Chapter Text
“Stop it!”
“Stop what?” His voice resonates with something she’s never heard before—from him, at least. Rough around the edges, laughter low in his throat, the deep timbre pulsing in the cradle of her thighs. “What, exactly, do you think this is?”
“I—I don’t—” For once she is failed by her own unwavering gaze, afraid of finding herself trapped somewhere between rational thinking and the subtle way his lips part in anticipation: a clear invitation if there ever was. It’s far easier to focus squarely on his chest, a broad expanse of lean, enticing muscle that disappears into the folds of his shirt. Her mouth waters at the thought of leaning forward and tasting him there, one finger tugging at the neatly laced front until she could kiss the salt from his skin. The breath catches in her lungs as she imagines it, fighting to break free lest she suffocate where she stands.
“Come now, harpy.” The smooth plaster of the wall is at her spine, one gloved hand bracing her hip as he looms ever closer. “We both know you could stop me in my tracks, if that’s what you truly wanted.” His hand rises to trace the contours of her ribcage, never straying too far from the safe path and yet mere ilms from cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her blouse. The desperate need to arch into his touch practically burns through her veins; still, she’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of a genuine response. Her hands clench into fists behind her back, jaw set and shoulders braced against the first quivers of lust.
“S-Shut up.”
“Am I wrong? Why do you not call for reinforcements?” he whispers mockingly, leaning down until they are eye-to-eye. “Draw your weapon and defend yourself.” The holster seems to burn a hole at her hip. “Nothing is stopping you. I haven’t even pinned you to the wall yet… though I must admit, the temptation is almost too much to bear,” he purrs. Pale blue eyes sweep from nose to chin to collarbone and beyond, teasing her silently as they map the fierce blush setting her skin alight.
“Or,” he adds, pressing even closer, “could this be something you secretly desire?”
“W-Who’s talking o’ desires?! I ain’t the one wasting time by—by—” Her flustered insults sputter into silence as rough knuckles caress her cheekbone, fingertips trailing to cup her jaw in a leather-clad palm. She shivers, worrying her lower lip between her teeth before trying to nudge him aside with an unruly jerk of her shoulder.
“Ye must have a death wish, fop,” she scoffs… or tries to. To her immense embarrassment, her voice practically quivers with the timid mewl of a village maiden in the first blush of youth. Her, a woman grown! He was naught but a tight-laced, swiving whoreson of a man with more baubles than brains! How could she let him reduce her to this?!
Gods, how humiliating! she curses inwardly. Could ye stand to be any more pathetic?!
“Look at me.” Unwilling to concede any further, she purposefully averted her eyes with an obstinate huff. “Damn it, Rhoswen—” For all his mockery, his tone might have easily been mistaken as pleading. “For once in your life, can you not be so godsdamned stubborn?!” The calloused pad of his thumb tugs at her skin, tracing the outermost edge of the white tattoo on her brow. She lifts her hand, fully intending to push him aside, and ends up grasping his wrist in a sort of halfhearted stalemate.
“Look at me,” he insists, softer now, and she finds herself obeying without conscious effort. His eyes fall to her lips, lingering there before rising to meet her wary gaze. Oh… oh no…. Her heart pounds in her ears. The bastard’s about to kiss me. Carvallain, known hater of the unrefined, the unpolished, the imperfect, was going to kiss her.
And worse, she was going to let him.
Her eyes flutter shut as he leans in, body rooted in place like one of the broken pillars littering the cliffside ruins of Nym. Fingers tip her chin higher and she quails inwardly, torn between thoughts of escape and thoughts of surrender. There’s no going back from this—
Warm breath tickles her skin—not on her cheeks, as she expects, but on the exposed column of her throat. She freezes, lips parting in an unspoken query, only to gasp aloud as his teeth find the sensitive skin above her jugular. He bites gently, just enough to worry the skin without bruising, and she cannot help but melt against the wall with a sigh of pleasure. His answering smile is triumphant, victorious in the face of a hard-won battle.
“Delicious,” he praises, nibbling his way up to her ear. “For all your sour expressions, you taste surprisingly sweet.” Each warm breath stirs the fine hairs at her temple, lips teasing the shell as he speaks. “I wonder if you taste even sweeter elsewhere.”
“Oh, fuck off!”
“Patience, my dear.” In a flash he is kneeling before her, sly fingers dancing at the hem of her shorts. “All in good time.”