Leila glanced at Tobias out of the corner of her eye. “I’ll manage.”
Tobias kept his gaze on the cards, though his senses were fixed on Leila, her body pressed against him, her hair falling over his arm. He leaned back on his hands and sighed. The moment could’ve been perfect—if they were alone. If the tournament didn’t exist. If Leila had chosen him.
A light caress grazed his hand; Leila’s fingertips swept his skin, a hesitant touch awakening him in an instant. He ever-so-subtly shifted his weight, and she tugged his hand beneath her cloak pile, hiding it away. Her fingers entwined with his, and he smiled, reveling in the imperfect perfection, the silent confirmation.
In being chosen.
***
“Tobias.”
He stirred awake. It was the middle of the night, the tent around him cloaked in darkness. A pair of amber eyes peeked into his line of vision, and he bolted upright.
“Leila?”
She knelt at his bedside draped in her cloak. “Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “Quiet.”
“What are you doing here? Where’s Caesar?”
“Gone.”
Tobias craned his neck, getting a good look at Caesar’s bed—empty.
“It’s all right,” Leila said. “We’re alone.”
Tobias stared back at her, perplexed. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he suddenly didn’t care why she was there so long as she stayed. Her hand settled on his cheek, sending warm tremors snaking through his body—and a second later, she tore her cloak from her shoulders and crawled onto his lap, straddling him.
“Leila—”
She grabbed his face. “Kiss me.”
He pressed his lips to hers, and an explosion of triumph swelled in his chest. He was finally kissing her, was holding her in his arms, and the shock of it faded to a relief that came with her willing touch.
Then Leila bit down on his lip, and the moment wasn’t about relief any longer. It was about need.
Their bodies worked wildly, each kiss fast and breathy. Leila writhed against him, and his heartbeat surged, his body engulfed in heat. He grabbed her thighs, squeezing hard, but she abruptly tore her lips from his, guiding his hand through the slit of her dress. As she pressed his fingers between her legs, his throat caught.
Warm. Wet.
She leaned into his ear, her voice barely a whisper.
“Touch me.”
Tobias’s eyes shot open. He lay in bed staring at the tent overhead—and nothing else. No Leila. Caesar was fast asleep at the other side of the room, and a hard bulge was poking straight up in Tobias’s pants.
“Dammit.”
The morning was off to a disappointing start. Tobias waited for his excitement to subside, but God, it was hard. Finally unencumbered, he abandoned the tent and strolled through the sanctuary, starting the day with a newfound enthusiasm. Leila had chosen him, and thus in an instant, everything had changed.
Most of the men circled the fire pit, a familiar sheen on their skin. Delphi stood off to the side, massaging oils into Neil’s flesh; with a grin, he reached around and pinched her ass, only for Delphi to snap his little finger, sending him shrieking.
“Apologies, my hand slipped.” Her voice came out cool and aloof. “It’s a shame Leila isn’t here to fix that.”
Flynn ambled up to Tobias’s side, watching Delphi just as he was.
“Another challenge?” Tobias muttered.
“Naturally.” Flynn winked. “Let’s see what new horrors they’ll inflict upon us today, yes?”
Tobias frowned. Nothing was different—certainly not within the tournament.
Flynn threw his hands in the air. “Zander! Enzo!”
The two made their way from their tent, and Tobias’s face burned upon their arrival.
“The illusive duo appears,” Flynn said. “You two had quite the night, I heard. And I thought I was shameless.”
Zander’s face dropped. “Pardon?”
“Oh please, don’t be coy. Tobias told us everything.”
Enzo’s beady glare locked on to Tobias. “Everything?”
“Of course. Said you two were horribly ill, spent the whole night retching. You know, if you have such sensitive stomachs, you should learn to pace your drinking.”
Oblivious to the tension, Flynn chuckled to himself, while Zander and Enzo simply stared at Tobias, their faces twisted with confusion.
“Glad you’re both feeling better,” Tobias mumbled.
“Tobias.” Delphi patted the now-free bench beside her. “Come.”
Tobias hurried to her side and plopped down, relieved. A self-satisfied smirk sat comfortably on her cheeks, and instantly he remembered his charcoal drawings—the ones Delphi had delivered to Leila.
“Congratulations on your victory.” She blended her oils between her palms. “I hear it was a battle of epic proportions—that they’re calling you the Giant Slayer.”