Despite the fact she’d practically done so the night of her panic attack. And he’d practically done so last night, in the grip of passions that had nothing to do with pleasure. And he’d kissed her during the infusion. And, although Embor didn’t know this, the cat kept encouraging them to mate for whatever catty reason he refused to reveal.
But instead of letting him know she had sex on her mind, she said, “No, I should stay here in case you have withdrawals.”
“I’m not going to get sick.” He was so self-assured she almost believed it. “Lock the door behind you.”
She swallowed the impulse to say, “Yes, sir,” like the clerk. Missishness had no place here. But it wasn’t missishness that twisted her belly when the door shut behind her with a distinct thud.
Chapter Twelve
The cat had slept with Embor instead of her. Ani found that amusing, especially considering Master Fey had waited until Embor had fallen asleep to press against the Primary’s head.
Embor hadn’t removed his clothes until the lights were off, and she’d been disappointed, which was ridiculous. As a healer and an adult, she’d seen all kinds of skin. Fairies weren’t as diverse as humans, but their coloring and bodies did vary.
When she woke, the tension of the past couple of days sprang back to life like saplings recovering from a rainstorm. Embor was still asleep, so she tried to occupy herself. She braided and unbraided her hair. She meditated. She recited the names of Primaries in chronological order. The air-conditioning clicked on with a whine, flapping the curtains just enough for Ani to hear it.
Embor muttered something and shifted positions. The cat gave an irritated grumble. After a long silence, Embor muttered something distinct.
“No.”
Ani’s hand hovered near the lamp, but she didn’t want to wake him. He needed all the rest he could get. It had been half a day since she’d infused him, and withdrawals could have set in. He’d want to resume his quest when he woke no matter how he felt. She understood why—unless he tried to leave her behind.
He was, whether he realized it or not, her patient now.
“No,” he repeated, his voice husky.
“Master Fey,” Ani whispered, “are you teasing him?”
Embor’s mattress squeaked. “Anisette.”
She swung her feet to the floor and squinted into the dark. The curtains blocked the sun. She could barely discern his form on the other bed.
“Embor, do you need something?”
A soft moan was her response. Gnome venom or withdrawals? If she went to buy human medications, she’d have to leave him alone.
“Primary.” She leaned forward until her hand brushed his bed. Cold air bathed her skin as the covers twitched beneath her fingers.
“Can’t.” Embor’s voice cracked. The cat appeared out of nowhere and pounced on Ani’s hand, giving her a scare.
“Did you do this?” The cat had been curled so conspicuously against Embor’s head. “If this is some trick to get us into bed, kitty, it doesn’t work like that. Fairies don’t just have sex.”
Master Fey leapt to her mattress and batted her rear end. One of his claws hooked her flesh, and she stifled a yelp. “Can you talk here?”
“Mrow.”
It sounded like no. “I’ll take that as a negative. We need to work on communication, don’t you think?”
“Meh,” said the cat.
She smiled. “That sounded like a—”
“Hurts,” Embor groaned.
Ani’s healing instincts kicked in. She couldn’t bear for Embor to be in pain. What could she do? She crawled across his bed, locating him at the edge of the mattress. He’d tossed the blankets below his torso.
“Help me.”
His cry was so familiar. Who’d asked for her help recently? Certainly not Sir Self-Sufficient. “I’m trying.”
He shifted, but her weight on the covers pinned his legs. She smoothed a hand up his arm. Her fingers detected scar tissue all along the limb. She moved to his broad shoulder, his neck, checking the scratches for infection. Checking his pulse. His skin was cool.
She patted his jaw. “Embor.”
He thrashed away, and she caught him before he tumbled off the bed. She pressed his shoulders to the mattress, like a patient with convulsions.
“You’re dreaming.” The withdrawals had given him a nightmare. If she were having a nightmare, spirits forbid, she’d want to be free of it as soon as possible.
He didn’t respond, so she shook him. “Embor, wake up.”
