CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE #2
My first assessment of him when he’d walked into the tavern couldn’t have been more wrong. I should have figured it out. He’d proven these past few weeks again and again that he’d trained hard. That he was more than just a tourney champion, or a knight. He was a warrior.
I reached for him on instinct, wanting to touch his bare chest, to run my fingers over the ridges of his abs, to trail them through the soft patch of hair that started below his belly button and disappeared beneath his riding pants.
I pressed my legs together, shocked at how wet and turned on I was. How ready my body was growing. Brennan coughed, watching me take him in, then looked down, his face almost sheepish, as he took my hand and pulled it away from him.
Not in admonishment. But because it had been too intimate. And we were still too public.
And more than that, we weren’t done. We still had to remove his boots, and there was only one way to do it.
I sank to my knees and made the mistake of looking up at him.
He was watching me with such intense ferocity that I gasped.
His eyes had darkened, his chest rising and falling with erratic, sharp breaths.
The skin above his collarbone was a pale pink, and there was a distinctive bulge growing in his pants, further stoking the flames between my legs.
Anticipation was growing for what would come next.
I could feel it inside as strongly as he did.
And despite both our reservations and fears, we already were beginning to succumb to the moment.
To fire and passion igniting between us.
He reached for one of the bed posts, his fingers wrapping so tightly around it, his knuckles whitened. His jaw muscles worked, his stomach clenching as I unlaced his boots. I slid one off and then the other. His socks next. Only his pants remained.
There were a few “woops” from the audience that broke through my concentration, and a fresh round of applause while I was still on the floor.
I knew what the men were thinking about, imagining.
I’d seen this fantasy thousands of times.
Me on my knees, their pants down, their cocks out, my mouth open.
I looked back toward them on instinct, as if I were still Samara or Alyra, dancing at Geoffrey’s Tavern, and feeding off the crowd. Readily absorbing their lust and lifeforce.
Several streams came my way, and the Azete who was very much awake and feeding, was now raging and swallowing their energy, demanding more and more.
A knight I recognized from the first night of the tourney was watching so intently he stumbled.
Geoffrey guffawed. “You’re not the one getting bedded,” he admonished the men. Then his dark eyes winked at me.
I turned from him at once, all of my trepidation back, my stomach twisting.
Brennan reached for my hand, pulling me up to my feet. He shook his head, brushing his lips across my cheek. “Look at me. Only me.”
Then he guided my hands to his pants, his fingers light around my wrists.
Liquid heat pooled between my legs as I took hold of the laces, unraveling and tugging each layer apart, pulling them out, one at a time, until the top of his pants fell wide open for me.
More applause began, laughter and yells. I could hear Finlay and Thomas’ music in the hall. The beat of the dream. The beat of my heart.
Brennan met my eyes and bit his lip, his entire face tensed.
Then he exhaled sharply and reached for his pants, tugging them down to his knees in one swift movement.
His expression was almost pained as the room applauded and whistled.
He tugged the legs off one by one, standing before me in nothing but his underwear, a simple pair of white linen shorts.
For a second, I couldn’t move. I couldn't think. He was so Godsdamned beautiful. I just wanted to look at him—to drink the moment in. Of all the men I’d seen naked over the years, none compared to him. None had come even close.
And then Jaron shouted, “Now hers! Take her clothes off.”
His outburst was followed by a round of, “Strip the bride! Strip the bride!”
Brennan growled beneath his breath and gripped my waist, turning me so my back was to the bed, his body positioned directly in front of mine.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Blocking their Godsdamned view,” he hissed.
Then he whirled me around, my back to his front.
He pushed me against the bed and I bent forward from the impact, my hands hitting the mattress to brace myself.
He went to work, moving briskly, untying my top corset.
In a few quick moves, he’d pulled the laces apart, and I was free of the contraption, feeling it slide to my hips before he tossed it to the ground.
The wedding guests cheered.
He untied the back of my skirts next, and slid them down my hips, letting them pool around my feet. Then he held my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh to steady me as I stepped out of it and kicked the layers of fabric to the side.
