manner hardly anyone does and perhaps always has. We are here holding this moment close yet not holding each other. What would giving in to him mean? Would it be so awful, when we have already been intimate? I want him so desperately that all my own rules feel meaningless. I made decisions to never get involved with a mark, but I made them for others, not him. He—he—is not anyother; he is … closer.
His mouth forms in a smile, and I know that I am going to break. That I am too enraptured to play like this anymore. The realization torments me, shattering my own bonds with myself, and a rough, outraged sound bursts through me, because of how little I care, and how I know I will have to come to terms with this later—but not now. Not now.
My movement is harsh. With one hand, I capture his chin between my sharpened nails. With the other, I pull him forcefully toward me. My tongue flashes out to lick the hollow of his dimples, and a strangled sound grows in his throat as I begin to strew kisses over his jaw, down his neck, licking the dampness still lingering on his chest, nipping at his skin none too gently. His hand reaches to cup my bottom,but I thrust him back into the tree trunk, and he grunts, anger and shock flashing in his eyes, combined with deep hunger. The look on his face is pure torture, and sweat coats me, surging with his heat.
“I told you I enjoy commanding,” I say, my voice clipped.
“Is that what it will take?” he breathes. “To get you to see my point of view?”
“I make no promises.”
“I expect none,” he says, amusement in his eyes. He leans closer, and his hand drifts to my wrist to stroke it. “Go ahead, Meneka. Command me.”
My control slips and I surge up on my toes. Our mouths collide, and another growl escapes him, like relief and frustration. He grips me, fingers tight in my hair, almost painful against my scalp. My hands are everywhere, over his chest, grazing his hard stomach, tugging at his hair. This is unlike the first kiss. This is raw and immediate, and his anger pulses beneath his magic, both of them curling through me, enflaming me.
Power replaces the blood in my veins—and my own magic sings like a hymn. I am certain he can hear it too, the waterfall rush overtaking every other sound, thechantingof both our powers braiding.
He lifts me easily, and I wrap my legs around his waist, never breaking the kiss. My back arches and the tips of my breasts press against his chest. Kaushika groans, his tongue skating into mine. I bite his lower lip, and he clutches me harder, moving his body. My nails score the bare skin of his back—so jaggedly that I am certain I have drawn blood. He gasps, then pumps his hips harder, rocking the both of us almost painfully into the tree trunk, and I know that there will be no going back from here, this is it, we will both cross a line, but the hunger in me is too much to ignore, and I do not know which one of us has been seducing the other all this time—
“I beg your pardon,” a small voice says.
I freeze, then jerk away immediately, but Kaushika does not release me.
His eyes are heavy, his pupils dilated. His chest rises up and down, and for a long moment he only stares at me, fingers still tight enough to leave marks on my skin. I feel the rumbling in his chest, like he is about to rage at being interrupted, and my eyes widen as I realize I have not truly understood his potential. That this is but a small taste.
I stare at him.
Slowly, taking all the time in the world, he sets me down. He waits until I am steady on my feet, until I have adjusted my clothes and have retrieved the crescent comb to retie my topknot.
Only then does his gaze move to Romasha, who stands amidst the trees, her eyes averted, a blush on her cheeks.
“The sages are leaving,” she whispers to no one in particular. “Perhaps you should offer apologies and try to repair some damage of the Mahasabha, guruji.”
Kaushika grunts. Glancing at me, he strides over to where his kurta lies. He pulls it on himself and reties his hair in a deft topknot. In an instant, he has returned to being a rishi, but underneath his controlled movements roars the hunger for the release we both seek.
“We will stay the night,” he says to Romasha. “I must discuss our plans with you and Anirudh before we head back. Tell the others they can return to the hermitage now if they wish it.”