His hands shot up and buried in her hair. With a yank that nearly scalped her, he threw her across the bed.
Ani anchored herself to his forearms to ease the pull on her hair. She landed on her back, him atop her. His weight knocked the breath from her lungs.
The pain shocked tears from her eyes. Mental illnesses were so rare among fairies that methods of treatment weren’t taught in standard classes. Gangee had shown her how to induce sleep, but she couldn’t use it. She had no magic. She didn’t even have aspirin.
If Embor didn’t quit fighting her, she was going to have no hair.
“Wake up!” she yelled. By Hella, his grip hurt. She pulled at his wrists.
“Help me,” he demanded, his hair shadowing his face.
She’d help him, all right. Enough was enough.
Her nightgown had rumpled around her hips. He wore nothing but drawers. She worked her knee between his and hiked it between his thighs.
Hard.
With an unmanly gasp, he rolled off her and curled into fetal position.
“Are you awake?” She groped for his carotid artery, covered by his heavy hair. His pulse was elevated, common when people were in pain.
“Anisette,” he croaked. “Why in Ka’s breath did you assault me?”
“I had to.” She shoved her hair out of her face. “The withdrawals gave you a nightmare.”
“Meh,” added the cat from behind her.
“Here?”
“Yes, here.” Anisette flicked on the lamp. The yellow light gleamed on his skin and golden hair. Muscles rippled in his back as he hunched over his midsection. Scratches marred his shoulders, mostly at his nape. “Where would you expect to have a nightmare?”
“Nowhere. Hells.”
“I’m sure you don’t feel well.” She assessed him clinically. Somewhat clinically. He appeared to be in fine physical shape, not the case with all high-level fairies. Many who could transport themselves didn’t get much exercise.
“My skin feels like the cat’s trying to get out of it.” The strain in his voice eased, as if confession relieved pain. “And my head…”
“It shouldn’t last long.” Her scalp smarted from the hair pulling, but she doubted it compared to a withdrawal headache. “Maybe a couple hours.” She hoped it was true. His lucidity was a good sign.
He flopped onto his back and rubbed his eyes. His chest and abdomen matched his back—muscled, lean and fine. She remained on the bed, ready to comfort him. “The globes were temporary, Anisette.”
“I believe you.” They always were. Homeopathic treatments circled through her head. Certain herbs and foods, none of which they had. Warm baths. Dark rooms. Hydration. Massages.
Should she offer? She’d never treated a patient she was attracted to. It would be difficult to touch him all over without becoming aroused.
His chest rose and fell as he moderated his breathing. “I wouldn’t have let it go much longer.”
“I won’t tell anyone.” She longed to ask why he’d resorted to globes in the first place, but that wouldn’t help him get through the next several hours. Around exam time, there was always a minor epidemic of globe abuse in the trainee dorms. “Should I go buy aspirin?”
“No.” His lips pinched together. “I’ll… We’ll manage. This is my own fault.”
“Meh,” said the cat, clearly agreeing.
“It happens to lots of people,” she assured him, a lump in her throat. He was so self
-conscious. If he fell asleep again, she was going to find a pharmacy.
He opened his eyes. “How did you know I was having a nightmare?”
She kneaded her scalp. “You thrashed around on the bed.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.” She dropped her gaze to his legs, skipping his drawers. The wound on his calf wasn’t visible from this angle but he had strong thighs. Long bones. Surprisingly elegant feet. “Well, mostly all.”
He rolled onto his side, facing her. “Did I talk?”
Hardly ever. “You didn’t say anything incriminating.”
“What did I do?” His expression darkened. “Why did you do what you did?”
If she told him, he’d feel terrible. She was essentially unscathed. “I couldn’t wake you.”
“May I suggest water in the face next time?” He palmed her knee, frowned and looked at his fingers. Strands of red hair twisted around them. “How did your hair… Hells.”
Embor sat up and caught her in his arms. Dragging her into his lap, he secured her chin. “I hurt you.”
