Eyrx hadn't moved since she'd conjured the fire, but now his hands were no longer resting idly at his sides. One arm slipped around her lower back, palm splayed right at the dip of her spine. The other hand traced a slow, featherlight path along her thigh, not possessive—yet intimate enough to make her breath stutter.
Her seated position was vulnerable. Too vulnerable.
Their bodies pressed together so closely, her every shift of weight brought her closer to the solid heat of him beneath her. She could feel the slight press of his abdomen with each inhale, and when he exhaled, it was like her whole body followed the motion.
Her spine straightened instinctively, but that only made her acutely aware of how tightly she was nestled into him—her core brushing the firm plane of his stomach, her breasts lightly grazing his chest.
And he was watching her. Not with hunger. Not with cold amusement.
