Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
FOX
Fox’s heart was thundering in his chest—his body still vibrating with anxiety.
He’d imagined a hundred different ways their plan had gone wrong.
A thousand images of Sofia being hurt or killed had flashed through his mind in a matter of seconds.
He knew he shouldn’t have gone after her, but he felt like he was about to jump out of his skin if he didn’t move or do something.
So, when she’d come walking back into the clearing acting like nothing was wrong…
Fox pushed her harder into the soil with his hips, tasting her moan on his lips as she pressed back, fighting him more than kissing him. He nipped at her lower lip, pulling it into his mouth.
“You could have died,” he said, whispering the words against her skin.
“I didn’t,” she said.
“You should have turned back immediately. You made a promise.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said, his voice low.
Her eyes flashed, and she bit his lip hard.
He cursed, fumbling with her shirt and pushing it up, baring her stomach and chest. He pinched her nipple between his fingers, drawing out a moan from her as her hips stuttered up against his.
He was achingly hard already, breathless as she arched into him.
She tried to reach out, her hand moving to his waist. He grabbed her, tutting as he maneuvered until he had both her wrists pinned above her head in his grip.
“Not this time, my captor.”
With her hands pinned above her head, he licked and nipped his way down her neck, breathing in the scent of her and driving himself crazy in the process. She smelled of wood smoke from the fires of the camp, and it only made him angrier.
“You could have been caught, and I wouldn’t have known.”
“You can’t protect me from everything,” she said, the last word coming out in a whimper as he brought her nipple into his mouth.
“I can try,” he said, letting go of her wrists at last as he pushed her pants down, tearing them from her body. Before she could react, he pushed her legs open, parting them. She was soaking, and his mouth watered at the sight of her laid out before him like a meal.
He wanted to say a million things. Tell her everything he’d been feeling while he waited for her—everything he’d felt when he imagined her captured or dead. But he also knew she wouldn’t let him. So he’d make her understand another way.
There was no teasing this time. He dove forward, bringing his mouth down between her legs and holding her to him.
He ran his tongue through her pussy, tasting her with a moan.
Her muscles clenched, and her body trembled, or perhaps he was, all his emotions crashing through him even as he licked and nipped.
Her walls fluttered around his tongue as he tasted her, and her breaths turned erratic.
When he felt her quivering, just on the edge, he brought her clit between his lips, sucking hard.
She fell over the edge with a muffled scream, as he held her through it, his tongue continuing to make soothing circles across her sensitive skin as she rode the waves of her pleasure.
Only once she was done shaking did he look up to see her biting down on her own hand.
His own body was taut, cock throbbing with his own unmet need. Seeing her, flushed and laid out before him, was doing nothing to help.
“Was that supposed to make me feel sorry?” she asked, voice husky.
He narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you.”
“I thought that was the plan.”
With shaking hands, he unlaced his pants and pulled them down. He crawled over her, hand running over her bare hip to cup her breast. He swirled his tongue over her nipple and then nipped at her neck, bringing his lips up to her ear.
“You’re going to have to beg me for it.”
He felt her body shudder against him, and he reached down, lightly brushing his thumb against her swollen clit.
Her breath caught, and he studied her face as he rubbed and teased.
She was already so sensitive. It didn’t take long before her breath was hitching and her thighs were shaking.
He pulled his hand back, and she let out a whimper as he swirled his tongue around his thumb, savoring her taste.
He watched her face all the while, the flickers of desire and annoyance in a heated battle.
“How long do you think I can do this?” he asked, running his hand down across her stomach, feeling the way her muscles rippled beneath his palm.
He dipped his finger into her, and she let out a moan.
He twisted once, twice, before pulling out again, his hand brushing against her clit and making her gasp.
Her jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed in challenge. She didn’t answer him.
He smiled.
“All you have to do is say sorry. Sorry for scaring me. Sorry for endangering your own life. Sorry for being the most stubborn woman I have ever had the pleasure to fuck.”
He plunged three fingers into her, rubbing his thumb along her clit as he twisted inside of her, searching until he found the spot that made her whimper.
