Between Tides Thunder(32)

My fingers twitch.

The muscles in his back contract as he moves. My eyes are glued to them, following each movement with rapt attention. He must sense my eyes on him, because he turns around, and his face, Tides drown me, his gorgeous face.

It’s perfect. Sharp jawline, covered in stubble—what would it feel like against me? The rough scrape against my soft skin. Full, sensuous lips that I’ve thought about kissing often enough. Straight, dark brows framing stormy gray eyes— Gray eyes that are watching me with mild amusement.

“You all right there, Mayah?” he asks, his lips twitching. I nearly moan at the sound of his gravelly voice. How is it so impossibly deep?

“Yeah,” I whisper. My voice is low and breathy. “Yeah, just a little warm.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Zevayr grabs a canteen and hands it to me. “Drink some water. You look flushed.”

Our fingers brush as I take it. A spark skitters along my skin at the contact. He kneels before me, scanning my face. Whatever he sees makes his eyes darken.

“I’m going to stay on that side of camp”—he points behind him—“and you’re going to stay right here. If we can do that, we’ll be fine.”

I down the entire canteen.

My stubborn eyes follow him to the other side of the campsite, where he sits and begins sharpening his weapons. His long fingers grip the whetstone, sliding across the blade repeatedly with firm, steady motions. What would his fingers feel like on my skin? I want to be the sword in his hands, as he rhythmically— “Mayah.” His voice is gruffer now. Angry. It arouses me even more. “Stop looking at me. Find something to keep yourself busy.”

With a start, I realize my hand is cupping my breast, the other pressed flat over my stomach, inching lower. But what startles me more is the fact that I’m not embarrassed at all.

Sizzling heat coils low in my belly, heady and hot. I’m burning up, and there’s a pounding ache between my thighs that’s growing impossible to ignore. My eyes are riveted to his handsome face, his strong masculine neck, his thick collarbones.

I don’t even realize I’ve moved until he barks my name.

I love the sound of it on his lips.

Tides, his lips. His full, perfect lips. They belong on my skin.

The ground is soft beneath my knees as I kneel before him, reaching for the sword in his large hands.

“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, angry eyes dark with an impending storm.

“Keeping myself busy.” The ache between my legs is unbearable.

The sword hits the ground with a dull thud, and then I’m in his lap, thighs straddling his hips, hands caressing his shoulders.

This isn’t me. Deep down, I know that. But it feels like me.

Tides, he smells so good. His proximity soothes the desperate thrum inside me.

“Skies, Mayah, stop.” He grabs my upper arms in a firm grip, keeping me from coiling around him.

“I’m aching, Zev.” My voice is low, petulant. His hands drop to my waist when I say his name. “I want you. Please.”

He mutters a curse and grips my waist harder. For a heartbeat, it seems he’ll pull me closer—kiss me. But then I roll my hips, and he shoves me away like I burned him.

“You’re not yourself. It’s my power inside you. This will wear off. Just go back. Over. There.” His eyes are nearly black.

I pout, and his gaze drops to my lips before he drags it back up. Lightning flashes in his eyes as he glares at me, and I want it to strike me down.

I trudge back to my side of camp.

Zev returns to sharpening his sword while I lean against a tree, nursing the sting of rejection. I’m so tidesdamned hot, it’s like my skin is on fire. I peel off my tunic, leaving only a thin white chemise behind.

“What are you doing?” he growls, a vein pulsing in his forehead.

“It’s hot.” I hook my fingers beneath the hem of my chemise, and in the space between heartbeats, Zev crosses the camp, his fingers clamping in a bruising grip around my wrist.

“Stop taking off your clothes,” he grits out.

My free hand slides over the defined ridges of his abdomen, up his muscled chest, to cup his face. “I thought you were going to stay on your side, Zev,” I whisper huskily, inching closer.

He wrenches away from me.

“Mayah, please,” he groans, as if in pain.

The ache inside me is all consuming.

I need—

I need—

Tides, I can’t think. Why won’t he help me?

“Please, Zev,” I moan. “It’s unbearable.”

He’s panting now. His throat bobs as he swallows. Firelight glints across the faint sheen of sweat on his neck. I want to taste it. “Why don’t you lie down? Try to sleep. It’ll wear off in a few hours.”

I take a step closer to him.

He takes a step back.

“Or maybe I can go for a walk, and you can—”

Another step closer.

Another step back.

“You won’t help me?” I don’t recognize my voice—whiny and needy.

He shakes his head, hands raised as if to protect himself.

“Fine.”

Tears sting my eyes—from his rejection, but also from the pure, tortuous need warming my blood.

I spin and bolt into the woods.