The domineering demon in the temple.
The protector who’d saved her from dragons.
Now she could sense the conflict within him. His sexual curiosity and long-denied urges goaded him to learn about her own desires—and to watch others’, though he believed it forbidden.
How shocking these sights must be to him! —I think my angel’s a budding voyeur.—
—You lead me down a dark path, sorceress.— Thronos looked astounded that he was actually watching, but helplessly intrigued.
—You’ve really never seen others in the throes?— Their hands on the bench were inching closer together.
—Never. I’ve turned away every time.— His little finger brushed hers, and even that small contact shot currents into her skin.
—Then why look now?—
—Because I see myself as him and you as her. Because I ache for what I almost took in that temple.—
The demoness moaned loudly. The Volar’s claws dug into the rocky ground.
Lanthe swallowed. —What had you planned to do to me?—
—For the first time in my adult life, there was no plan, only impulses.— Thronos’s hand suddenly covered hers. His was hot, rough with callouses.
She glanced up at him. Thick dark hair tumbled over his forehead, almost reaching his vivid eyes. Their color was the same as the ore that had spilled from the mountain.
Molten silver lit by fire.
His shirt clung to his broad shoulders and brawny chest. His normally clenched jaw was relaxed, the grim line of his lips softened, allowing her a glimpse of his true mien: masculine, compelling, sigh-worthy.
Her heart thudded. Irresistible warlord.
His face was flushed with excitement, as if he’d just discovered flirting.
Oh, wait. He probably had.
—What would you have allowed me in the temple, Melanthe?—
She felt like she was punch-drunk, losing any inhibitions she might have had with this male. By the way he stared at her eyes, she knew they were metallic, colored with her desire. —I honestly don’t know.—
He scowled when she pulled her hand away.
—If I based my decision on physical attraction alone, then . . . — She turned her hand palm up and parted her fingers for his.
A breath left him. His hand shot to hers, fingers entwining.
They fit . . . perfectly.
—You would have received me? Parted your thighs for me?— He pressed the heel of his palm into hers, tightening his grip so sensually.
She bit her bottom lip. —It’s not based just on physical attraction, is it?— How could the mere contact of their hands make her this aroused? Her ni**les stiffened, her sex growing wet.
Averting her gaze from his, she turned toward the couple. The Volar cast his demoness a look of open adoration. Gripping her br**sts, he bucked his hips, bouncing the thrilled female.
Did Thronos realize he’d begun rubbing the palm of his hand against Lanthe’s in time with the Volar’s thrusts? Their palms were hot with friction, and Thronos’s every movement sent pleasure rippling through her body.
She exhaled a tremulous breath. Could he make her come like this? A completely new meaning for the term hand job. . . .
She would catch him staring at her as she watched; then she’d gaze up at him as his flickering eyes took in the scene. Since they were communicating telepathically, it was easy to slip into his thoughts.