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One of the worst things about reading in the garden isn’t the excruciating heat, or the numerous flies buzzing. As far as she is concerned, Gwyn doesn’t mind them.
No, the worst thing is the shadowsinger training. More precisely, the shadowsinger training with no shirt on.
Why on the one day Gwyn decides to read outside does the shadowsinger feel like training there? Freaking shirtless?
“What about the training pit?” Gwyn asked. She was seated comfortably on the chic swing seat, a cup of tea waiting for her on the near table. The book in her lap was a long-awaited toe-curling Sellyn Drake smut Gwyn devoured last night, and had few chapters left of.
Azriel snorted at her question, wrapping bandages around his hands. Gwyn's tried her best not to stare at his deft fingers, her mind already picturing them parting her lips, rubbing the spot that’d make her see the stars.
“It reeks of sex.”
Gwyn didn’t need to know more. She opened her mouth to speak-
And it stayed open as Azriel, in one smooth movement, peeled his shirt off.
The torture is still going on.
Gwyn isn’t bothered by the lack of shirt — and that is the problem. Gwyn can’t function right. Can’t concentrate on anything but Azriel.
She can’t look away. His muscles flex, and his golden skin gleams with sweat. Gwyn subtly admires the hard planes of his stomach. Her stare intensifies as she notes his sculpted V lines. Warmth that has nothing to do with the weather spreads across her cheeks when her eyes follow the thin line of dark hair leading into the waistband of his pants.
Cauldron boil her, what a sight to the sore eye he was.
The garden is all of a sudden too small. Everywhere Gwyn looks, Azriel is there.
Leaning back into the swing, Gwyn peers over the book from time to time at Azriel. Each time he looks at her, Gwyn’s eyes go back to her book. The words on the page make no sense. Did she really lose her ability to read because of a shirtless Azriel?
Gwyn’s mouth goes dry as she watches Azriel do push-ups. His arms bulge, his mighty wings pulled back tightly. A bead of sweat trickles down Gwyn’s neck as she pictures what it’d be like being under him, to feel with her hands those strong muscles. To run a finger over the sensitive membrane of his wing, watch his eyes cloud with need and —
“Is that book of yours boring?”
Gwyn blinks once. Twice. Of course it isn’t. But neither does she remember a single thing she's read since Azriel took off his shirt.
Still, Gwyn can’t admit it. Her face is, most likely, beet red, yet Gwyn keeps her chin up. She holds the book with one hand, the other bringing the cup to her lips while carefully answering. “Oh, on the contrary. The book is captivating. ”
Azriel, who was no longer doing push-ups, cocks a brow at her. “Seems that way.” Azriel hums, though Gwyn doesn’t miss the hint of sarcasm. “Explains why you’ve been ogling me for the past half an hour.”
Her hand stops moving, the cup barely touching her lips. Damn it, he noticed it. Of course he did, he is the fucking spymaster .
And he also has shadows that must’ve informed him about the few glances she stole.
Okay, maybe more than a few glances. Probably an excessive amount of.
Still, as if they were summoned, shadows brush her heated skin gently, their cool touch hardly helping with the warmth of her body.
“Was I ogling?” Gwyn asks. She pretends to contemplate for a couple more seconds, then shrugs irreverently. “You must’ve imagined it.” A small pause, and a wicked grin spreads across her face. “Perhaps you want me to ogle you, Shadowsinger. In that case, sorry to disappoint, but I was hardly looking at you.”
The corner of Azriel’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t reply. Gwyn doesn’t show just how much his smugness affects her. She drifts her attention back to her book, gripping it tightly. Why did the words not make any sense? Why can’t she concentrate on reading?
Something blocks out the sun. Gwyn looks at the carved-by-the-gods shadowsinger. A tremendous effort to keep eye contact instead of staring at the delicious muscles, close and on full display for Gwyn’s greedy eyes.
Gwyn clears her throat. “Need a sparring partner? If so, I’m in.”
Azriel looks amused. He crosses his arms over his chest, and stares down at her. With shadows swirling around him, the serious demeanour and all the sexiness radiating from him, Azriel really looks like a god.
Or straight from one of Sellyn Drake’s novels.
“What about your captivating book?” All the amusement fades.
Gwyn shrugs. “Wiping that smug smirk off your face when I kick your ass is far more captivating, Shadowsinger.”
Azriel ignores her answer and asks. “What is the book about, anyway?”
Her mind is blank. She can’t remember anything about it, except that it was packed with many sex scenes.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
A shadow of a smirk teases the corner of Azriel’s mouth. “I doubt there’s anything in that book I wouldn’t understand,”
Or didn’t try is left unsaid.
Gwyn’s mind jumps to a particular scene involving ropes and blindfolds. Gwyn wonders if Azriel ever used those with his partners. Was he into those things?
There wasn’t much talk about the shadowsinger’s intimate life; Gwyn once heard Mor mention Azriel had had his fair share of lovers in the past, though he was better at keeping them hidden than his brothers.
Gwyn didn’t know if she should be disappointed she didn’t know more, or relieved; for whatever reason, the thought of Azriel with other women made Gwyn’s blood boil.
Gwyn doesn’t notice Azriel reaching out for the book. Only when it slips out of her hold does Gwyn realise. Her eyes widen in terror at whatever scene the book is opened at. Mother, please let it be something tame.
Azriel’s face stays impassive as his eyes scan the page. His eyebrows shoot up. A low hum rumbles in his chest. “Impressive. I didn’t know your skills go as far as reading upside down, priestess.”
Gwyn sees it then. The art on the cover, the writing there — they were upside down, as Azriel pointed out. Azriel must’ve noticed from the start, hence his questions about the book.
Her skin blazes with embarrassment. Insufferable bastard.
Azriel turns the book and gives it another look. Gwyn snatches it back and slams the novel shut, the sound reverberating around the garden.
“Long breaks are no good, Shadowsinger. You should go back to your exercises.” Gwyn deflects, trying to cover up her shame with a remark Azriel always has when they train.
“Indeed, they are not.”
But Azriel does not leave. Of course he does not. Instead, he bents at the waist, gripping the swing seat with a strong hand. Gwyn tries to keep her breath under control, but it is damn hard to do so when the sex-god that was Azriel was inches away from her, his hot breath fanning her face.
“By the way, priestess,” his voice drops several octaves, making Gwyn’s core pulse. “I am no stranger to ropes and blindfolds in the bedroom.”
Gwyn sucks in her breath at his confession. Her panties are a mess, and she doubts Azriel isn’t aware of it. Boldness Gwyn doesn’t know she possesses surges through her veins. She tilts her chin, mirroring his wicked grin.
“In that case, I ought to see just how well acquainted you are with ropes and blindfolds in the bedroom.” Her shaky fingers brush the inside of his wrist, and Gwyn feels his thundering pulse under her thumb. “That if you’re not too shy to show me, Shadowsinger.”
Azriel’s eyes go from hers down to her lips. His smirk only widens at her challenge. “Whenever you wish to see, you know where to find me, Berdara.”
With that, Azriel pushes back and heads inside the river house. Gwyn stares after him, her body burning with desire. His words keep playing inside her mind. Dirty fantasies make her clothes too tight on her body.
Perhaps Gwyn would find Azriel later and see just how skilled he was with ropes and blindfolds in the bedroom.