CHAPTER TWENTY

I was dressed in a fluffy sweater the color of red wine — the color Thoran seemed to really like — and tights the next morning. Black ones that hugged all manner of places. They reminded me of stockings, but thicker. Less sheer. Amari had very clearly put the two together and assured me it was normal to wear without a dress.

I was beginning to disagree as I stood before the oval mirror with the wooden carvings around the frame. They were so revealing. It left nothing to the imagination, and the top barely grazed the waist. A full strip of flesh peeked out every time I moved or reached too high or bent down.

Combined with the strappy, black sandals with the spiked heel and crisscross straps across the top of the foot, I felt like a whole other person. This was not the Naya I was used to. I had never even worn pants. Not once. Mother hated them. Said they were for men.

But I liked it.

I liked the way they hugged my legs and outlined my hips. It was probably too much, and I was wearing it wrong, but it was too late to change when a quiet knock filled my room.

Nerves a riot of nervous snakes in my gut, I hurried over and pulled the door open.

Thoran said nothing.

Dark, focused eyes rolled down the length of me to stop at where my toes peeked out. Then traveled back up to find my face. My lips. The same red as the night before.

Finally, he settled on my eyes.

"What do you want from me?" he said at last, voice a cyclone of gruff emotion.

That wasn't at all the reaction I'd been expecting. Hoping for.

My fingers brushed the soft material of the sweater. Twisted together inside the baggy sleeves to curl into themselves out of habit. My palms itched to feel the burn of pain.

"What—?"

He closed the single step between us, nearly coming flush against me. His heat slammed into me like a brick. The heady scent of spices swirled around my throat, keeping me captive to the man consuming all my air.

"My heart? My soul? Fucking just take it, love. It's fucking yours. I'm at your mercy."

Delighted and flooded with relief, I chuckled. "Is this okay to wear to breakfast?"

Thoran shrugged. "I couldn't give a shit if it wasn't. I'm not letting you change."

"Vance might—"

"Vance can kiss my ass. If he's got a problem, I'll deal with it." He softened his voice. "You look fucking gorgeous, sweetheart, in case that wasn't clear."

Warm all over as if I'd sunk into a warm bath, I offered him a smile. "Thank you."

He leaned in and nuzzled the side of my cheek with his nose. Landing a solid kick start to my chest when his lips followed. The spot burned as if he'd lit a match to my skin.

"Come back to the office," he breathed into my skin. "Sit in my lap and let me feed you."

Maybe it was the nerves, but I burst out laughing. Thoran smirked, lopsided as he drew back. His eyes danced in the filmy, morning light. He took my hand and led me out of the room.

Vance and Oliver were already seated when we arrived. Cyrus was just inside the door, practically a statue in his position. I greeted him in passing and got an inclination of his head in return.

Oliver rose politely as Thoran pulled the chair out for me.

"Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well?"

I slid into my spot. Felt the brush of Thoran's fingers ghost over my unbound hair before he moved to take his place.

I smiled at Oliver. "I did. Thank you." I turned to Vance who was actively focused on slicing into a grapefruit. "Good morning."

His dark eyes flickered up only briefly with a dismissive, "Miss Smith."

"How are you liking Lacroix House?" Oliver asked, passing me a bowl of strawberry jelly.

"I love it," I said. "It's the most beautiful house I've ever seen."

Oliver smiled indulgently. "Has Thoran told you the history?"

I stole a glance in Thoran's direction, my heart already hurting at the memory of him standing before those paintings, his expression haunted.

Mother had aesthetically pleasing photos of family displayed strategically along corridors and neatly arranged across the mantel place, but all their stories were so ... normal. So safe.

Two people met.

They got married.

Had children.

Died of old age.

Sure, there was the odd, distant relative who died of something unavoidable like my great aunt Josephine who died of cancer when I was a child, or Mother's third cousin Monty who tumbled down a flight of stairs during a drunken state.

But a steady cycle of tragic and unnecessary deaths astounded me, just not as heartbroken as I'd been seeing the shattered defeat in Thoran's face. The loss painting voids in his eyes. He had held all their pain in his voice and all I had wanted was to pull him back. Pull him away from that place. If I had any right or thought it could do any good, I would pull all the portraits off the wall and hide them where he would never see them again.

"Yes," I managed at last.

"It's not all sad," Oliver assured me as if reading my thoughts, but he said nothing else to prove his comment.

"What Oliver means is that all families come with tragedies and losses," Vance murmured almost kindly. "We can't change the hand we're dealt."

