He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned toward her so she could touch him.
A moment later, fingers as cold as ice came to rest against the back of his neck.
Enclosing her hand in his own, he guided it toward his face.
She instinctively shrank back at first before gently beginning to caress his cheek.
That hesitant touch, as though confirming that he was truly there, made his lower abdomen tighten painfully as a fierce heat surged through him.
Feeling his own body's violent response, he frowned.
Even before this, he had occasionally felt his body grow warm whenever he was near her.
He had dismissed it as nothing more than the ordinary reaction of a man in his prime.
It had surprised him somewhat that such desires still remained within him, but he had never considered them particularly significant.
He had merely concluded that producing an heir would not be impossible.
He ignored the fact that his body had never reacted this way to anyone else.
If necessary, he could always rely on an aphrodisiac.
He had been trained to maintain absolute control over every desire.
Separating mind from body was second nature to him.
Lust was nothing more than an instinct for preserving the species.
There was no reason to attach any special meaning to it.
Yet those convictions crumbled with astonishing ease beneath her touch.
Letting out a long breath, Varkas wrapped an arm around her waist.
He untied the ribbons fastening the back of her dress.
The fabric parted, revealing her delicate frame and graceful curves.
As he slowly traced them with reverent care, her tense voice escaped her lips.
“Y-you really can't see anything, can you?”
Instead of answering, he gently lowered her onto the bed and pulled the dress down beneath her hips.
Talia drew in a sharp breath and instinctively clutched the fabric.
Even in the darkness, he could see her shoulders growing rigid with tension.
“Answer me. You really can't see anything?”
Quietly studying the face distorted by anxiety, Varkas leaned close to her ear and whispered soothingly,
“That's right. I can't see anything. So relax.”
Only then did she slowly release her grip on the dress.
He drew the garment all the way down to her feet.
Within the bluish darkness, her body emerged with an almost unreal perfection.
Delicate shoulders like carved ivory.
Breasts shaped in flawless curves.
A slender waist that seemed scarcely wider than his hands.
A flat abdomen drawn taut.
His gaze slowly traveled over every exquisite line as though admiring a masterpiece prepared for an altar.
Then it stopped.
The instant he saw the bandages wrapped tightly from just above her slightly twisted knee down to her calf, it felt as though a knife had been driven into his throat.
Trying to shake off the sensation, he hurried over her and pressed his tongue against her swollen lips.
Startled by the sudden contact, she flinched before gradually parting her lips.
He explored the warm softness of her mouth while winding strands of silk-like hair around his fingers.
The more deeply their kiss continued, the hotter he could feel her skin becoming.
He found himself regretting, if only a little, agreeing to extinguish the lights.
Had the room been bright, he could have clearly watched her pale skin gradually flush with color.
He would have seen those lapis lazuli eyes grow hazy, and the corners of her reddened eyes slowly glisten with moisture.
The thirst burning his throat only intensified.
He gathered the saliva pooling inside her mouth with his tongue.
He swallowed it greedily.
Yet it did nothing to ease his thirst.
An unfamiliar impatience overtook him.
He pushed his tongue deeper into the damp warmth of her mouth.
Her small tongue trembled and tried to flee.
Without thinking, he pursued it.
When he persistently trapped the soft, yielding thing, a muffled moan escaped her lips as she tipped her head back.
Instinctively, he held fast to what was trying to escape.
The fire scorching his throat had now spread into his stomach.
It felt as though he had drunk the juice of belladonna.
“Y-you should undress too. Your sword hilt is pressing against my stomach—it hurts.”
He was still half out of his senses, absorbed in kissing her, when she pushed lightly against his chest and complained.
Breathing hard, he finally lifted his head.
As he straightened his upper body, he realized the rigid hardness pressing against her abdomen was not his sword hilt at all.
What kind of expression would she make if he told her that?
She would probably turn deathly pale and shrink away.
Part of him did not want to see that.
Part of him did.
Brushing a thumb across lips still wet with saliva, he tore open the buttons of his shirt with his other hand.
He discarded his clothes in moments before unfastening his belt and pulling down his trousers.
Cool air brushed against skin burning with heat.
Yet his body, inflamed with desire, refused to cool in the slightest.