“Is this what you want?” I ask, my voice low. “Are you sure?” I have to give her another chance to say no, to walk away from something that might get her fired from the archives, or worse. But there’s no hesitation in her expression, only heat and need gathered in those amber eyes.

“Yes,” she whispers out, eyes darkening with desire.

I lean in and kiss her soft lips gently, and she moans. When I cup her breast through the tunic, she lets out a breathy sigh, and that seems to unlock something in her. She takes control, grinding her hips into me, kissing me with a demanding intensity that I match. My own hips arch up to meet hers, and I bring my hands down to cup her backside.

She removes my tunic, lifting it quickly above my head and throwing it across the room. With feral delight in her eyes, she undoes the clasp holding up the bandeau covering my breasts, then stares down at my chest as she continues to grind on my hips. There’s a hunger in her eyes, like she’s been waiting for this her whole life. I let out a moan, removing her own tunic and bandeau so that we’re both topless. She leans in for another kiss, and the soft brush of our naked breasts has me clenching my thighs in desire. I need more of her.

I lift Genevieve from the chair and carry her to the bed, slowly removing her leggings so I can take in the sight of her. She blushes under my gaze, her confidence from earlier gone now that she’s so exposed. But something tells me she doesn’t want me to coddle her, doesn’t want me to proceed carefully and gently.

“Touch yourself,” I command, and her heated expression tells me my hunch was right. She does as she’s told, bringing her fingers to the apex of her thighs, wet with desire. As she circles her center, she keeps her gaze locked on me, my boldness unlocking her own.

“Take your leggings off,” she orders, and I’m happy to comply. Even as she touches herself, her eyes stay focused on me. When she lets out a delicate whimper, I can keep my hands off her no longer. Lowering my body to cage hers, we lose ourselves in the passion of kissing and limbs and darkness.

Mazus

My eyes scan the ground far below, my vision excellent in this form. My armies—fae and human alike—train in their hidden camp in the northern mountains of Velmara, oblivious their King flies hundreds of feet above them.

Consume. Devour. Take.

The urge to swoop down and feast on their bodies, on the aether-force of the fae and the flesh of the humans, rips through me. For a brief moment, I almost give in, almost lose control… Grinding my teeth, I bank hard and turn back towards Arnia.