I considered that while the conversation continued without me. I stared at the full plate I hadn't filled and wondered if it was true. Was the hand we were given it? Were we given no chance to correct a bad situation? If that were the case, then was I only prolonging the inevitable? Sooner or later, Jarrett would find me, and I would be his to do with as he wished.

A toy with no voice.

Would Thoran give me to him, though? Father had been so confident in his claim. He had strategically used the connection to make an important statement. It would have been a strange and foolish thing to lie about.

Friends.

Best friends.

It made no sense. No matter how I tried to fit the pieces.

"Blue?"

I glanced away from the heap of fluffy, golden eggs to the man watching me with that unwavering scrutiny.

It killed me that I couldn't tell him my name. It burned in my gut how badly I ached to hear him say it in that melodious voice of his, especially when he was standing so close.

His arms holding me against him.

His lips on my cheek.

I yearned to hear it roll off his tongue when he was looking at me as if I were the most magical thing he'd ever seen.

I returned my attention to my plate. A tremor shook my finger when I reached for the fork and speared a morsel of egg on the prong. I could feel his eyes on me as I brought it to my lips.

"Good girl," he praised quietly when I chewed and swallowed. "All of it now."

Mother always said men hated women who made pigs of themselves at the table. Women who ate were unappealing to watch. So, why did Thoran keep making me eat? He seemed so invested in my food intake. I didn't understand, but I knew he was serious when he'd made his threat.

While the idea of sitting in his lap again did appeal to me on a level that mortified me, I wasn't sure I could eat while doing it.

"That's fine," Thoran was saying when I dragged my thoughts back to the conversation. "We'll discuss it later."

Whatever it was, Vance wasn't thrilled about the answer. If his lips pinched any harder, it would be a straight, white line.

"We have documents for the new club, and several order matters that require your attention immediately. As in straight after breakfast."

Thoran's gaze shifted to me, and I realized he didn't want to leave me alone.

"I'm fine," I said. "I can read in my room. I won't get in anyone's way."

"Excellent. Now that that is settled, we can get some actual work done, especially if we're going to focus on what we discussed last night."

Muscles coiled in Thoran's cheek. A bundled of restless nerves that mirrored the cold, hard glint in his eyes.

It made me wonder what could possibly have him so angry, but couldn't find the nerve to ask. So, I said nothing as I turned my attention to the plate of waffles heaped on my plate.

After breakfast, Thoran walked me to the office to get my book then upstairs. But he didn't take me to my room. He kept going until we stood at his doors.

"My windows are bigger," he said, and a flutter in my stomach erupted.

"They are," I agreed, excited for the chance to sit with those windows and that view and read. "But are you sure?"

His answer was to open the door and lead me inside the warm, dim space that smelled of him.

I immediately went to the center glass and peered out at the dark ripples of water churning under the violent winds. Bare branches cracked together, tangling and yanking on each other as if fighting. The world was a flurry of chaos while I stood still and quiet in its wake with my book to my chest.

"I will never get tired of this view," I whispered to the man coming up behind me.

Coils of muscle settled against my back. Rough palms pinned my hips. I was trapped between a raging inferno of his masculine heat and the chaotic storm that chilled my nipples into hard points against the lace of my bra.

"Stay as long as you want." His lips grazed the side of my neck where it curved into my shoulder. "I won't be long, but I'll send Cooke up with lunch." He nipped at the slant of my jawline with his teeth. "What will you do?"

I couldn't think when he was kissing his way up my cheek, towards my mouth, but I managed a weak, "Eat?"

He gave a low, throat hum and I lost all the feeling in my knees. The book toppled out of my fingers and hit the floor at my feet. It lay forgotten as he traced lazy circles into the naked skin of my stomach, making the muscles seize and shudder.

"You're shivering, Little Blue," he purred into my ear.

I was ready to tell him it was chilly when his searching digits nudged the waistband of my tights and slid under to the top knuckles of his hand. His fingers splayed across my pelvis. Over my cotton panties.

"Thoran!"

My moan was met with a deep, dark cackle. "If you're a good girl, when I get back, I'll finish this. I'll finger your little pussy until you cum."

I didn't know if I was mortified by the crude promise or excited. My body seemed to be torn by the idea, both wanting him to continue and resisting the urge. All I could muster was a shaky whisper of his name that was met with the knot of his free hand in my hair, dragging my head back. Exposing my neck and the pulse he traced with the tip of his tongue and doing something to my nether regions that had me grabbing his arm for support to stay up.

My body was on fire.

It pulsed with the force of a million heartbeats tied to a billion nerve endings that begged to be stroked. The sensation was so hot, so aggressive I was terrified and lightheaded, and wanting.

