Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Persephone reaches for the other clasp and lets it fall, pausing for a few moments in a maddening half-dressed state. It is a promise of what else she might offer me. This should be an acknowledgement of her place in my realm—my queen, yes, but a queen who must rule at my side.
I cannot take my eyes off her. It’s not possible with the invitation before me. Her smooth skin and gorgeous curves. She’s bared to me and I can barely temper my desire.
Slowly, as if she is beginning to feel the power she holds in this moment, Persephone tugs her dress down and down until first one of her nipples is revealed, and then the second. The soft undersides of her breasts meet the light next, and I find that I am not breathing. This is nothing that I could not have taken from her, and yet this slow unveiling is charged with meaning and emotion beyond anything I hoped to experience.
Persephone does not stop.
She continues stripping off her dress, her hands careful on the fabric, bringing it down to her waist and over her hips. The silk clings to her hips for a moment.
“I do not think you care who put those thoughts in my head,” Persephone says softly, but I cannot take in her words. I can only take in the dip at her waist and the creamy skin meeting the fabric of her gown. “I know you do not care. You can’t take your eyes off me.”
I do not answer. My fascination with her is too obvious to deny. I am almost mad with the desire to see her with no clothing on at all. With nothing between us but air. And soon—nothing between us at all. My hands directly against her skin, tracing over that pounding heart of hers. Her pulse quickens, beating in the side of her neck, visible to me though she bears her nerves well.
My grasp on the thoughts I had prior to stepping into this room slips away as Persephone guides her gown over her hips and lets it fall to the floor. It seems to fall forever—for as long as I was trapped in the dark, at least—and then finally the fabric lands.
It no longer touches her.
There is nothing between us but air and crackling tension.
Persephone shifts her weight, lifting her hands to let her hair fall back over her shoulders. Almost no part of her is obscured from me now, save the shadows between her thighs, hiding the soft warmth. What little firelight comes from behind me seems to caress her skin.
I find myself jealous of that firelight. I find myself wishing there was nothing but darkness between us, and that the space itself was nothing.
Persephone lowers her eyes, then brings them back to mine. “Do what you want to me,” she says easily. She nearly whispers, “Have your fill.”
The air between us is thicker than it's ever been, humming with a sort of desperate tension. Is that coming from her or coming from me?
Her chest rises and falls with her quickening breath and I’m entranced. I cannot deny it.
I take a step toward her, then another, unable to keep myself away. But I do not throw her down on the bed, though I pine for touch too.
Instead, I lift my hand to the side of her neck and stroke my fingers along that fluttering pulse of hers, putting a bit of magic behind my touch. For her to feel what I feel. For her to know her power over me.
Persephone takes a quick breath, and I put more magic in that light, teasing touch. A flame bursts from my fingers. It will not hurt her. It will not burn her. It will sensitize her skin. It will make her come alive in ways I’m certain she has not felt.
She gasps aloud this time. Persephone can feel it—I have no doubt. She can feel my power in the form of fire dancing along her skin and flowing into her veins.
The darkest parts of me beg my body to fall to my knees and worship her, but I do not. I resist the weakness inside of me that craves her companionship.
I circle her, gracing my fingertips along the curve of her shoulder, and then the dip at the base of her spine, little flickers of flame and power. The shivers and goosebumps that follow in the wake of my touch have a delicate beauty to them. As does the soft gasp and scent of her arousal. She pines for me as I for her.
When I arrive back at Persephone's front, her nipples are peaked, and she's clasped her hands in front of her. I touch each one of her knuckles in turn. Persephone flips her hands over so her palms are up, and I give the center of each hand a lick of the fire.