All pretense of challenge was gone from her face as her eyes rolled back and her body arched into him.
He could feel her pleasure building—rushing toward her.
This time when he pulled away, he felt her resolve fracture.
“Fuck!” she ground out through clenched teeth. “I’m sorry! Just fucking make me come before I kill you.”
Good enough.
He pulled her hips, lining himself up without hesitation and plunged into her even as he brought his thumb to her clit and pressed.
Her muscles convulsed around him as she shattered, nearly bringing him over the edge with her.
He pulled her against him, and she bit his shoulder as he thrust into her, pleasure pulsing through his body in waves.
She was so hot, and he felt himself sinking into her, deeper, as if they might become one.
She braided her fingers through his hair and pulled his face back. He groaned at the tugging sensation, and she nipped along his neck, bringing his earlobe into her mouth and sucking.
Her breath was hot against his skin.
“Fuck, you feel so good. I should make you angry more often.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, punctuating each word with a thrust, and he felt her breath catching in her chest. His hands were around her hips, bringing her down to meet his.
And he wondered at the fact that he had her in his arms—that he was blessed for even this short time with her.
He didn’t know what he’d deserved to earn this moment, but he would take it.
He felt his pleasure building at the base of his spine, his own body trembling with need. Her fingers tangled into his hair, pulling it—gripping it. It only made him groan harder, his thrusts losing their cadence.
He reached down, running his hand down her stomach until his thumb brushed against her clit. She whimpered.
“You can do it,” he said, breathless. “You have one more in you.”
Her breath hitched at the words, and he circled his thumb in time with his thrusts.
Her body shuddered beneath him, her breathing becoming erratic.
He felt her climax building, her muscles tightening, even as he chased his own pleasure.
The moment before he slipped over, he pinched her clit and she screamed, her hand clamping down hard over her mouth.
Her body clenched around him, taking every last drop of his pleasure as it crested through him like waves.
He collapsed on top of her, catching his weight with his arms, but she pulled him down, pressing their bodies together.
“I am sorry, you know,” she said, voice a breathy whisper in his ear. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Thank you, my captor.” He murmured the words into her neck.
Her fingers combed through his hair. It had come out of the tie and was loose. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation against his scalp.
“Why do you still call me your captor?” Her words were soft, and he almost questioned if he’d heard them. He looked up and saw the seriousness in her eyes, the crease between her brows standing out in the firelight.
“Because you are my captor, though my hands are unbound,” he said, his own voice soft.
“I’m not,” she said, shaking her head. “I know you can’t go back to the king’s men, but you can leave. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. You don’t need to fight this war.”
He reached up, placing a finger over her lips before she could say more.
“Stop,” he said. “I know I’m free to leave.
Micael isn’t going to stop me, though Chalia might chase me down.
But, my captor,” he emphasized the words, “this is my war to fight. It should always have been, I know that now. I will fight it. And I can’t leave you because you are my captor.
You’ve captured every part of me and I am yours. ”
Her lips opened ever so slightly, and he took the moment to rub his thumb across her lower lip. It was velvet against his calluses.
“You are a storm,” he continued, “and I am only lucky enough to stand beside you. Your passion could burn down the world if you let it. So, no, I won’t leave you. Because I’m going to be at your side when you’ve remade the world, and can finally take everything you deserve.”
She didn’t speak immediately, blinking hard, and he saw the spark of tears at the corners of her eyes. He brushed his thumb there, wiping them away.
“Fox,” she said, voice rough. “I—”
He saw the pain in her eyes—the inability to say more, and so he saved her, leaning forward before she was forced to say something she didn’t want to. He kissed her, pressing every emotion he had into it, hoping she heard it.
I know. You don’t need to love me. It changes nothing.
And it was true. She didn’t need to give him anything. He would still lay it all down for her.
“Everything I am belongs to you.”
“Don’t say that,” she said, but she kissed him back with just as much fervor.
“My life, my captor,” he said, pressing those words into her skin. He kissed her and murmured those words over and over again until she had no other choice but to hear them.