“Are you ready?” he asked.
“For every lesson you mean to teach.”
She watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed. The air in the closet was thick and warm. She could smell him—and Annalise swallowed hard, herself.
“The texts, as you pointed out, have fallen into disrepair. I want you to sort the ones that might be salvaged from those that are unusable. The ones with no damage put aside on a separate pile.” He slid a fingertip along the shelf, gathering dust. “You might clean in here, while you’re at it.”
She blinked prettily. “Oh, the honor.”
He blinked, too, and turned his head. To hide a smile? Land Above, the man was worse than difficult.
“And am I to use
my
judgment as to the condition of the texts, or yours?”
“Mistress Marony,” Toquin said in a low voice, “you plague me apurpose.”
She fought a smile and kept her eyes wide. “Oh, never.”
He pulled a book from the pile and took it to the table beneath the window. “Come here.”
Annalise had hidden her grin by the time he looked at her. She took her place beside him, standing close though he shifted almost at once. Almost.
“You tell me if you think this text is to be saved, destroyed, or repaired.” He touched it with one fingertip, sliding it in front of her.
She flipped open the cover then riffled the pages. “You know I must do more than peek at it. I must actually pay attention to each page to be sure they’re unblemished. This is not a task for one afternoon.”
“I didn’t intend it to be.”
“I do need your opinion,” she told him seriously. “Not because I don’t know enough, but because it’s necessarily a task for two.”
He said nothing, and she drew in a breath. He’d known it when he gave it to her. She’d thought herself the mistress of this game, but was she, truly?
“Don’t tell me a cat’s stolen your breath,” he said.
“No. Not a cat.”
She’d spoken in honesty, not to tease. His gaze flashed, mouth thinning, and though many times she’d meant to poke him into anger, she regretted it now. She moved when he did, blocking his way.
“Move,” he told her.
“I meant no insult!”
“Get out of my way or I’ll move you myself.”
Annalise stood her ground, chin lifted, eyes boring into his face though he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “No.”
He looked at her then, his eyes flat and glittering with fury, his mouth set so grim the near smile he’d given before seemed like some sad dream. “I said—”
“I know what you said,” she interrupted. “Stop. Would you listen? Why do you take such offense to such . . . levity? Such meaningless jest? You’re not a man to be moved by worthless flirtation. I know this about you.”
“You don’t know me.”
The words she’d thrown at him now bounced back, and Annalise discovered how much they could hurt. She flinched, but stayed in place. He was so close now she could feel his breath on her face, the heat of their bodies even through layers of cotton and wool.
She was not the sort to stammer and was mortified to find herself doing so now. “I spoke what leaped from my tongue without thought.”
“It was not a cat that stole your breath.”
“No,” she said in a murmur that was the loudest she could speak, without additional intention. “It was you.”
“Tell me the first principle.” His voice had pitched low, too.
The tiny room had grown sweltering. Annalise tasted sweat when she swiped her tongue over her lips. She could see it beading on the top of his and couldn’t stop herself from wondering what he would do if she licked it and how it would taste.
“What?”
“The first principle. Tell me.” He’d not yet gripped her, but neither of them was moving.
“There is no greater pleasure than providing absolute solace.”
She breathed out. He breathed in.
“And the mantra?”
She couldn’t think of it at once, and he grew impatient, scowling. It should’ve frightened her. He meant it to, she was fair certain of that. It would have scared others in her position. It only made her want to kiss the expression away.
“You’ve studied it. But do you believe it?”
“I’m told I must,” Annalise whispered without looking from his eyes. Those deep, dark eyes in which she was going to drown.
“No. Not must. It’s not a question of must, or need. It is a simple question of belief. There is no greater pleasure than providing absolute solace. Do you believe it?”
She paused for a breath and nodded, surprised by her answer. “Yes. I do.”
“Then how,” he said with grit in his voice, a snarl on his mouth, “do you ever expect to grant it to someone when all you can ever find it within yourself to do is taunt?”
