Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
“You brought hunting leathers with you into the tower?” I arch a brow at him as I unwind the towel from my hair.
“You brought cosmetics,” he points out.
Fair enough. And here I thought he hadn’t noticed me wearing them over my bruise. Luckily it’s almost gone now and I won’t have to fuss with covering it any longer. I drop my towel from my body and pick up a fresh chemise, shaking it out before slipping it over my head. When I glance over at him, I can see he’s definitely watching me. Good.
I love when he watches me.
“Thank you for oiling my bath,” I purr, putting a foot on the edge of the bed and then running my hands up my leg, hiking my skirts to reveal my calf. “It made my skin really soft and touchable.”
He groans and sharpens his claws even more frantically, the metal file’s loud scrapes filling the room.
Hmm. I sit on the edge of the bed, eyeing him. There’s a new sort of confidence in him today, a self-assuredness that’s rather erotic. “Did you oil your horns?”
“Tradition.”
“I suspected as much…” I trail off as he flexes his hand, eyeing his fingers. Instead of a full hand of dangerous, lethal dark claws, the claws on the fingertips of the first two fingers have been cut to the quick. “Your claws!”
“Again, tradition.” And he eyes me as he carefully files those first two fingers. “A Fellian who takes a mate trims down his claws for his female.”
I eye his hands. Sure enough, the forefinger and second finger of each hand have been filed down to short, blunt nails. As I realize what it’s for, I blush. It takes a lot to make me blush, but Nemeth’s simple determination and the naughty claw-filing will do it. I imagine him using those fingers on me, no longer worrying over his claws, and the breath escapes my throat. Oh, today is exciting. “My,” I murmur. “I’m liking this ceremony already.”
The look he gives me is scorching with heat.
Just the glances he’s giving me are making me squirm with arousal. It’s like he’s been saving all his pent up need for this day and it’s about to erupt out of him. “I suppose I should get dressed.”
“Unless you want to enter your mating ceremony with your hair about your shoulders and wearing nothing but your chemise, aye.”
The thought gives me a delightfully erotic shiver. As much as I love the thought, I also love pretty dresses and I always wanted to look nice for my wedding. Plus…I want a few moments in private with my knife so I can question it properly. “I should dress and do something with my hair.” I touch a damp lock in explanation. “I want to look good, too.”
“Shall we do your medicine early, then?” He puts away his sharp-looking nail file. “In case we are…distracted later? I’ve readied your potion.”
My goodness, he truly is selling this mating ceremony. Heart fluttering, I nod. “Very well.” Taking my medicine early will make my head a little swimmy, but it beats the alternative. “Now?”
He nods and gets to his feet. “Come.”
I move closer to him, and he smells like leather in his new clothing. I’m tempted to bury my face against his chest and just breathe in the mix of scents—Fellian skin with leather armor—but I suppose that won’t help him administer my potion. To my surprise, he pushes aside the books on the table and then lifts me atop it, seating me. He presses a quick kiss to my lips. “Wait here.”
As if I’m going to go anywhere? When he’s looking so delicious and being so commanding? Nothing could drag me from his side.
I roll up my sleeve as he crosses the room to the fireplace. I didn’t notice that he’d set a small fire there until just now, when I realize he truly has been warming my potion. He’s thought of everything this day, as if he’s mapped it all out in his mind as to how he wants it to go. I’m fascinated. He tests his claw in the potion and then rubs it between his fingers to check the temperature, then carefully pours it into one of the glass vials and screws on the specially made lid with the attached hollow needle.
With a damp towel, he rubs my arm clean, just as he’s done for me these last several months. He’s always incredibly gentle with me—more gentle than I am with myself. Today, however, his movements are distracted, thoughtful, as he strokes my arm.
“What is it?” I ask, curious.
“Am I pushing you?” He slides the towel over my arm, caressing me clean. “Into this mating.”
“Of course not. It was my decision.”
“But I have been withholding my affection from you. I have pressed you to mate with me. I worry I have pushed too hard. That this isn’t what you truly want.”