I wanted him so much I wanted to cry, but I couldn't breathe. Think.

"Thoran..."

His name was my anchor. The only thing keeping me from vanishing entirely over the cliff I could feel myself dangling.

"I can't wait to see how fucking wet you are, sweetheart. I can't wait to sink so deep inside your tight cunt you see stars." His fingers dipped lower. The tips of each at my lips. Almost cupping my damp, scalding heat. "You're so fucking hot. Another few more inches and I'll know just how soaked your panties are. Should I?"

Yes!

Yes please!

The plea screamed between my ears shameless and scorching my tongue, but all that whined out was a pathetic, "Please ... please, Thoran."

The hand in my hair tightened until I was sure strands were being torn from my scalp.

"Fuck, Blue...!"

The arms of steel around me, the taunting fingers at my heat, the breath at my ear all shuddered as the man holding me fought his own control. His heart cracked against my shoulder blade, frantic as mine.

Feeling unnaturally bold, I raised my face and let my lips brush his scar just above his upper lip. The caress was feather light, but the way he started, the way his head snapped down to mine, eyes wide with surprise sent a wave of heat up my neck to fill my cheeks.

His features softened. The hand in my hair relaxed. He lowered his head but didn't kiss me.

"The next few hours are going to be hell, but I'll make it worth it when I see you again." His promise sent a warm tingle through me.

"Hurry," I whispered without thinking and his face darkened all over again.

A muscle twisted in his cheek, but he pulled away from me and took several large steps back.

"Read your book, you little temptress. I'll be back and we'll finish this."

Without waiting for me to respond, he pivoted sharply on his heels and stomped from the room. The door was closed behind him and I was left alone in his personal, private space with soaked panties and an itch I didn't know what to do with.

I blew out a frustrated breath and bent to snatch my poor book off the floor. I wandered with it to the massive bed with its navy sheets and high posters. I kicked off my shoes. The satin slid beneath me, rippling like waves on the night sea. I reclined across the foot, eyes on the black skies boiling overhead. My heart thumped against the hard surface of the book, a knocking that almost hurt but was nice having something else to focus on that wasn't Thoran's hands sliding past the band of my tights and cupping my ... what had he called it?

My pussy.

The term had my face burning.

"I can't wait to see how fucking wet you are, sweetheart."

His low promise jingled through me as potent as if he were still there, growling them into my ear.

My thighs shifted and squeezed together. A futile attempt to smother the fire at my core. The restless fidgeting pulled my top up over my stomach, exposing my sides and back. The cool rush of air did nothing to taper the lingering sensation of his touch.

I groaned and covered my face with the book. I counted to fifty. No matter how I tried to keep my mind busy, I was reminded of the slickness between my legs. The place Thoran promised to soothe when he returned.

I wasn't so ignorant as to not know what the slippery pool at my center was. I knew it was meant to help my husband get inside me easier and the wetter I was, the more he would enjoy it.

No one ever mentioned this part.

No one ever said I would be in the grips of my body's madness.

No one ever said I would want him to slide inside me willingly.

Not Jarrett. Never Jarrett.

But Thoran...

The idea of him putting his hands on me excited me to the point of explosion.

Tentatively, I eased my hand across my belly and traced the seam of my tights. The soft fabric gave too easily beneath my wiggling fingers. Offering no resistance as I sank deeper. Past my wrist. The elastic of my panties were no better and before I could retreat, my fingers were between my folds, slipping through to my opening.

"Oh my God..." I choked, voice muffled by the fabric cover of the book still shielding me from the world.

It was dripping.

It pooled at my core, but smeared across everything else, especially the tight knot at the front. The sensitive little bundle that made my toes curl into Thoran's sheets when I rolled over it. My hips twitched in response, lifting to meet my touch.

"Oh God!" I wheezed, body shuddering violently once. Hard enough that I immediately withdrew.

I scrambled off the bed, breathing hard. My thighs quivered as I struggled to stand. The overwhelming sensation washing over me sent waves of panic as the place I touched pulsed, luring me to continue.

That didn't feel natural. It didn't feel like something I was supposed to do. Everything about it had the alarm bells in my head literally ringing.

I was broken.

Thoran was going to see it the moment he touched me, and he would be so disappointed.

My earlier hum of need plummeted into a crippling knowledge that Mother was right. I really couldn't do anything right. I was a failure and Thoran was going to see it.

Fighting the onslaught of tears burning at the back of my throat, I grabbed my book and hurried from his room back to mine.