The words were quiet. Almost whispered. The voice of a boy, not a man — the child who had been held by this woman's sister, who had been taught to walk, who had been raised by a family that he was now holding in a cave.
Evriana's eyes went wet.
"Oh," she said. "Elder sister, do you?"
She looked over her shoulder. At his face. At the violet eyes that were looking up at her — not with the predatory, hungry, I-want-to-fuck-you gaze she had seen directed at Dara and Berenga. With something else. Softer. Warmer. The particular, complicated, layered expression of a man who was holding the woman who reminded him of his mother.
He smiled.
"Can I suck your boobs?" he said.
The question — the casual, direct, utterly shameless request delivered in the same warm tone — snapped her out of the moment.
She trembled.
"I — I don't know," she stammered. "There would be no milk coming out."
