Page 171 of Throne of Air and Darkness

But nothing.

Not nothing.

I disappeared.

As easy as thinking, I was out of his grip and on the other side of the cave. Right on the edge of a pool. Standing in a puddle.

Not the best use of my magic. But I was where I’d intended to go.

“Running away, now?”

Arran didn’t move. He didn’t chase me. Bastard.

But my skin was burning even in the cool air. I needed release. I needed it desperately.

I reached up and unfastened the golden brassiere that held my tunic in place. It looked complicated, but it was just two fasteners on either side of my ribcage. I dropped the metal on the stone with aclink. A sharp tug, and the tunic it had held in place was gone as well.

My skin pebbled with gooseflesh, but I didn’t allow myself to shiver.

I forced my mate to stare at me, just out of reach.

My breasts hung heavy and full. I swayed my hips slightly to the side, knowing it would make my breasts sway as well. My rosy brown nipples peaked against the cold, standing out sharp, ready for his attention.

I watched as his eyes turned to glowing black embers.

But I wasn’t content with that. I wanted to torture him like he’d intended to torture me.

I skimmed my fingertips down between my breasts, careful not to touch them. I lingered over my belly, circling the soft flesh around my belly button a few times. Then I traced the outlines of my hips, up to my waist, and back to my breasts. Up to my mouth. I sucked two fingers between my lips, staring straight down at him.

Arran’s hands were fists, his stance tight. Every corded muscle tensed. “Take off your shirt.”

“You are not the one giving orders,” he snarled.

I rubbed my wet fingertips over my lips until they were glistening. “If you say so.”

I dropped my hands to my breasts, toying with the nipples. I pinched them hard enough to draw a little whimper from my throat. Arran tossed his head—an unconscious mimicry of his beast.

“Enjoying yourself?” he said. But the words were hoarse. He was struggling.

Good.

“Very much,” I groaned, drawing out the syllables. From beneath half-closed eyes, I watched his nostrils flare. He could scent my arousal. One of his fists loosened. Drifted downward. Toward his cock.

Mine.

The ferocity of the thought startled me, making me drop my hands from my breasts. Had it come from Arran?

No. That thought—that possessiveness—was all me. All mine. Just like Arran was mine.

I inhaled and stepped back through the void.

I wasn’t interested in playing games anymore.

Whether Arran sensed it through the mating bond or read it in my eyes, I didn’t really care. He stepped closer to me, reached for me, took my hips with his hands. That was all that mattered.

His fingers dug into my waist, through the soft layer of skin to the thick muscle beneath. The other unfastened my belt.

The gauzy skirt fell away. It might very well dissolve on the wet ground. But I didn’t care. My legs were bare to him now; so was my pussy. Both were trembling with need. I knew if I looked down, I’d see the glistening of my own wetness.

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