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For some reason, that makes me feel incredibly possessive. I tighten my hand on his shirt and slide a little closer to him, as if I can lay claim on the man. Her gaze meets mine and she watches me for a moment, then composes herself and sits down on the pillow at her husband’s feet. Her expression is tight, as if she’s miserable and doing her best not to show it. I feel a little guilty knowing that her evening was ruined and she’s probably been shamed in front of her people…but only a little.
Fuck all this sharing crap.
“Do you need a chair?” Aron asks, his hand sliding to my bare hip. My legs are tossed over his thighs, and I realize belatedly that my skirt has fallen open, exposing most of my calves and thighs to everyone in the room. “Say the word and I will have them get you one.”
I think for a moment and then pretend to adjust Aron’s collar. He’s wearing a new tunic, this one of a pale, cream-colored weave with deep red knotwork on the edges. “Can I stay here? With you?”
He nods and then glares at the lord of Novoro over my shoulder as the man takes his seat.
“I am sorry, my Lord of Storms,” Secuban stammers, because the man clearly does not know when to shut up. “It is just…you are the god of battle. I thought blood would be the only thing you thirst for—”
Before he can finish, Aron puts a hand on the nape of my neck and pulls me in. His mouth crashes against mine and the spark slams between us, sending a shockwave through my body.
I’m stu
I whimper a protest.
“Faith,” Aron murmurs, cupping my jaw. He studies me, my swollen lips and heaving chest, and plants a hand firmly over one of my breasts, cupping it and teasing the hard nipple with his thumb. As he does, he casts a defiant look over at Lord Secuban. “Do not tell me what a god hungers for, mortal. You know nothing at all.”
I cling to Aron, doing my best not to squirm on his lap. It seems that Lord Secuban isn’t the only one that knows nothing at all, because I’m totally stu
That was not a pretend kiss.
That was not a pretend anything.