I don’t notice his hand has moved so quickly to my skirts until it lifts them and reaches my bare thigh. He raises it, fitting himself better between my legs, pressing his hips against the softest parts of my body. I feel like I might faint at any moment. My legs tremble, my vision blurs, and I feel my blood pulsing in my lips. Those cold fingers now drawing slow circles on my thigh don’t make me shiver with cold—instead, they send waves of pure fire through my body. I tell myself this is wrong. I try to lift my hands and push him away, but they’re pinned against his chest. There’s no space between us.
“Your blood is like a siren’s song to me, Elara.”
He’s said my name before, and only now do I realize how good it sounds in his mouth, with that velvet voice. I want to say something, but