“I wasn’t taunting you!”
Toquin stepped back at the cry. Annalise moved with him, so no distance grew between them. He turned his face again, but she took his chin in her hands and forced him to look at her.
Fast as anything, Toquin grasped her wrists and yanked her hands from his face. It didn’t hurt, his hands if anything were big enough to encircle and bind her without actually touching her flesh. But the swiftness of the motion, the fierceness of it, startled a gasp from her.
Her heart thudded, marking time with thunder in her ears as she waited for him to speak. Or to strike. The violence in his eyes hinted it could be either.
“What I said was the truth,” she told him at last. “All else, yes, I’ll admit I did it to tease. To make you do . . . something. Anything. Even to rouse to anger, since that would be better than having you look at me like . . .”
His fingers tightened. His thumbs pressed the pulsing point on the insides of her wrists. He felt it, she could see it in the glance he cast there before his gaze returned to hers.
“Like what?” Deep and low, rough as gravel, smooth as river-tumbled rocks. That was his voice. Hard as his gaze that pinned her hard enough to make her wonder what by the Void she’d been thinking in ever seeking to tempt this man.
“Like I don’t matter,” Annalise whispered. “As though I mean naught to you.”
How did they shift so that their bodies aligned? That his hands still bound her wrists between them, but his face was so close to hers she could have counted his lashes had they not been so thick? And how had she lost control of this situation?
“But you do. Mean naught to me.”
Annalise twisted her wrists in his grasp, not seeking release but proving she knew him to speak a lie. “Then let me go.”
For a bare second she thought he would. That in fact he might not only release her but thrust her from him so that she stumbled. It was there, that possibility, in the heat of his eyes and set of his mouth.
He did not let her go.
Her lips had already parted when he kissed her and his tongue slid inside without warning. Without resistance. He kissed her like he meant to eat her up, and Annalise leaned into it, open, eager, and gave him everything he seemed so determined to take.
Only then did his grip bruise her, but by then she didn’t care. His hands found her hips; hers linked at the back of his neck, beneath the softness of his hair. He bent her, turning, one hand sliding between her shoulders to support her even as he pushed her onto the table.
He used his chin to nudge hers up so he could get at the small sliver of her throat exposed above her high collar. His teeth nipped. Annalise bit down on her gasp, willing to risk nothing that would stop him from his task. She arched, her fingers threading through his hair, holding him closer.
His hands moved over her body, breasts, hips, thighs, belly. The table cut into the backs of her thighs, but she didn’t care. He pushed between her legs as she settled atop the table, thighs wide to receive him. The heavy folds of her gown got in the way, as did the length of his jacket.
He captured her mouth again and they kissed for a long time as he held her close. So Annalise said naught even when she wanted to speak. To say somewhat that would draw him to her. Instead she let her hands and lips and tongue, her eyes, meeting his, urge him to continue.
He groaned, his forehead dropping to hers. His hands ceased their roaming. His breath, sweet with mint, caressed her face. He’d closed his eyes, his lips parted.
Annalise froze with the thunder of her heartbeat making her deaf. They were tangled, limbs and clothes, yet she dared not move even to pull him closer, for fear he’d pull away entirely.
She’d never been with a man who seemed so desperate for her, yet so determined to deny himself. Moments ago she’d been certain he would take her there on the table and now . . . now she could feel the twitch and strain of the muscles in his back and shoulders as he kept himself from doing so.
It was her gown, she realized, and his jacket. There was no flipping up of skirts here. Too much material bunched between them, and even if he were to get her skirts past her thighs, what was he to do about his own clothes?
With other lovers, she’d have laughed at this predicament, but such an act would send him from her. She knew it. Her body strained, too, singing with the pleasure his touch had already brought.
“I—” she began, uncertain what she meant to say, and then he moved.
