Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
I glance over at the enormous spider. The apples it brings me are always fresh and juicy. “Where are you getting your fruit, love?”
It trills and wiggles its hind end, scampering away a step and then returning. Apple clearly wants to play. I pick up a nearby stick, unsure if it’s going to appease the spider, but when he (I think Apple shall be a he until I learn otherwise) races off to chase it, I suppose some games are universal. We play with the stick, me tossing it ahead of myself and Apple rushing to fetch it as I circle around the tower that afternoon. I make sure to stay far away from the water’s edge and as I gaze out on the gray, bleak lands and the jagged mountain peaks, I see no animal life. There are no birds, no rabbits, no foxes, nothing that might hint at life.
There’s only me and Apple…and the tower.
When we return inside, Apple is shivering and moves toward the small fire I keep going inside the hearth. I stoke the coals as I heat my dinner and ponder this strangeness. If Apple is cold outside of the tower, how are he and his brothers able to go about and retrieve food for me? Every day there are fresh pods of fruit or vegetables or meat. Given how barren it is outside, they must be traveling long distances to bring me such things…aren’t they?
Once I’m done eating and clean my dishes, Apple races away from the kitchen, heading up the winding ramp into the heart of the tower. I call out after him, amused. “Did you hear something?”
There’s no response, so I pick up my skirts and head up, since the Spidae haven’t called for me. I might as well do a bit of sewing. I’m working on a lovely blue dress with ridiculous, floor-length sleeves made entirely of exquisitely tiny, golden fabric pleats, mostly to see if I can. I’m eager to get it done and wear it, just for the simple pleasure of dressing myself in a frothy concoction.
When I get to my room, though, Zaroun is standing in the midst of my things, the blindfold on his face and his head tilted toward the ceiling. “Oh,” I say by way of greeting. “Have you been waiting for me long, my lord? I was following one of the spiders.”
Apple is nowhere to be seen, though. He’s probably making himself scarce now that one of the masters is here.
Zaroun tilts his head towards me and a smile curves his delicate mouth. “He is a good friend to you.”
Is this the future he is seeing, or a general comment? I can never tell with Zaroun. I decide it doesn’t matter, because if Apple is in my life for a long time, I think that would be a good thing. I’ve never had a pet, and though the spider is unconventional, his sweet nature and playfulness makes me laugh. “So far he has been, yes.” I move to his side and touch his arm, my instinct to please him rising. “What can I assist you with, my lord? I am here to serve.”
Zaroun reaches up and brushes his fingers over my jaw, then dips his head toward mine. His lips whisper over my mouth, sending a prickle of hunger through my body. “It has been too long since I tasted you.”
A curl of delight unfurls in my belly. “It has been less than a day, Zaroun.”
“Far too long,” he agrees. “My mouth is parched and only your taste will slake my thirst.” He kisses me again, this time lingering. Zaroun doesn’t kiss with the desperate need of Ossev or the intense conquest of Neska. His kisses are always light and fluttery, a tease and a promise more than ownership. I like all the kisses for their uniqueness, but Zaroun’s kisses make me feel treasured. Special.
I’m breathless as he kisses my upper lip and then begins to press his mouth along my jaw. My arm curls around his neck and I hold him close as his mouth tickles my earlobe. “Where do you want me, my lord? On the bed?”
“I want you open to my mouth. I want you hot and wet and clenching around my tongue. I do not care where.” And he nips my ear.
Shivering with arousal, I tug him towards my bed. I’ve noticed that Ossev and Neska will take their turns with me anywhere and everywhere—in the hall, in the kitchen, against a wall, bent over my bathtub—but Zaroun always asks where I prefer. He’s definitely the sweetest and most thoughtful of the three. I sit on the edge of the bed and he kisses down my throat, his hands moving to my breasts. They’re trapped in the tight boning of my corset, but he plumps them with his hands, pressing against the sides of my gown before kissing the rounded mound of each one. Then he moves lower, to where my thick petticoats cover my legs.