Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,63

well. Whitt and I came from lesser dalliances.”

Hold on a second. “You’re all brothers?” They do have similar builds, and they’re all gorgeous in their own ways, but they have such different coloring the possibility never occurred to me.

August laughs. “He didn’t mention that part, then? Yes, we’re half-brothers. Well, all of us except Kellan. That’s typically how a lord forms his cadre—with his faded siblings and sometimes those of his mate…”

He trails off into a sudden silence, as if realizing he might have said too much. I watch the surface of the water ripple in front of me. “If Kellan’s not related to Sylas, why did he include him?”

“They are related, in a way,” August says evasively. “Why are you asking all this, Talia? You don’t have to— I mean, none of us would force you to… end up in a situation like that.”

His energetic voice has turned abruptly awkward. A situation like what—like getting pregnant by one of them? Is that what he thinks I’m wondering about?

My cheeks burn, but a flutter passes through my belly. Now I am thinking about it—about the act that gets women pregnant, anyway. About what it’d be like to have August touch me, take me as a lover. So much for finding an unprovocative subject.

“No,” I stammer. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking that. Not that way.”

Perfect. Now that begs the question of how I was thinking about it.

Before I can find the words to dig myself out of the hole I’ve unwittingly tumbled into, August clears his throat. When he speaks, his tone is as gentle as I’ve ever heard it. “It’s all right. What you’ve felt, what you’ve wanted. Totally natural impulses for any living creature to have, fae included.”

Does he know about the kindling of desire I’ve experienced when he’s around? Oh, that’s a silly question, isn’t it? If I could pick up on some sign of those desires being returned when I’ve got no experience with those urges at all, how obvious must mine have been to him? Augh. Maybe I should drown myself to avoid any further embarrassment.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” I mumble.

“I didn’t want to put you on the spot. I just—” He draws in an audible breath. “It might be easier for you if you have another way of… addressing those feelings, without me or anyone else involved. And from what I understand, the pool is a rather good place for that.”

Despite my mortification, curiosity nips at me. My voice comes out even quieter. “What do you mean?”

“I gather the jets can be, ah, very stimulating to females, if you place yourself so the water moves between your legs.”

If my face was burning before, it’s a wonder it doesn’t outright incinerate now. At least August sounds equally—and adorably, damn it—self-conscious about the subject. And I can’t help wondering how he found out this fact about “females.” How many women has he brought down here, fae or otherwise?

I don’t actually want the answer to that question.

Possibly the only sensible thing to do would be to climb out of the water and scrub this entire conversation from my mind as thoroughly as I can. But with his words, a tingling has shot through the sensitive parts at the apex of my thighs, and I can’t help wavering.

This is my last night among the fae—or at least, if I don’t make it, it’s my last night with anywhere near this kind of freedom. I don’t have anywhere else to go just yet. Why shouldn’t I take advantage of this moment, do something that’s insensible—something that might be very enjoyable if the clamoring of my bodily instincts can be trusted.

August doesn’t think there’d be anything wrong with it. He wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.

I move through the water to one of the circular protrusions that shoots a stream of water into the pool. When I’m standing in front of it, the current strikes the top of my belly. I ease closer and hook my elbows over the edge of the pool to pull my body upward.

The jet ripples down my belly and hits the sensitive folds below. A bolt of sensation races through me, so intense a gasp tumbles from my mouth.

And it doesn’t stop. The intensity builds, pleasure swelling from that spot down through my hips and up to my chest with every passing second the pressure continues. I’ve never felt anything this good in my life.

I grip the tiles harder, my head slumping forward. I want