Swift and steady, graceful, he pushed away from her to slide her skirt to her hips, where he grasped her to shift her rear to the table’s edge. Annalise gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders to keep her balance. She needn’t have worried. Cassian—her pleasure-sodden brain refused to call him Master—had her firm in his grip. He would not let her fall.
And then, sweet Sinder’s Arrow, he was on his knees in front of her. No more hesitation. He drew his mouth over her knee and the inside of her thigh as she twitched at the sensation of wet heat against her flesh.
He was going to—oh, sweet Arrow. His mouth found her center, that dark sweetness so long unfulfilled. He kissed her there the way he’d kissed her mouth, with skilled hunger and delicately probing tongue.
She cried out then, unable to keep herself from it even if it should send him from her. Annalise dug her fingers into the thickness of his dark hair. Her hips tilted. His tongue found her clitoris and stroked it; his lips in the next breath tugged gently while his hands held her still despite the squirming.
This, she’d not imagined. That he would so pleasure her, take the place on his knees. No, she’d not thought it of him, and very quickly, Annalise could think of naught else. His mouth, tongue, lips, the heat and wetness against her own heat. It had been too long without such ecstasy, and her body responded quickly. She tipped herself against his mouth.
Now the words came, a slew of them tripping off her tongue in slow whispers of encouragement.
Yes
, she said.
Like that. Just that way.
He did what she said, and more, until she could no longer keep gathered the many glittering stars of her pleasure.
She let them go.
She sank into desire, consumed by it for the span of heartbeats and gasps she couldn’t count. Her fingers tightened, pulling. She thought she heard him gasp but could do naught but ride the waves of ecstasy until, shuddering, she could at last see and hear again.
Blinking, she looked down at him. Men had smiled at her from this place between her legs. Most had crawled up her body to slide inside her. Smiling, she reached to cup his cheek.
None had jerked away from her touch as though her hand were made of fire.
Toquin got to his feet. His hair fell over his face. He didn’t push it away. He paused for a moment, his hands on the table to either side of her hips.
“Your mercy. I should not have—” Voice like gravel, he cut himself off. Then, incredibly, gave Annalise a half bow and turned on his heel.
She was faster than she’d thought she could be after pleasure had so weakened her knees, but she got to him before he’d even opened the closet door. Her hand pushed it closed as he tugged it, and he turned, back to the door, eyes wide for but a moment before they narrowed.
“I’m warning you—”
“What?” she snapped, fair grateful though surprised to discover she had a voice with which to challenge. Her hand pressed the door, palm flat.
Her arm wasn’t long enough to reach around him without also pressing her body against his. He could have pushed her away. He was big enough, strong enough. She’d felt that strength in his grasp already, knew what he was capable of doing.
He didn’t move.
“Your mercy,” he began again, and she cut him off with a shake of her head.
“I do not grant you mercy. What are you thinking? That you can so . . .”
Ravish
was not the right word, for she’d been a more-than-willing participant in the lovemaking, such as it was. “That you could perform such an intimacy without a word, without . . .”
Annalise sputtered to a stop. Both were breathing near as fiercely as they’d been just before when he was kissing her. The heat hadn’t faded. If anything, it was greater, as she could feel the bulge of his cock against her belly. She pressed her hand harder on the door to keep him from opening it even a crack. She pressed her body to his, too.
His eyelids fluttered. She saw it, though he forced his gaze steady so fast she’d have missed it had she not been staring so keenly into his gaze. He licked his mouth. Drew a breath.
“How can you leave with the taste of me still on your lips?” she whispered. “How can you walk away from me without even a word?”
“I assure you, it can be done.” His voice cracked on the words, making them a sweet lie that brought her no pleasure for knowing they were so.
“No.” She shook her head. Leaned against him. Her own gaze grew heavy lidded, her mouth parting, inviting his kiss. Between them, the thickness of his cock grew.
She stood on her toes to kiss him, and at the last moment he turned his face so her lips found the corner of his mouth. Without taking her hand from the door, Annalise used a fingertip of the other to press his chin. To turn his face toward hers.