I grip the silk with both hands—and tear it straight down the center.
I don’t stop there. The dress never stood a chance. Its time was up the moment I saw it, daring to cling to her as tightly as I intend to myself. Within moments, it becomes shreds of fabric on the floor, and she is completely bare before me.
That’s when I realize I’ve never known pleasure. I’ve never known beauty. I’ve never known want. For five hundred years, I’ve been a stranger to all of it.
I know that for certain when I see her undressed.
But what I feel at the sight of her—allof her—isn’t just desire. There’s something else, something unexpected.
Gratitude.
Gratitude for the universe allowing something so beautiful to exist. Something so perfect, it defies logic.
Gratitude that she camehere, to my room, risking everything.
Gratitude that she begged me to touch her. And that we have hours for me to do so.
I must have been staring at her for a long time, because she begins folding into herself, covering with her hands what her dress had concealed. Panicking. She sits down on the edge of the bed. I taste a flare of embarrassment.
“Is ... something wrong?” she asks.
I have to laugh.Wrong?
“Nothing, absolutely nothing, is wrong with you, Hearteater,” I say.
She asked me to touch her.
I will do so thoroughly.
I carefully remove the hands that were covering her chest and replace them with my own, my thumbs brushing her sensitive peaks, making her skin prickle. Then, I replace those with my mouth.Perfect. Every part of her isperfect. I gently peel apart the thighsthat she shut closed. Slide a hand down her smooth stomach, until I reach the part of her that will answer my question if she’s aching just as much as I am.
She is. I feel it, and growl again. “Are you always like this around me?”
Isla gasps at my touch. Then she glares. I grin. I can’t help it. I love it when she looks at me like that, if only because I know I have her full attention.
“You certainly think highly of yourself,” she says, her voice breathless.
I let my longest finger wander, and a soft moan escapes her. “It’s hard not to, when I can feel the effect I have on you. Tell me, Hearteater, has anyone ever touched you like this?”
She ignores me. I continue, and her eyes flutter closed. I feel her pleasure thrumming down my skin like a caress.
“Is it just me who elicits this response?”
Her head falls back, her chest bared to me.
“No need to reply. The sounds you’re making are all the confirmation I need.”
She scowls. “You just like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” Her breath hitches as I go faster. Harder.
My grin widens. “I do. But I like to hearyoutalk more. So, tell me.” I stop. Remove my hand.
The disappointment on her face at the lack of contact pleases a deep, animalistic part of me. “Are you always like this around me?” My original question.
She scoffs. “Are you always this desperate for validation?”
I shake my head. “No. Not from anyone. Only you.” It’s true. Perhaps that’s why I want her to say it—to admit in words that she wants this as much as I do.
She blinks.
