Page 55 of The Queen and the Half-blood
“You’re not going to start shrieking the moment I touch you?”
“No.”
“I won’t hurt you … but you must tell me if you want me to stop.”
She managed another, jerky, nod. “I will.”
Another silence fell, drawing out for a long while.
Lara was beginning to wonder if he’d heed her—and tried to fight the relief that washed over her at the thought he might not—when he reached out, stroking the hair that hung in her face with his fingertips.
She remained frozen, as still as a standing stone, even as her heart bucked wildly. No, she wouldn’t shriek, but it took all her will not to shrink away from his touch. He promised he wouldn’t hurt her, but what if he was lying?
Courage.
His fingers traced down her cheek before following the line of her jaw. He moved then—shifting behind her now and sweeping the curtain of her hair aside—so he could explore her neck and shoulder.
His caress was light, and Lara shivered. His calmness soothed her. Maybe this wasn’t going to be an ordeal, after all. However, when his lips brushed her neck, she jolted.
“You have beautiful skin,” he murmured, as his breath feathered across her neck. “Like milk.”
She swallowed, suddenly faint. And when he dragged his lips down to her right shoulder and gently nipped her skin with his teeth, she started to tremble.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked as his hands skimmed down her arms.
Lara closed her eyes. “No,” she managed. “Go on.”
“Relax, lass.” The teasing note had returned to his voice. “And let me teach you a thing or two.”
Heat flushed through her. The arrogance of the man.
She murmured a curse under her breath, and he laughed, his breath feathering against her shoulder. And then his hands slid to her torso. The thin linen of her undertunic provided a flimsy barrier, and the heat of his palms scorched her skin. He moved up, over the arch of her ribcage, before he cupped her breasts with both hands.
And then, as he stroked her nipples with his thumbs, his lips traveled back up her neck. A moment later, his tongue explored the shell of her ear.
Lara’s breathing caught. She didn’t want to like what he was doing, yet her body suddenly felt as if it were melting. Her nipples became hard and sensitive as he continued to stroke them, her breasts heavy. All the while, she was aware of the heat of his body like a furnace against her back.
A long, shuddering sigh escaped her.
“That’s it … ease into it,” Alar whispered as he pushed her hair to the other side and lavished attention on her neck and other shoulder. “You’ll enjoy this. I promise.”
Lara swallowed, not trusting herself to speak. He was taking his time, allowing her to get used to him. He’d sworn he’d treat her gently, and he was. Even so, her pulse still fluttered like a trapped moth.
Eventually, Alar moved so that he faced her once more. Her eyes flickered open, her gaze meeting his.
His lips curved, although his eyes were hooded now.
His expression made her breathing grow shallow. An odd sensation, almost like excitement, quickened in her lower belly.
What was this?
He then gestured for her to change position so that her legs were no longer folded underneath her. And when she stretched her legs out on the sheepskin, he started to caress her ankles and calves. Slowly, he pushed up the hem of the tunic as he worked his way up her legs.
Lara watched his progress. He took his time, exploring her skin with exquisite slowness. And as he did, she started to feel overly warm and flustered.
What was wrong with her? She didn’t feel like herself at all.
Eventually, he gently parted her legs and pushed the tunic up farther so that it bunched around her hips—and when he did, panic twisted under her ribs. Her body went rigid as she leaned back on her hands, her fingers digging into the sheepskin.
