I briefly close my eyes and recall Myst’s advice.
Make him loyal to you.
Gathering all my courage, I roll over to face him. Gods, I hope he can’t hear how fast my heartbeat flutters. But of course, he can.
“Basten?” I whisper. “I’m worried about what happens when we get to Duren. When I marry Rian and—and the wedding night.”
He has one arm folded under his pillow, his raven-black hair loose and sinfully silky now that it’s clean. I have to stop myself from reaching out to stroke it. He’s close enough that I can see the dark stubble dusting his chin.
His eyes simmer like he’s sensed danger and knows to proceed with caution. Gruffly, he says, “Trust me, Lady Sabine, no man would be disappointed to find you in his marital bed.”
My throat bobs in a dry swallow as I try to calm the nerves that his gravely voice stirs in my belly. “It’s just that . . . I don’t know what to do. To please a man, I mean.”
His jaw parts as he drags in a breath, like breathing through his nose alone isn’t enough anymore. He says haltingly, “Some men like an inexperienced woman.”
I slowly trace my finger along the lines of the bedspread’s quilted pattern, watching the rise and fall of his breath beneath the covers. Demurely, I look up through my eyelashes. “Do you?”
Basten lets slip a stifled moan. A tremor shudders throughout his body like he’s been brushed by feathered wingtips. He seems to be at a loss for words. Eventually, he says evasively, “I’ve never been with a virgin. I wouldn’t know.”
I can feel him trying to throw up walls of resistance with every word. He wants me, I’m sure of it, but he wants to serve his master more. His stubborn loyalty is like a set of iron shackles around his wrists.
But I’m determined to win his devotion at any cost. So, I channel my inner Immortal Alyssantha. Digging for every ounce of courage I possess, I snake my bare foot beneath the covers in his direction until my big toe strokes his ankle.
His eyes sink closed. Another groan escapes his lips.
“But you’ve had women before, surely?” I ask, feigning innocence.
His throat bobs. “Yes.”
“And you know what to do.”
His voice is hoarse. “Yes.”
When he opens his eyes, his gaze fixes on my lips like he doesn’t dare look directly into my eyes. I bring my thumb up to my mouth, which has his attention, and bite down gently on my fingernail. “Maybe you could train me? Like how you taught me to fight, in the woods?”
My heart hammers like a blacksmith shop. Am I really doing this? I’ve never done anything so bold, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. I feel like I’m playing with fire, and I don’t know whether I want to get burned or not.
Basten rips his attention from my lips and sears me with a hard look. His eyelids are half-lowered, his eyes simmering. He knows exactly what I’m trying to do, and he doesn’t appreciate how much he likes it. In a warning voice, he murmurs, “Sabine, what the devil are you—”
On impulse, I press my finger to his lips and whisper in a rush, “I’m not asking you to break your vow to your master. I know I belong to him—but, well, you could pretend to be him. Show me how to please him. You’d be helping him. And me. What’s more loyal than that?”
His look is heavy with warning, even the threat of punishment, for suggesting something so indecent. But he isn’t saying no. The mattress groans with the strain of his breathing. On impulse, he throws back the covers and rises from bed, pacing over the worn rug.
“Fuck,” he curses sharply.
Sensing his indecision, I let silence do my work for me. Sitting up in bed with the sheets pulled up over my chemise, I gently bite my lip as he prowls back and forth, while pinning me with a glare so licentious it’s about to ignite the curtains.
Back and forth he paces, back and forth, never taking his eyes off me. Finally, he stops. His chest heaves hard as he repeats, “Pretend?”
My heart shoots into my throat. By the Immortals, is this really happening? I force myself to nod slowly as I whisper a quiet assurance. “No one ever has to know.”
He paces once more in a final, last-ditch effort to resist. Then, decided, he slowly prowls back to the bed. His energy has shifted. The air crackles, but it stems from anticipation now, not resistance.
He leans over me with a predator’s menace that makes me shrink back against the pillows. I stare up at him as he grips my chin, letting his thumb drag over my bottom lip.
“I swore a vow. I broke it once, and I won’t again. But if you want to know how a man takes a woman, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you exactly what I would do with you if you were my bride.”
His thumb sinks between my lips, feeling along the hard edge of my teeth and grazing my tongue in a way that feels staggeringly depraved.
“First,” he says in a low voice, “I would kiss you on the lips. Here.” His thumb paints down along my jaw. “And then I would kiss you here.” His hand glides down my throat to the dip at the base of my neck. “Then here.”
A moan travels up my throat, emerging as a whimper. His touch is both rough and confident as he marks my sensitive skin. Anticipation snaps throughout my body as I wonder where he’ll touch next. Beneath the sheets, my legs squeeze together to try to quell the heat building there. I sink further into the pillow until he’s directly over me, caging me with one arm braced against the headboard.
I swallow. “Then what?”
His eyes flash with desire. “Then,” he says, moving his hand to the laces across my chest, “I would do something about this chemise.” His rough fingers skim over the laces without unfastening them, merely dragging back and forth in a way that’s so tantalizing it might as well be torture. He’s so close to unwrapping me, but he won’t.
So determined not to break that vow.
“Once you were bare, I would kiss you here.” He rubs his thumb against my godkiss birthmark. “And here.” His hand falls to the chemise’s neckline. “And here.” The pad of his thumb presses over the chemise on the hard bud of my nipple.
The rub of fabric between my nipple and his finger creates friction that infuses me with desire. I swallow a gasp as I arch my back. When I finally catch my breath, I give a raspy, “And then what?”
Basten drops his head to my ear in a way that makes his loose hair caress my cheek like a feather. His voice turns wickedly deep. “Next, I would peel you out of these clothes. I would put my mouth on every curve. I’d lick every freckle. I’d worship every inch of you I could get my lips on.”
Dear gods. I’m speechless.
“Since it would be your first time,” he goes on, “I’d go slow. I’d make your body as ready as a ripe peach, dripping with juices, begging to be plucked.”
My thoughts go numb. It’s like my mind is a candle that someone snuffed out and lit a bonfire in my body instead. The shudders of anticipation scrolling through me are pure torture. I agonize over how his lips are so achingly close to grazing my ear, but he won’t actually kiss me.
More. I need more.
The bed frame squeaks as he shifts his weight to lean further over me. One of his hands draws the covers down to my waist while the other paints a slow caress over my belly, fingers kneading the chemise like he wants to rip it off.