Page 45 of Hearts Lost

I try to shove that voice down as far as it can go and yank hard on the knot I’m tying in the blade of grass. It rips apart.

“Unless…” Aloserin says, and there’s such a wicked edge to his voice that I have to glance up at him.

He’s watching me with a grin that goes straight between my legs. My heart trips over itself in my chest, and stars, it’s not fair how sexy he is. It’s not at all fair what he can do to me with just a smile, how he can derail my guilt and fear and make me feel almost like I’m safe. Almost like everything is going to be okay.

“Maybe you’re into that sort of thing?” Aloserin asks in a voice that’s like dragging silk over bare skin.

I open my lips, but apparently, my brain has forgotten how to work my tongue, so I just stare at Aloserin like an idiot. He raises a finger to trace my cheek, then leans in close.

“Maybe you want to be sent to the dungeons? Tied up?” he says, and his whisper is hot against my neck. “Questioned by the Royal Guard?”

“Oh, stars,” I moan.

My throat has gone dry, and my cheeks are on fire. I lean back, blinking as arousal blows through my body like a tornado, leaving a wreckage of coherent thoughts and good intentions.

“I mean, that sounds amazing,” I stammer. “But, no, that’s not what I meant.”

I tuck my hair back behind my ears and try to regain some of my composure.

“I meant, because I’m an assassin,” I finish, still staring at my boots to hide the way my face is burning.

Aloserin makes a low, agreeable sound in the back of his throat, then comes to his feet. Disappointment lances through me, unexpectedly sharp, and I try to reason with my own wounded libido. Aloserin was probably just being flirtatious, just running his mouth and tongue around the edges of this new dynamic between us. This dynamic that had me flat on my back and gasping, with Aloserin moving inside me, our kisses so deep and intense we were sharing breaths.

Right. Well. I clear my throat and try to ignore the way my entire body’s aching for him now, just because of one stupid comment. One little whisper.

“Where is it now?” Aloserin asks.

I turn around. He’s spread his cloak out on the grass behind me, and he’s still grinning at me like he wants to eat me alive. My insides do a little flop. I swallow hard, making a desperate grasp for normality, and Aloserin pulls his shirt over his head.

Oh, stars. No woman alive could resist that man’s bare chest. I stare at him, trying not to let my mouth fall open, as he twists the soft fabric of his shirt into something like a rope.

“The animal?” he asks, smiling softly although his eyes burn. “The one who’s scaring everything else?”

“Oh,” I reply as I try to tear my eyes away from the dusting of dark curls scattered across his chest, the ones that lead down to between his legs. To the very obvious bulge in the dark leather of his pants. “Right.”

I close my eyes as my heart hammers in the back of my throat. I can hear Aloserin behind me, moving closer, and it takes a moment for me to feel anything but the desperate, insistent ache of my own arousal.

Ah. There it is. There’s still a knot of fear traveling through the animals upriver, but it doesn’t seem to have moved. Perhaps the void has turned and it’s drifting away from us now, or perhaps whatever it is that’s scaring the animals has just stopped moving.

“Still there,” I finally say. “It doesn’t seem to be moving right now.”

“Good,” Aloserin whispers from behind me.

Something flutters in my chest. I turn around to see Aloserin kneeling on his cloak behind me, his shirt pulled taut between his fists and his grin so wicked he could use it to start a fire.

“Do you want to see how the Kingdom of the Fall’s Royal Guard would interrogate an assassin?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

There’s a hint of something playful and almost hesitant about his expression, like he’s not sure if he should be offering this. Like he’s not sure how I’m going to respond.

“Oh, fuck yes,” I reply, and it’s almost a groan.

His smile widens and becomes something more dangerous. He leans forward, runs his lips along the curve of my neck, and pulls my wrists together behind my back.

“If it’s too much for you,” he whispers, “say something.”

“Something?” I ask as his fingers dance along the inside of my wrist.

“Fish,” he replies. “Say fish.”