Emmery raised her hand to his brow and gently traced the scar there, the one she’d seen a few times now. “What’s this from?”
A small humorous breath left him, and he said, “While I wish I had a better story, I pierced it. Back when I was young and rebellious.” He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and she spotted a similar one on the corner of his mouth. “It was really to enrage my father. It worked. And thus the scar.”
She smiled, bright and warm. “King Destonne O’Daire the rebel. Who knew?”
“I was hardly a king. Barely a prince.” A small, morose chuckle rumbled in his chest. “But I used to be fun. You might have even liked me all those years ago.”
Her finger followed the curve of his cheekbone. “Well, I like younow.”
Dez gave her a long skeptical look. “I was … different back then.”
Emmery studied him, his walls lowered, and mask tossed aside. Maybe when they were both young they’d been different in the same way—not so weighed down by the world. On top of the fever and thorns, the heaviness and burden of things in Asaella rested on his shoulders. And though what he’d saidabout the crown breaking him down and remaking him was explanation enough, she wanted to hear it from him, so she asked, “How so?”
He gently took her hand and studied the rose carved into her palm. “I used to dream. Hope for a brighter future. A better world.”
“And now?”
He rested her hand over his still heart. “Now, it seems, I only dream of one thing.”
“World domination? Bathing in the blood of your enemies? Unlimited supplies of tea?” She smirked, but he pensively studied her lips, like he was a lost soul and she was his temple.
Dez gave her a wisp of a smile, as if his truth knocked on his heart, pounded on the walls, but got caught on the impenetrable thorns and left him bloody and torn. Then his fingertip traced the lacy band of her stocking at the top of her thigh. Emmery’s breath snagged and she arched into him, nearly losing this game. But he looked like he would lose first. And gladly.
“I really do like these,” he said, his voice low. “Probably too much.”
“What, uhm—” she started, but her mind spun as his finger followed the lace and teased her inner thigh with the lightest touch, so close, but not close enough. “What else do you like?”
His finger slid higher, and that throbbing ache only grew. Emmery bit down on her lip to stifle the whimper climbing her throat.
“It’s a very lengthy list,” he replied softly, “I’m not sure we have time for.”
“And those thoughts you had. When you, uhm, walked in.” Her mind clouded like a fog and she couldn’t remember a single reason not to give in. “What do you—what about those?”
He traced the edge of her undergarment and leaned in, his lips at her ear. “It wouldn’t be wise if I told you all the depravedthings I want to do to you. All the pleasure I would give and take. The sounds you would make for me.”
Emmery shivered, her breasts tightening as desire built inside her. She grasped the collar of his shirt and gingerly slid to the edge of the counter, trapping his hips between her thighs in an unspoken dare to show her instead.
When his arousal pressed against that soft, aching spot, a breathy sound slipped from her lips. Air caught in Destonne’s throat, and his eyes slammed shut as if he was enduring unholy torture. When he opened them again, his gaze became a blazing inferno that nearly swept her away.
“Are you afraid to say them?” she challenged. “Or is it me you’re frightened of?”
The playful spark in his gaze extinguished, replaced with unending longing. Dez took her chin in his hand and traced the swell of her bottom lip with his thumb. “A bit of honesty,” he said, his voice rough. “It seems my desires and fears are one in the same—vengeful, rampant monsters clawing at their cages. And I’m terrified that if I do unleash them, if I finally give in, I won’t be able to hold back.”
Her lips parted and his attention fixed on her mouth. “What if I want you unleashed?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “We both know you don’t want that. This is fun, but—we know what this is. How you feel about me.”
Her brows pinched. “And how do I feel, Dez?”
“I don’t have to tell you, Emmery,” he said, low and somber. “You already know.”
His words doused her like frigid water and dissipated the fog, snapping her out of it. Reminding her why she was here.
Whoshe was here for.
Dez retreated from her, and left the air between them cold, empty, and aching. “I’ll let you finish getting ready.”
He strolled from the room, and left her staring after him.