“Not really.” She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she placed them on his shoulders. His hair brushed her fingers.
His skin was no longer chilly.
Heat stole across her as well. “Your scratches aren’t bad. I don’t think we’ll have an issue with venom. I should check your leg.”
“Later.” He held her in place when she tried to get up. “Tell me what I did.”
“It’s not important. I should get you some water.” She was more concerned with what he was about to do. Her nightgown was still crumpled around her hips, and her position against him was intimate. Her thighs lay across his, the side of her bosom against his bare chest.
“It’s important to me.” His grip on her chin softened. Long fingers cupped her cheek.
Ani leaned into his touch. This kept happening between them. It would have been comical, how many times they’d been in each other’s arms the past couple of days, if it hadn’t had such an astonishing effect on her libido. She wasn’t laughing about that at all.
He had no fire magic here, but she was certain she was about to combust.
The cat on the other bed began to purr. Hairy little voyeur.
“Did I molest you?” Embor asked. “The other night I—”
“No, no.” She stroked his shoulders. His skin slid beneath her fingers like velvet. “You pulled my hair when I tried to restrain you. You were about to fall off the bed.”
He brushed her lips with his thumb. “Nothing else?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Oh my stars. This could not be happening. Again. Should she stop it? Should she act on it?
“Why would you think you’d do such a thing? Do you often molest women after a difficult day?” she joked, stalling for time.
“Never.” He released a slow breath. “You are—”
Half-naked in his bed. “Special, no doubt.”
He quirked an eyebrow and threaded his fingers into her hair, lightly massaging. “You have sufficient hair left.”
“I had a lot to begin with.” Beneath her rear, his body was having a marked response.
Oh my stars.
She was suddenly grateful to be female. Her own lust would go mostly undetected.
“I thought you had a headache?” she blurted out. How had she and everyone at Court overlooked how sensuous his lips were, how perfect the angles of his cheeks and jaw? How had no one guessed his unbound hair would be like warm satin? How had he not gotten twenty proposition cards a day?
“It’s fading.”
“You’re having withdrawals.”
“Perhaps.”
The mild, hypnotic circles on her scalp weren’t sexual, yet they were. She was the one who should be massaging him. She cupped the back of his neck, beneath his hair. The movement shifted her thin gown against her sensitized nipples.
Somewhat breathless, she tried to make conversation. “You had the other nightmares because of what happened to you, right?”
He studied her face, his gaze piercing. “This isn’t the same.”
His eyes were often described as icy, but their color was more like steam, wrapping around her, heating her from the outside in.
She risked a quick squeeze of his neck, hoping the pressure would nudge him forward a few inches. It didn’t. He lowered his eyelids, his lashes gold-tipped, and grazed the skin beneath her ear with a callused fingertip.
She wanted to purr like Master Fey and wind her body around Embor in pleasure. At what point would their mutual touching be considered a first move if they were going to ignore his…lap? It was increasingly difficult to ignore. She had no experience in ambiguity. One either accepted a proposition card or one did not. There was never a question about another fairy’s intent. Never any wondering whether he was ever, ever going to kiss her.
“Did you seek treatment before?” She was this close to squirming. Sex was a novel way to treat globe withdrawal, but she was in humanspace. She had to make do.
“I handled it. Once I capture the Torval agents, the nightmares will never return.” His breathing was regulated, but he was affected enough to have an erection. He stroked her neck. Downward. His palms feathered across her collarbones.
Oh stars. She couldn’t concentrate when his hands were that close to her breasts. His callused fingers. His mouth.
“One of the…the natural remedies for globe withdrawal is touching. I mean, massage. I have training. Not warm hands like you, but it might help.” The words fell awkwardly into the inadequate space between them. She wanted to lean back and tug him on top of her. Grab his hair and hold him to her breast. Or lower.
At the same time she wanted to push him into the pillows and… Well, he hadn’t appreciated being pinned to the mattress earlier.
She slid trembling hands down his upper arms until she reached his elbows. Multiple circles of raised flesh branded his skin.
