Yeah, this is sexy, I thought, and tried not to shiver.
Pritkin paused when he was down to loose trousers and some strips of cloth that had been wound around his calves, like some sort of makeshift socks. Then he started removing those as well. I wondered why until I realized: they could bunch his trousers around his ankles if he needed to move quickly, trapping him. And he was planning to move. I could see it in the tension in his body, in the hard, angry set of his jaw, in the tight muscles of his calves when the strips were finally off and he stood there in just a loose pair of pants.
And looked at me.
I didn’t know what his plan was. Maybe to pretend to play along, and move when the fey were distracted? Because I didn’t see how that helped. Maybe to actually play along, and hope it convinced them? Because he wasn’t looking like a guy who was ready to put on a show. Maybe something else entirely that I hadn’t thought of, because right now I was having a hard time thinking about anything.
Except the obvious.
I licked my lips and slid my hands up his legs, feeling hard muscle and coarse wool, with little pieces that caught on my palms. I needed to lotion more, I thought irrelevantly. My hands were rough. They were also trying to shake, making me grateful that the trousers were held on by a simple drawstring.
I looked up again, and saw that unfamiliar face staring down at me, and the shaking got worse. I suddenly didn’t know if I could do this, with two strangers watching me and Pritkin looking like someone else. I didn’t know if I could do this . . . like this.
Not like this.
My breath started coming faster, but not out of excitement. I knew the signs; I’d had a panic attack or two in my time, and why not? With my life? Which had somehow led to me kneeling naked on freezing flagstones, about to fellate a friend I had way too much attraction to already, while two bored, voyeuristic fey used me as their substitute for a porno. And while the people depending on us got slaughtered because we were almost out of time.
Yet I just stayed there, gripping his legs so I wouldn’t start trembling, so I wouldn’t freak out because I had to do this. I had to do this or shift us out, and I couldn’t shift us out, so I had to do this. But my body didn’t appear to be listening, maybe because the strange sense of dread I’d experienced in the room outside was back, and adding to the panic. To the point that the roof seemed to be collapsing on top of me, the walls closing in, a scream building in my throat as my fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, and kicked in big-time. I had to get out of here, I had to—
And then it hit, so hard and so tangible that it knocked me out of my budding hysteria and left me looking around for the source. It felt like a gust of wind, only there was no wind in here. There couldn’t be with no windows, and two closed doors. And even if there had been, it would have been cold and damp, like the night outside. While this felt like a breeze straight off a desert.
But not one of ours.
I glanced at Rosier, but all I saw was a lump in my discarded pack. But maybe I’d been wrong about him not being able to help. Because I’d felt something like this before, on another night, in another desperate situation. One in which Rosier had used his incubus powers to overwhelm my fear and panic, and . . . what had he called it? Enhance?
I felt like laughing suddenly.
What a completely inadequate word.
I sank back down, but this time, the hard stones beneath me were as comfortable as a pillow, the cold-eyed fey were simply gone, as if they’d never existed, and the frigid, dusty hallway was filled with a languid heat, heavy and fragrant, like warm honey.
And suddenly, this was just the easiest thing in the world.
My hands unclenched and smoothed up the tautness of Pritkin’s stomach, feeling hard lines and soft hair, and muscles that jumped delightfully under my touch. I leaned in, pressing my lips to the clean, warm skin below his navel, and felt his heartbeat. I stayed there, mouthing that delicious piece of flesh for a moment, feeling it catch and give under my teeth, feeling him jerk. And then laved the little wound I’d made with my tongue, because there was no hurry, none at all. There was just this, just tasting the salt of him, feeling the warmth, enjoying the soft musk that perfectly complemented the perfume in the air.
And that suddenly intensified, along with my hunger.
I looked up. “Tell me if I do something you don’t like,” I whispered.
He just looked back at me, almost bewildered, as if that had made no sense. And to an incubus, maybe it hadn’t. I held his eyes as I loosened the ties at his waist that parted at a touch, the fabric falling to the floor, to pool around his ankles.
For a moment, I just knelt there, pausing in admiration of the sweet curve, the soft blush of the skin, the thick upward slant. I kissed the side, and felt him leap. Slid my lips along his length and watched him swell behind my touch. Let my tongue glide over the silken head and reveled in the sound he made.
“Spread your legs,” I instructed softly, because he hadn’t moved, just kept looking at me with that same incredulous expression. But then the hard thighs moved apart, allowing me better access. And I took it, hands smoothing up tense legs to the taut muscles above, embracing him as I took him in.
And he felt good, God, so good. And warm, and solid and alive. I let my lips go where they wanted, giving to him freely what the fey would have taken by force. But I must have done something wrong, because he made a sound like pain when my mouth finally closed over him.
I looked up to see his head thrown back, his throat working convulsively. And yes, that looked like pain on his face. Or maybe not exactly pain, I thought, as he suddenly looked down, green eyes blazing into mine with an expression that made my stomach twist and my hands clench on his thighs.
His body was silently urging me to hurry, but I didn’t listen. Instead, I let my hands cup the velvety skin farther back, discovering globes so soft, so warm, almost hot, and so heavy, that it was impossible not to roll them between my palms. So I did, and felt him tremble.
I was, too, but I didn’t care this time. It was unimportant next to massaging the velvet of his body, gently at first, and then harder and rougher, feeling it tighten under my touch. Next to letting my tongue glide over the silken head, teasing the tender slit. Next to hearing him swear when I started to pull.