As his big thighs flex and he maneuvers, his kilt tightens across his buttocks, and I catch a glimpse of strong, tight globes of muscle and a hint of a tail between them. Aha. I feel as naughty as if I’ve just seen his cock. The Fellian’s secretive around his tail, and it makes me incredibly aroused to know I’ve glimpsed something forbidden.

I might need some alone-time after watching him exercise.

He stretches, his fingers arching towards the ceiling, and his wings flick outward. My breath catches, and I press a hand to the bodice of my gown, fascinated at those oversized hands. He could absolutely wreck a woman with just one single finger, and the thought makes me squirm. Gods, I really need something to take the edge off. Maybe I will go upstairs after this, citing a headache and alone-time needed. Something. Anything.

Nemeth stretches higher, his heels lifting off the ground. Then, he curses and thumps back to the floor, scratching wildly at the base of his neck, just above where his wings attach to his shoulders. He growls in frustration.

“Problem?” I ask, tossing aside the book I’m not even pretending to read. It’s so unlike Nemeth to show irritation that it immediately gets my attention.

He makes another crabby noise and claws at his back again. “Dry skin. The winter has made me itchy. I can reach most spots but not this one.”

Oooh. I watch as he scratches frantically at another spot on his shoulder, then tries to reach for the place near the join of his wings again. His twisting is giving me quite a show, and I pause to watch for a moment before taking pity on him. “Would you like some help with that?”

“Help?” He turns and gives me an impatient look.

“Yes, help. I can oil your shoulders for you, and your wings if you like. I’m happy to be of assistance.” I make my voice sound as innocent as possible. As if I’m just an innocent saint willing to help out. As if I haven’t been salivating at the thought of putting my hands on him. I fling the blankets off the bed and get to my feet as if it’s already decided. “You’ve got some oil around here somewhere, don’t you? Or a lotion of some kind?”

He turns and faces me, still grumpy. “I guess so, yes.”

We pick through several bottles of various concoctions that he’s brought with him for healing, tinctures for burns, extracts for sicknesses of various kinds, and find a bottle that’s labeled “wing oil.” Nemeth hesitates on pulling out the cork stopper. “I’ve been saving this because I’m not sure if they’ll bring me more when they bring supplies. It needs to last.”

“Maybe we can make our own if we run out,” I tell him. “There’s no point in you having itchy wings for the next seven years. I’m sure that can’t be good for your skin.”

“Six,” he corrects absently. “But…yes. You are right.”

Huh. In another month, it will be six years. We’ve almost made it an entire year. It feels like we’ve been in this tower forever, and yet at the same time, it feels like we just got here and we’re still finding our footing. “Your birthday is soon then,” I comment. “How do you want to celebrate it?”

He snorts. “The only thing I wish to celebrate is another solstice so we are that much closer to freedom.”

Good point. “I promise I’ll be sparing with the oil.”

I pour a tiny bit into my hands and show it to him for approval. Nemeth gives me a cranky grunt and then taps at his shoulders. “Right between here.”

“Just a moment.” I close my fingers over the bit of oil in my palm, and with my other hand, grab my skirts. I climb onto the bed and stand upright, then turn around to face him. “There. This should help, since you’re so much taller than me.”

His wings flutter as he gazes up at me. “You’re sure you don’t mind doing this?”

“You’re really going to ask that?” I give him an exasperated smile. “You, who administers my medicine to me every night?”

The wings twitch again, his shyness coming through. “You bruise so easily. I want to make sure you don’t get hurt, that’s all.”

Because he is kind and gentle. Because he doesn’t like to see me suffer. Because we have this strange push-pull dynamic between us that we can’t figure out how to handle. I indicate that he should turn around, then rub my hands together to warm the oil. I’ve had heated oil massages after my baths in the past, and it’s always nice to have someone’s strong hands working your muscles. It’s the least I can do for Nemeth after all the kindness he’s shown me.

Plus, I’m being selfish because I really, really want to touch him.

Carefully, I place one hand below his neck, at the spot between his wings. It’s surprisingly hard to reach, because his sweeping horns jut backward like a wind-swept mess of hair, and they get in my way as I try to maneuver closer. But the moment I stroke my fingertips between his shoulder blades, he gives a sigh of pleasure.

“Perfect. Just like that.”

His low voice sends ripples of heat through me. Thighs clenching, I bite my lip as I smooth my oily hands over his back, rubbing and massaging around the base of each wing. I dig my fingers into his hard muscles, fascinated at the play of them. He’s so very strong. His shoulders are enormous to give strength to his wings, but I don’t find them unattractive. The opposite, really. I run my slippery hands down his spine, then back up again. “Should I do the wings proper, too? Or just your back?”

“Wings too, if you can.”

“I’ve never touched a wing before,” I say softly. “If I do something wrong, let me know.”

With careful fingers, I caress along the delicate, flexible bones of his wing. I know from watching him move them that the bones here are strong but light, but he’s still meticulous with them. He stretches the wing I’m touching out to its full length, the ripple of leather-like skin fascinating up close. I can see minor striations in the skin and veins tracing through the delicate membrane. Using my fingertips, I trace along one vein, forgetting that I’m supposed to be massaging and following my curiosity instead.

“Perfect,” he groans. “Your hands…they’re perfect.”

My pussy clenches at his words, and the ragged way he says them. Oh. He sounds aroused, as if the movement of my hands over his wings is the most decadent thing ever. “I don’t think I’ll have enough on my hands to cover your wings, but I’ll get the bases well,” I murmur, moving to the other wing as he extends it outward. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

He doesn’t tell me to stop, though. Instead, his breath hitches the moment I touch his other wing, and just that small noise makes me clench again. I stroke and toy with the thick base of the wing, getting the oil of my hands on and around it, working the firm muscle on his shoulder where it’s attached.

I’m having very naughty thoughts. Very naughty thoughts brought on by arousal.

Would he stop me if I ran my oily hands down his front? If I reached around his waist and gripped his cock and worked my slick hands over him until he came?

I bite my lip again, the mental image of that driving me slightly mad with lust. Do I dare?

I know he’s a Fellian. I know he’s the enemy. I just…don’t care at the moment. I’m dying to touch him.

Slowly, carefully, I slide my hands lower down his back.

Chapter

Thirty

Nemeth stands before me, frozen in place, his wings spread so I can administer more of the oil to his skin. I should be working on his wings. I know I should. Instead, I’m running my fingers lightly down his back. I want to touch him all over, to caress that hot, muscled, deep gray skin and give him pleasure. I’m shameless, but I want to watch him come.

“Can I keep going?” I ask, breathless. “Or should I stop now?”

“Keep…going?” It takes me a moment to realize he’s confused by my question. “My wings no longer itch, Candra.”