Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Taking a breath, I roll onto my back, twist my neck, and my heart about leaps out of my chest when I see Amell lying there.
Naked, of course.
He’s on his side facing me with his head propped in his hand. His wings are tucked in tight with the arches peeking just over his head. My eyes catch the bulge of his biceps, over his chest, and down. The lower half of his body is covered with a silk sheet.
For my benefit?
“Sleep well?” he asks, and my eyes snap to his. I scramble upright, intent to roll off the bed, but he says, “Stay,” and I freeze.
“Relax,” he adds. “Lie down for a minute and let’s discuss your day.”
I stare at him dubiously, wondering if lie down and talk means “sex.”
It’s possible he’s a mind reader, being king of the Underworld and all, but guessing my emotion is on my face when he says, “You’re safe, Nyssa. It appears I have to repeat this often, but I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”
He hasn’t asked, which is confusing. “But you want to?”
“I want to very much, but when you’re immortal, you learn to be patient.”
“But you could force me,” I point out, intent on arguing this to complete clarity. “You’re evil. You have no morals.”
“Few morals,” he corrects me. “Although admittedly, they’re self-serving.”
“As I said, you can force me.”
“I could easily force you.” I flinch at that admission and wait for him to reassure me. But he doesn’t. “Now, lie back down, face me, and let’s talk.”
Reluctantly, I do so, but only because being this close to such masculine perfection makes me feel all kinds of things I shouldn’t be feeling. I settle on my side facing him, mirroring his pose, trying to look casual. I feel anything but.
My eyes are drawn to the light smattering of golden hair over his broad chest sitting above ripped abs. A little trail of hair below his navel disappears under the sheet.
“It’s okay to touch me if you want to, Nyssa.” My gaze jerks upward to meet his, my face flaming with embarrassment. His mouth curves on one side. “You don’t even have to ask my permission.”
We stare at each other, his dark blue eyes reflecting the glow of the lamp behind me. I have no clue what even possesses me, but before I know it, I’m blurting out, “Can I touch your wings?”
Absolutely wrong question as Amell’s eyes turn completely dark, the cobalt leeching away to black. And then… red flames.
My brain tells me to get the hell away from him, but his voice stops me. “You can touch.”
“Never mind.” Voice shaking, heart hammering, I keep my eyes on his.
Amell rolls my way and onto his stomach. As they did last night, the wings flare slightly, rustle, and then settle along his backside. From the arches to the tips, they cover his entire frame, and I recall how the tips dragged on the floor when he walked.
Crossing his arms on the pillow, he rests his cheek there and watches me. His eyes are blue again and maybe it was just my imagination.
I tentatively reach across the bed and let my fingers trail along the outer ridge, covered by layers of flat black feathers at least a foot in length each. They’re thick enough I can’t tell if it’s muscle or bone underneath. I press my palm down and move it inward toward the middle of his wing, feeling the firmness give way. I hold my breath as I sift my fingers in between the feathers to feel what’s underneath. It’s downy soft.
Amell utters a sound deep in his throat, and his feathers flutter again. I snatch my hand back. “Did that hurt?”
“No. It felt a little too good.”
Pushing up, he rolls the opposite way and out of the bed. The silk sheet slips off as his wings lift briefly to spread, and I get an unobstructed view of what might be the most perfect ass before the wings tuck back into place.
He walks straight to a dresser and pulls out clothing. With his back to me and hidden by his wings, he dresses. I roll out of the bed and immediately start stripping the sheets, remembering that’s one of my duties.
By the time I have them off, Amell is dressed in black rough denim and boots. He’s not wearing a shirt, and I must say, I like that better than the vest.
From a purely artistic point of view, that is.
“Let’s talk about a few ground rules,” he says as I stand there with the sheets and pillowcases in my arms.
“Okay.”
“Outside of the suite, you stick to the main part of the castle. That would be the grand foyer, which leads out to the bridge, the kitchens, and my suite. Do not go down other hallways at all. You’ll be safe enough that way as it’s fairly populated with visitors and residents.”