And there was something about that sound that drove me the rest of the way into madness. That had me grabbing the taut, sleek mounds behind him, pulling him hungrily against me. That had me suddenly trying to take in all of him, every silken inch.
It wasn’t remotely possible, but I found consolation when I pulled back, tasting the fullness of him, feeling him slide forever over my tongue. Until only the smooth head was still between my lips, allowing me to tease it, bathe it, suck it, suck it, suck it, until he was gripping my hair, was thrashing around, was staring down at me, wild-eyed and desperate, and very, very confused. As if he still had no idea what was happening.
Isn’t it obvious? I wondered, and swallowed him back down.
Electricity prickled over my skin, and the warm wind I’d been feeling abruptly increased, howling in my ears as something built in the background of my desire, something unexpected, something huge—
That didn’t matter, because nothing mattered, except the power to make him shiver and shake and cry out, except the desperate sounds he made as I pushed a little farther each time, taking more of him than I ever had, taking everything, eagerly, hungrily, so hungrily.
Until, finally, finally, I somehow held all of him, his complete length buried inside my warmth, my lips closing on the root of his body—
And God, the sound he made!
I looked up, meeting his eyes, and that electric tingle became a lightning burst, flashing across my vision. Something lifted my hair, tightened my body, sent goose bumps flooding over my skin. Something that was screaming toward us now, like a runaway train, or a tidal wave tearing toward a beach—
“She’s calling power!” someone said, just as Pritkin cried out, just as the wave broke over our heads, just as it came thundering and roaring and crashing—
And missing, because someone was dragging me away.
“No!” I screamed, kicking and fighting. “No! Let me go. Let me finish—”
But instead, the warm illusion shattered, disintegrating into a cold, cramped hallway, a guard’s arm around my waist, a snarling face in mine—
And an explosion that took out the door the fey had been guarding, wards and all. And sent it hurtling down the corridor, like it was made of flimsy plastic. Until it slammed into two more guards coming this way and threw them off their feet.
“You were right . . . about the fireball,” Pritkin said to me breathlessly. “Duck.”
“What?”
He pushed my head down and put a fist through the fey’s face behind me. At least, that was what it sounded like. I didn’t turn around to see, because I was being hauled through the door, but the restraining arm around my waist had gone limp and fallen away, so I assumed we wouldn’t be followed. That and the fact that I got a glimpse of the second guard, slumped against the wall as we ran over him.
Of course it wasn’t what was behind us that was really the problem.
A bunch more fey appeared at the end of the hall, and these were smarter. And quicker, because they dodged the fireball—the huge, corridor-filling fireball—that Pritkin flung at them like it was nothing. But the wall behind them didn’t.
They threw themselves out of the way, just in time, diving back behind the perpendicular hall ahead. And the wall they’d just been standing in front of simply . . . disappeared. Which would have been great—if the barracks weren’t behind it.
“Shit!” Pritkin said as a couple dozen fey looked up from cots and dice games, along with a guy with a towel wrapped around his waist, like he’d just come from a bath, his hair still dripping—
And then flying, when he dove for a weapon.
“Shit!” Pritkin said again, and shoved me through a wall.
I was confused until I realized that there had been a doorway to our right, one I hadn’t seen because my eyes had about a thousand other things to look at. And then another thousand as we ran through a series of dim, connected rooms, with soft draperies and pierced screens and low couches and delicate glassware. But no exits, which was a problem, considering the army of little cat feet pounding behind us.
“Shit!” Pritkin said, a bit more frantically.
“I didn’t think you knew that word,” I gasped, because that hadn’t been a translation. And because he’d confused it for my name, the last time we were here.
“Figured it out,” he said, and slammed us back against a wall.
This one didn’t have a door, or if it did, we missed it. It did have a tapestry, a rich, vibrant thing in mostly greens, a hunting scene. I knew that without turning to look, because an enchanted deer had just scampered up my arm. And then another and another, a whole herd flowing across my body, fleeing a hunter. Symbolism that was not lost on me when a mob of fey suddenly appeared in the door, weapons out and eyes flashing.
Or no, I realized, it wasn’t their eyes. It was the overhead lamp we must have hit on the way in, which was swaying, swaying, swaying on its little chain, telling them we were here or just had been. But they didn’t know which, so they spread out, beginning a search of this room and the ones around it.
They didn’t see us, because Pritkin’s camouflage was that good. Hell, it was better than good, to the point that I could barely make out my own limbs unless I moved. And even then it wasn’t easy, since the tapestry was already doing that. But the rooms weren’t that big, and there were too many fey, and we had to be out of time.
All of which was suddenly less of a problem than the return of that dragging warmth.
It hit me like a blow, as strong as if it had never left, and maybe it hadn’t. All I knew was that I wanted—needed—his hands on me. Not his arms, which were already around me, but his hands, rough and callused and—I picked them up and guided them where I wanted them to go.
God, I thought, as that grip took me, clenching unconsciously, making me moan. And then press back against him as the callused grip turned into caresses, which turned to strokes, which turned to kneads, and then back into clenches again. Before one hand pushed down my front and clasped something lower. And then he was stroking there, too, in a way that had me spreading my legs, had me writhing back against him, had me biting my lip so the groans in my throat stayed behind my teeth.
“What. Are. You. Doing?” Pritkin asked, which seemed a little strange, all things considered. But his voice was a hiss in my ear, and, oh God, that didn’t help.
“What?”
“Did you cast a spell?”
“No. I—no.” I was pretty sure. Like I was pretty sure we’d left Rosier back in the hall, so this couldn’t be him. Could it? I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything right now, not with him pressing against me from behind, still hard, still eager, still—
God!
A fey came closer, checking behind a curtain, but I barely noticed, because something had just slipped between my legs from behind. Not inside, not yet, but he was warm, so warm, and he was right there. And moving now, stutteringly, haltingly, as if he was trying to stop, as if he realized how crazy this was.
And yet, like me, he didn’t seem to be able to.
“We can’t do this,” Pritkin whispered urgently.
“Okay.”