“The scars?” she whispered.
A tiny shake of his head. “Not now, Anisette.”
Her sleeveless gown had wide straps. Without breaking eye contact, without even changing his expression, Embor eased one strap down the curve of her shoulder.
Ani’s lips parted. She closed her eyes and willed him to…
Yes. He traced the gaping neckline of her gown, from the strap on the opposite shoulder to the swell of her bosom. Her gown hung on the rigid nipple. Stars, couldn’t he just…
Yes. He cupped her breast, his hand hot. She couldn’t watch. This was the beginning, wasn’t it? The overture? With Embor, by the Dragon, Embor Fiertag. Now he would…
Yes. His thumb rolled over her nipple. Harder. The fabric slid away. The touch of his hand on her bare breast nearly undid her. Between her legs, she dampened with yearning.
He exhaled, washing her skin with desire. She arched her chest up, urging him to continue. This was what came next. This was what she needed.
But he took her face in his hands and kissed her.
He tasted like he smelled. Hot. Spicy. Unhesitant. His tongue parted her lips, demanded entrance, and she gave it. No doubt. No delay. She clung to him as he angled her head where he wanted it, never breaking the kiss. With some impatience he yanked down her gown’s other strap, baring her chest.
The neckline wasn’t wide enough. The material snared her arms at her sides, cutting into her flesh. Still kissing her, he massaged her breasts, weighing them, fondling them. He caught the tips between his fingers and squeezed.
His lips muffled her cry of need. She wriggled against his cock, struggled against her gown. The fabric ripped slightly. Almost there. She wanted her hands free to touch him and her legs free to wrap around him.
Embor pushed her onto her back. She landed with a whoosh, arms still trapped. Before she could unbind herself, he pulled her skirt above her hips. His gaze scorched her body as her chest heaved.
Human studies classes whirled through her brain and out again. Her pulse throbbed in
her ears. Sex in humanspace. No permanence. No bond tests. What else was she supposed to keep in mind, how much more exciting it was?
Or was that due to Embor?
He tucked the excess material of her gown under her body, forming a taut band across her arms and midsection. He bent down, his head hovering over her hips.
Oh my stars. He surely wouldn’t…
Yes. Embor kissed her thigh, his mouth wet. His tongue flicked out to taste her, and his teeth scraped her skin.
Moisture flooded her folds. She parted her legs, and he trailed kisses up her hip. Across her stomach. His hand slipped into the leg of her pantalets, and her body jerked.
Slowly he probed one finger so, so close to where she ached for him. He stroked the join of her leg and puss, nudging her loose undergarment aside.
Rip them off me, she wanted to beg. Touch me. But he hadn’t said a word. Every whimper, every moan from her lips was an admission she lacked his restraint.
Did she care?
If he wanted to master her, if that’s what he liked, did she care?
He kissed his way up her body. When his slick mouth closed on her nipple for the first time, she cried out. His hand near her core inched closer. Brushed her mound. He suckled her breast, teeth grazing. Pulling. Biting. His other hand teasing. If he didn’t…
He didn’t.
He taunted her, licking her breast, taking her nipple into his mouth. Toying with her. Her tension built higher than the Sun Tower. How long would he please her and not please her? She pulsed and sighed. Every time she opened her eyes, she could see… Oh my stars.
She struggled against her gown, so lost in desire her limbs refused to cooperate. His hips pressed her thigh, his cock like iron. Too far from where he needed to be, buried inside her. This man would drive her mad.
One last attempt before she burst. She pivoted her hips, intending to pull him across her with her legs. Her frantic movement nudged his fingers into her wetness.
“Yes,” she breathed. Lights popped behind her eyelids.
He froze when she wanted him to rub.
He drew away when she wanted to draw him in.
Oh no. Had she done something wrong, something he didn’t like? No ritual guided her. How was she supposed to know what pleased him when he wouldn’t even whisper her name?
One Thousand Kisses Page 17