The Duke's hand rose again, and this time, it didn't fall. His fingers hovered over Julian's jaw, the roughness from the callouses catching on the non-existent hair of his cheek.
The touch was agonizingly slow, a caress that felt like a brand, and Julian gulped.
He tried to stay still, but how could he, when the Duke was doing such tormenting movements?
"You're trembling," Alaric whispered. His thumb slowly found Julian's lower lip and traced it agonizingly slow, a gesture so intimate it made Julian's breath hitch in his throat once again.
What did the Duke think he was doing? Was he planning to expose himself and let Julian know that he felt something… or rather, did something?
Julian wasn't ready to hear any of it, so before his composure crashed completely, he stilled himself and said,
"Leave,"
The word was jagged, rough, and felt like a dozen glass shards sprinkled on top. It cut through the Duke's haze, making his hand freeze in place.
