CROWN OF GLASS ✔

60 | ACT III, SCENE VIII

"Hmmm. What kind of things are we talking about?"

The dark blue eyes were full of meaning, a knowing look in them, gleaming with hidden mischief as I nibbled on my lower lip. I saw Tristan breathe heavily, licking his lips and running a hand down my cheek. My throat felt parched, thirsty, starving for him. Another slight shift, and his hands brushed my breasts, his nose touched mine and I felt the stiffness between his legs against the curve of my hip.

So hard.

"Why do you make everything so hard?" I asked with a hollow groan and he gave a very, very wicked smile.

"Oh. How observant of you, Tremayne," he muttered, and my cheeks flushed a dark, warm red from the hidden meaning of it as he gave me a mischievous grin, watching me flustered. His fingers were tracing the ridge of my chin, and I was finding it harder and harder to think by the second, because he was here, and... gods, he was too close. And then I looked at the dark lighting, the polished wooden floor and the dusted metal around the room. It was too intimate. But I wanted...

"Why don't you stop trying to set the room on fire and have your way with me already?"

"Why don't you come here and shut up?" I asked, fiercely tugging down Tristan's hair with my free hand and pressing his lips to mine. He looked amused at the sudden ferocity, but gladly gave in, drinking me in as I explored his mouth, our tongues sweet and eager.

"Kiss me mercilessly," I breathed, my body taut with arousal and desire. "Leave no corner of me untouched," my voice hitched as I felt Tristan smile against my lips.

"Gladly," he whispered, as our lips locked once again around each other in wild and holy unison.

He was warm against my mouth in all the right ways, breath smelling like freshly ground coffee and metal and something else that I got high on. The fingers of my free hand threaded into his silky black hair, and his hot palms settled demandingly on my hips.

"Buttons-" I murmured through the kiss.

"-I know," he silenced me softly, I could barely keep up with the adrenaline as his fingers worked against my skin, nudging me. His comfortable weight shifted as his hands shifted to undo the buttons on my black shirt, before weaving through the loose strands of red hair that had escaped my bun.

I was keening with arousal, chest breathing heavily as the top of my lacy black bra peeked out from my shirt.

"Shit. You're so beautiful," he whispered, ever so slowly peeling back the fabric with a sensual smile, ignoring my urges to move faster. He took his own sweet time, passionately kissing me in between his touches and grinning mischievously. He had the advantage here - for my hand was tied behind me, but his wrists had gripped and pinned me to the floor.

It was so fucking hot - here under the dimmed lights of the leather brushed room, surrendering total control to him as he had his way with me.

Tristan kissed me again, then dipped his head to my collarbone, adoration gleaming in the blue of his smart eyes.

"Exquisite," he crooned, his breath tickling my sensitive throat. I wanted to beg him to say something in that foreign tongue he lapsed into so often, just as he was about to bend down to lift my shirt over my head, when suddenly a voice drifted in.