“How do you know my heart’s beating too fast?”
“I can hear it.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
Of course he could. I would have probably learned that in class too.
“What could go wrong?” I asked.
He studied me likely weighing the wisdom of answering.
Then he said, “After you’ve had enough, I have to stop the blood from coming so I can heal the wound. If it’s pumping too much, I might not be able to do that.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I whispered.
“It wouldn’t be,” he replied, his hand still stroking my thigh. “That’s why we need to calm you down.”
“I’m not sure that’ll work,” I admitted. “Me calming down, I mean.”
He slid his arm out from under his upper body but bent his elbow and put his head in his hand. This pressed his warm chest against my side and brought his face a whole lot closer to mine.
“Let’s try, shall we?” he suggested.
I didn’t want to try. In fact, I felt hope for the first time in a week. Actually, for the first time in four weeks, since I got my invitation to The Selection.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this tonight,” I tried. “Maybe we should try tomorrow night. Or,” I hesitated, “next week.”
Or never but I wasn’t going to go that far, not yet.
My very weak hope was dashed.
“I can’t,” he replied.
“Why not?”
He sighed and his hand stopped stroking my thigh. His fingers curled into my hip again and he rolled me to my side facing him as his legs came out from under mine and he stretched out full-length beside me. His arm moved around me, his hand sliding up my back to catch a tendril of hair and start playing with it.
“I’ll give you a little lesson you should have learned in studies,” he began with a disapproving tone before I could give into hyperventilating at our newer, far more intimate, position.
I pulled my lips between my teeth and nodded.
“Five weeks ago, I informed The Council I would be releasing my concubine and I’d need to attend A Selection. A week ago, three hours before I arrived at your Selection, she and I officially ended our Arrangement. By law I’m not allowed to feed until I have my new concubine. Not even at A Feast. This means I haven’t fed in a week. That’s a long time, my pet,” he finished on a whisper and then went right on whispering, “I need you. Tonight.”
I ignored his admission of need, which made me feel strangely aroused. What helped that arousal (too much), was the way he whispered, his deep voice soft and low and somehow physical.
Instead, I asked, “What’s a feast?”
His hand went from playing almost tenderly (all right, so it was tenderly, I couldn’t deny it) with my hair, to sliding down my back and drawing circles at its small.
That felt nice too, both my body and mind admitted it without delay or quarrel. It just felt nice. Really nice.
“That I’ll let your mother or Edwina explain,” he told me, still talking low.
“So you’re hungry?”
He nodded and answered, “Very.”