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Authors: Jo Beverley
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asked.
Chapter 6
Rouar hastily lifted the skewers off the fire. For courtesy, he should take one to her, but he couldn’t risk being that close.
“Like this,” he said, picking up a skewer and biting into the meat, not surprised to see her roll her eyes.
She used the other cloth to pick up a skewer, and then gingerly nibbled. Even the sight of her neat, white teeth tightened his balls.
Then she smiled, making him want to groan. “It
is
good. I’m surprised fresh-killed meat is so tender.”
“Drool. Tenderizes it.”
Among other things. And he was eating it!
“May I have some tea?” she asked.
“Serve yourself.”
From her look, the princess had decided the Dornae were hopelessly uncouth, but she poured tea into a cup. “Shall I pour for you?” she asked, making it a clear reproof.
“No, thank you.”
She sipped, but then exclaimed, “Hralla. You’re trying to drug me!”
“We always drink it at night. It’s soothing,”
He poured himself some and drank. He certainly needed soothing.
“We only use it for medicine, or for the SVP ritual, of course, because we have so little. Why will you not trade? You seem to have many things we would value.”
“We have no need.”
He could sense her frustration, so different to his own, but he was incapable of complex thoughts.
“Will I be allowed to send letters to my family?”
He closed his eyes. “Yes, of course.”
As long as you are alive.
He had to do better than this. He gathered himself and looked at her. “Family. You have brothers and sisters, I gather.”
“Five brothers, two sisters. Izzy is the Virgin Princess now. That should delight her.”
“She won’t be worried about you?”
She bit off a piece of meat. “Not Izzy. Unless she thinks the same thing will happen to her.” She licked sauce off her upper lip, leaving it glistening. “It won’t, will it?”
He swallowed his own drool. “No.”
“Good.” She reached for another skewer of meat.
He’d eaten only half of his first and dared not eat more. “Brothers?”
“Five, as I said.”
He’d forgotten.
“One older, four younger.” She caught a drip of sauce on her tongue—luscious pink tongue—and relished it. “What do I call you?” she asked, beautiful eyes fixed on him.
“Call me?” He was going to choke, pass out, explode.
“Is it correct for me to call you Rouar?” She frowned. “I don’t think I said it right. It feels strange in my mouth.”
In my mouth . . .
He forced himself to bite and chew. “Call me Rou, then.”
“Rue?”
He repeated it, but she couldn’t get it. “Try Ro. It’s closest.”
“Ro.” She tried to roll the
r
in the back of her throat. A deep, sexy purr. “And I’m Zlinda.” She was smiling at him, gilded by firelight. Warm, interested, welcoming . . .
He swallowed against a thick throat. “You won’t mind me calling you that?”
“We’re husband and wife.” She ran her tongue down her third skewer of meat, licking the sauce, eyes half closing as she relished it, but still seeming to catch the fire’s flame. “What does that mean in Dorn?” she purred. “Being husband and wife.”
His mind went blind-blank.
She closed her lips around the end piece of meat and slowly pulled it off. “This is
so
good,” she mumbled. When she swallowed, she looked straight at him. “We will share a bed? With all that means? Tonight?”
There was nothing coy in the question. Did drool work on her, too?
“No,” he choked out. He needed a reason. “No bed.”
She smiled at him. “Do we really need one?”
It was as if an earthquake shook inside of him and a volcano exploded in his head. He was on her side of the fire, licking sauce off her full lips. Her eyes widened, but she licked him back, her tongue like fire.
Distant alarms clamored, but he was deaf and blind except to her. The bravest, brightest, most beautiful woman in the world, pulsing with heat and life. Round, sweet, wet, willing.
He grabbed
Chapter 6
Rouar hastily lifted the skewers off the fire. For courtesy, he should take one to her, but he couldn’t risk being that close.
“Like this,” he said, picking up a skewer and biting into the meat, not surprised to see her roll her eyes.
She used the other cloth to pick up a skewer, and then gingerly nibbled. Even the sight of her neat, white teeth tightened his balls.
Then she smiled, making him want to groan. “It
is
good. I’m surprised fresh-killed meat is so tender.”
“Drool. Tenderizes it.”
Among other things. And he was eating it!
“May I have some tea?” she asked.
“Serve yourself.”
From her look, the princess had decided the Dornae were hopelessly uncouth, but she poured tea into a cup. “Shall I pour for you?” she asked, making it a clear reproof.
“No, thank you.”
She sipped, but then exclaimed, “Hralla. You’re trying to drug me!”
“We always drink it at night. It’s soothing,”
He poured himself some and drank. He certainly needed soothing.
“We only use it for medicine, or for the SVP ritual, of course, because we have so little. Why will you not trade? You seem to have many things we would value.”
“We have no need.”
He could sense her frustration, so different to his own, but he was incapable of complex thoughts.
“Will I be allowed to send letters to my family?”
He closed his eyes. “Yes, of course.”
As long as you are alive.
He had to do better than this. He gathered himself and looked at her. “Family. You have brothers and sisters, I gather.”
“Five brothers, two sisters. Izzy is the Virgin Princess now. That should delight her.”
“She won’t be worried about you?”
She bit off a piece of meat. “Not Izzy. Unless she thinks the same thing will happen to her.” She licked sauce off her upper lip, leaving it glistening. “It won’t, will it?”
He swallowed his own drool. “No.”
“Good.” She reached for another skewer of meat.
He’d eaten only half of his first and dared not eat more. “Brothers?”
“Five, as I said.”
He’d forgotten.
“One older, four younger.” She caught a drip of sauce on her tongue—luscious pink tongue—and relished it. “What do I call you?” she asked, beautiful eyes fixed on him.
“Call me?” He was going to choke, pass out, explode.
“Is it correct for me to call you Rouar?” She frowned. “I don’t think I said it right. It feels strange in my mouth.”
In my mouth . . .
He forced himself to bite and chew. “Call me Rou, then.”
“Rue?”
He repeated it, but she couldn’t get it. “Try Ro. It’s closest.”
“Ro.” She tried to roll the
r
in the back of her throat. A deep, sexy purr. “And I’m Zlinda.” She was smiling at him, gilded by firelight. Warm, interested, welcoming . . .
He swallowed against a thick throat. “You won’t mind me calling you that?”
“We’re husband and wife.” She ran her tongue down her third skewer of meat, licking the sauce, eyes half closing as she relished it, but still seeming to catch the fire’s flame. “What does that mean in Dorn?” she purred. “Being husband and wife.”
His mind went blind-blank.
She closed her lips around the end piece of meat and slowly pulled it off. “This is
so
good,” she mumbled. When she swallowed, she looked straight at him. “We will share a bed? With all that means? Tonight?”
There was nothing coy in the question. Did drool work on her, too?
“No,” he choked out. He needed a reason. “No bed.”
She smiled at him. “Do we really need one?”
It was as if an earthquake shook inside of him and a volcano exploded in his head. He was on her side of the fire, licking sauce off her full lips. Her eyes widened, but she licked him back, her tongue like fire.
Distant alarms clamored, but he was deaf and blind except to her. The bravest, brightest, most beautiful woman in the world, pulsing with heat and life. Round, sweet, wet, willing.
He grabbed
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