Brennan reached an arm around my ribs, tugging me up, my back flush with his front.
His movements were rougher than I’d anticipated.
I thought they were a result of his nerves, yet every single thing he did to me was precise and controlled.
He was acting quickly, trying to limit how long I was on display.
He tackled the under corset that was belted around just my waist, and then the panels and panels of skirts underneath.
Every time I felt one slip off, his fingers grazing my hips and legs, I grew hotter, wetter.
“Gods,” he murmured against my skin as he grabbed yet another layer.
“How many are there?” Then without warning, he slipped his hands inside the skirts.
My heart thundered at the contact of his skin against such an intimate, bare part of my body.
And then without warning, he pushed the remaining panels and slips down in one rough tug.
My heart thundered as a shiver ran down my spine, my stomach tensing. I was down to my lace bra and underwear, and the sheer robe that had no real reason to exist, because it barely covered a thing.
Brennan’s chest heaved against my back.
The guests were cheering louder than ever.
But Brennan wasn’t moving. His arms were wrapped around my waist, his front pressed to my spine.
I’d felt the evidence of his desire already against my ass, and yet, somehow, his cock lengthened and hardened further.
I arched against him, my head in the crook of his shoulder.
Reaching my arms up, I cupped Brennan’s nape, feeling his cock twitch against me, his chest heaving.
Like this, none of our witnesses could see me.
But Brennan was getting his first view of my body on display, of the lace that barely covered a thing, the curves hidden within.
My nipples were peeking out through the lace.
And I realized at that moment that they were mine.
It wasn’t as if I’d studied Olivay’s naked body.
I knew the shape of it, the size of her breasts.
But those intimate details, they were all me. And so was what lay between my legs.
“Fuck,” Brennan groaned, pressing his nose to the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “You’re all but bare.”
“So are you,” I breathed.
He pulled my arms down to my sides, gripped my hips, and turned me to face him.
His jaw clenched and he grabbed my ass, pulling me up against him.
My legs wrapped around his waist, and I shuddered.
I had soaked through the lace, and from the way he stilled, I knew he could tell, could feel my desire against his skin.
Licking his lips, his eyes darting to my mouth, he kissed me again. I knew he needed to. Needed to center himself, needed to find the courage for what came next.
This time, with my legs wrapped around him, our bodies all but naked, the crowd was silent. And somehow, that felt louder, more intrusive, more invasive, because I knew they were watching intently, paying attention. Focusing on us.
He carried me to the bed, and carefully laid me down, before quickly climbing on and sliding his body over mine. Covering me, concealing me. Pressing down onto me.
The high priest approached, chanting under his breath, while walking over to each of the four bedposts, closing the curtains.
Or what we were pretending were curtains.
Brennan braced his arms on either side of me, his hips settling deliciously between mine.
He bit his lip as he adjusted, barely hiding a moan, as his body tensed.
It felt like it was taking all he had not to rock against me, taking all of his strength to not start thrusting. Because it felt the same way for me.
But beyond that, there was a look of such open, honest desire in his eyes that I wanted to cry.
How were we supposed to get through this?
How were we supposed to do this in front of everyone?
We were already practically naked. And yet, everything between us was going to become so much more vulnerable, so much more intimate with every second that passed.
Someone clapped, and another person cheered. The silence was gone—they had sensed our hesitation. The bawdiness returned, the yells, the laughs. And it wasn’t going to stop. Not until Brennan was inside of me.
His jaw clenched, distracted by our audience, but just as he started to turn his face, I reached for him, pulling him down and capturing his lips. “Eyes on me,” I said.
He smiled, kissing me back, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. And as the kiss deepened, something shifted. The connection, the fire—I could feel it starting to consume us.
I wrapped my legs around him and locked my ankles together, my hand gliding down his back over corded muscles beneath his skin. His hand slid up my belly, his palm warm. His fingers closed around my robe, holding it taut before he tugged it aside, ripping the delicate material.