SIBOL

"Scelesta," he whispered. His velvet voice wrapped around me like a dark promise, sending a violent shiver straight down my spine that made my toes curl.
"It seems you have been looking in places you shouldn't." He inhaled, a deep, agonizingly slow breath against my neck.
"Hmm," he breathed, his lips grazing my skin.
"You do smell of honey-ale, Scelesta." My mind spun. His voice was slurred, the edges of his perfectly tailored restraint fraying. His gaze was heavy, hooded, and burning with an undisguised, feral hunger.
"Oh," I breathed, the electric tension thick enough to cut with a blade. "You do, too."
A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his throat.
"It seems we both have our vices tonight." His knuckles brushed agonizingly slow down the side of my neck, mapping the rapid flutter of my pulse, before his long fingers wrapped loosely around the front of my throat.
"You have a terrible habit of looking at things that don't belong to you," Nicolas whispered.
"The woods are full of monsters. If you keep snooping where you aren't invited, you might just get eaten alive."
The threat was absolute-wrapped in silk, alcohol, and the intoxicating heat of his body. "Is that a threat, Your Highness?" I challenged, sliding my throat deeper into the loose, warm cage of his hand. "Or a promise?"
His breath hitched. His jaw clenched, his internal war violently playing out in the dark depths of his eyes.
"I should lock you in the brig," he rasped, his thumb moving to trace the soft curve of my lower lip. The faint scent of his blood mixed with the wine on his breath. "I should make sure you never wander into the dark again."
"Then do it," I dared him.
Nicolas let out a ragged exhale, stepping completely into my space, his thigh pressing between mine. There was no air left between us.
"You make it very difficult to think clearly, Alba," he confessed. My fingers curled into his half-unbuttoned shirt, gripping the warm, hard muscle beneath.
"Then stop thinking," I breathed.