Not yet.
Holding back from him is its very own sweet agony of craving ache.
When Slade inches his face closer to my ear, I don’t dare move or blink or even breathe.
His voice is a seductive grit of palpable hunger that has my ribbons twisting on the floor and my own want surging. My eyes flutter closed as his words stroke my ear and slip inside to settle beneath my ribs like they carry their own beat.
“It’s fucking torture to have you stand there and tell me you want me, and not be able to do anything about it. But I’m a patient male, and as soon as I’m able, I’m going to touch and taste every inch of you. I’m going to have you writhing and begging, and I’ll give you every bit of pleasure I can wring from your delectable body,” he murmurs in a wicked promise. “The moment that sun dips, Goldfinch, you’re mine.”
Chapter 30
AUREN
I have never wanted someone as much as I want this male. I have never felt as wanted as Slade makes me feel.
My chest heaves, my heart pelting out a percussion against my ribs that somehow matches the timbre of Slade’s carnal promise.
“Tell me, Auren.”
I didn’t even realize I’d let my eyes flutter closed until I spring them open again, my head braced against the wall behind me, Slade hooking me against it with forbidden closeness. “Tell you what?”
“Tell me again that you want this. That I can have all of you. I want to hear it.”
Parched heat forces me to lick my lips, and Slade’s eyes flare as he watches my tongue drag across before I can answer him. “I won’t ever be an object for someone to possess ever again, but I don’t think that’s quite what you mean.”
“It’s not,” he replies, the flames behind him bedecking his silhouette in its gleam. “I don’t want to be your master, Auren. I’m not asking to keep you like property. I’m asking you to give me your all and not hold back, because I’m far too deep with you to settle for anything less. It’s what our fae nature demands. It is what I will demand. Once I have you, I’m not going to give you up.”
“I don’t want you to,” I whisper, and the vulnerability I let slip softens his eyes. The green of them is so deep it reminds me of the darkest grass at the very cusp of summer. Of sunburnt moss burnt against shoreline rocks. It’s the green of secret forests so thick no one ever attempts to traverse them. But me, I’d let myself get lost in it just to remind myself of this moment.
“Undress for me, Goldfinch,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”
I bite my lip with hesitation, though my body pulses. “Promise you won’t touch me yet.”
“Until the sun sets.” He makes it sound like a sensuous warning, and I find myself shivering when he pulls away. I miss his presence immediately, even if our proximity was entirely too dangerous. The fact that he even would be that close to me during daylight is a big deal. He trusts me enough to be a mere breath away. He wants me enough to risk it.
Slade walks out onto the balcony and drags in a chair, the iron feet scraping against the floor as it comes to a stop in front of the fire. He shuts out the wintry air with a click before striding back over, and then sits down with a cocked brow. “I’ll stay right here in this spot.”
The breath I let out is shaky, but not in fear. Instead, I’m full of anticipation.
For the first time in my life, I’m choosing the person I take to bed. I get to see what all of this sexual tension and spiking chemistry between us is going to surmount to. It just took a restless night and a dwindling hourglass to face my truth.
I want him.
I’m sick of pushing him away, of trying to confine myself to denials and doubts. I understand the importance of him doing his kingly duties, of not playing into Midas’s hands. But I also want to know what it feels like for Slade to be truly mine, and that’s what I had to face when I woke up. Because if I were to leave without telling him, without giving myself this, then I would have regretted it forever. I would’ve always wondered.
I’m sick of wondering.
There comes a point in your life when you have to choose between having regrets and the possibility of making mistakes. I’d rather make those mistakes than live without ever taking a chance, because I’ve missed out on too much already. Taking chances can be like walking through a mudslide, where every inch of you gets stained, but regrets are the stagnant pools of deprivation, and I’ve been wading in them for far too long.
It’s time to get a little dirty.