CHAPTER 20 Torj
Torj
‘Only in shadow can we appreciate light’s persistence’
– Bear Slayer, Warsword of Thezmarr
‘YOU’D LIKE TO think that, wouldn’t you?’ Wren’s words were low and sultry.
‘I would.’ It came out as a growl, the sound rumbling between them.
An irrational, primal sense of satisfaction surged through Torj as he glimpsed the black lace Wren was struggling to cover.
The undergarments he’d bought for her. Taking in the flush across the top of her chest, and her lip caught between her teeth, Torj was nothing but a blaze of longing.
‘These new undergarments . . .’ He slid his hand to her thigh beneath her skirts. ‘Are they wet?’
Wren spread her legs a little wider, and he bit back a moan. His cock had its own pulse, throbbing almost painfully against his leathers. Gods, he wanted to take her right there, right on the floor among the potions and papers.
‘Why don’t you find out?’ Wren challenged, her gaze full of fire.
The tight leash Torj had on himself threatened to snap. It was impossible not to move towards her, impossible not to lean into that dark frenzy of need rising within.
Bracing himself over her now, backing her against the dresser, he skated his hand over the curve of her backside, the fabric of her skirts rustling at his touch before he gripped the back of her thigh and hoisted one leg up.
Wren was watching him with hooded eyes, and a soft moan broke from her lips as his fingers skimmed higher, hitting the outer seam of lace. He wasn’t sure he was breathing. She was so warm, so silken beneath the circles he drew with his thumb.
‘Torj . . .’ she whimpered.
Gods, he knew they shouldn’t, he knew what was at stake if they were caught, but his self-restraint was wafer-thin after all they had been through, after seeing her with Darian these past few weeks.
It was Torj’s life on the line. But he knew that holding himself in check wouldn’t last. He had created a whirlpool of desire between them.
And in that moment, he decided that feeling Wren writhe beneath him was a worthy cause to die for.
She moaned again as he inched towards where she wanted him and he clapped a hand over her mouth, quietening the noise lest someone hear from the hallway outside.
Between her legs, his fingertips brushed against damp – no, soaked – fabric.
And gods, he’d never stood a chance.
Torj’s voice dropped low with his own need. ‘Is this for me, Embers?’
Wren pulled away from the hand gagging her, pushing her hips towards him, demanding more friction. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, the word thick with lust. ‘You know it is, damn you.’
Smug pride bloomed in his chest as he grazed her clit over her wet undergarments. ‘What are we going to do about it?’
Wren was panting now. ‘Please.’
The note of desperation made his cock twitch, and he was tempted to draw this out for hours, tempted to make her beg.
But they didn’t have the luxury of time, and the needy roll of her hips beneath his touch, the way she opened her legs for him, had him caving.
Furies save him, he would always cave for her, no matter the cost.
‘Torj—’ Her hand shot out to grab his forearm, her nails digging into his muscles.
He slid the undergarments to the side and stroked her bare skin, her breath catching at the contact.
Anyone could walk in on them like this, and there would be no denying what was going on, not with both of them flushed and panting, with his hands all over her.
A sick part of him wanted someone to see, so that the whole world would know who Wren truly belonged to.
But that couldn’t happen, and so he whispered, ‘Are you going to stay quiet for me, Embers?’
He wanted to inflict as much pleasure upon his soul-bonded as possible. He wanted her drunk on him. He wanted her knees quaking and his name on her lips.
Torj lifted her skirts.
And saw black lace against luscious skin.
Wren followed his gaze. ‘Admiring your choice?’
Torj felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Only a scrap of lace covered the most intimate part of her.
He shook his head in wonder. ‘Admiring you,’ he murmured. ‘Every. Fucking. Inch. Of. You.’
He dropped a hand back down to her hip, his fist bunching the lace, that wet fabric the only thing blocking his path to pure erotic bliss. In one swift jerk of his hand, he tore the garment from her skin.
Wren gasped, but he swallowed the sound with a fierce kiss and pushed two fingers inside her. Her walls clamped around him instantly and she rocked against him, her expression hazy, her head tipping back as he hit that spot deep within.
Torj’s vision blurred as he imagined driving his cock into her wet heat, pumping his fingers in long, torturous strokes. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ he ground out.
‘No, we shouldn’t,’ Wren managed as she rode his hand. ‘But I can’t stop.’
He slid his fingers in and out of her, spreading her wetness over her clit, swallowing another moan with a kiss.
Wren broke away. ‘What if we’re caught?’
‘Would you like that, Embers?’ The thought sent a thrill right to his cock, as he once again pictured someone bursting in on them, his name on Wren’s lips in ecstasy.
Wren was writhing against his fingers. ‘I . . . I need more.’
‘Remember, you’ll have to be quiet,’ he told her, still toying with her.
‘I can—’
Torj reached for the discarded scrap of lace and put it to her lips. ‘I think you’ll need some help with that.’
Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, Wren allowed him to push the fabric into her mouth. As his fingers traced her collarbone, the sensation echoed on his own skin, the soul bond reflecting each touch, each ripple of need, until he could scarcely tell where his body ended and hers began.
‘Bend over the dresser for me, Embers.’
A muffled whimper sounded, but Wren did as he bid. He placed a flat palm against her lower back and pushed her down, so that her chest was flush with the dresser’s surface. He bunched her skirts up over her backside and groaned at the sight.
‘Spread your legs,’ he ordered. ‘Wider. Show me everything.’
Torj was rock fucking hard as he freed himself, sliding the length of his cock through her desire. He’d go mad if he didn’t get inside her. He didn’t care about the flimsy walls, or the Devereux bannermen down the hall . . . His soul-bonded needed him, and he’d be damned if he didn’t deliver.
A guttural moan escaped Torj as he pushed the head of his cock into her tight heat. How was she this perfect? Wren Embervale was fucking made for him. He pulsed there for a moment, savouring the sweet sounds of desperation Wren was making around the undergarments stuffed in her mouth.
And then she angled her hips backwards, and Torj slid home.
‘Fuck . . .’ he groaned as she clenched around him.
He kept one hand on her lower back, the other spearing through her hair, mindful of the poison-tipped pin. He gripped her tresses hard and she moaned, and that was all the encouragement he needed to start fucking her in earnest.
He lost himself in her. ‘Gods, you’re addictive,’ he grunted as he thrust, relishing the soft curve of her backside hitting his pelvis.
He prayed there would come a time where he could take her slowly, building her to the brink over and over before he let her explode.
But that was not what she needed now. No, he could read her body as if it were his own, and the way she met every hard thrust with a demanding tilt of her hips told him she needed the Warsword as well as the man – rough and primal instincts taking hold.
When she wriggled on the dresser, freeing a hand to reach between her legs, he fucked her harder, and he felt her thighs tremble as her climax started to unravel.
‘Yes,’ she moaned around the material still in her mouth, grinding back against him.
At the sound of her, Torj felt himself spiralling out of control, the build-up becoming too much to bear.
That familiar thread of gold flickered to life between them, and he thanked the Furies – for it was the only thing in this gods-forsaken world he was certain of.
Wren moved beneath him, knocking a bottle off the dresser as the peak of her orgasm hit. The way she felt, the way she rolled her body – it tipped Torj over the edge, his own release tearing through him like a storm. He came inside her, biting back a shout as his whole body shuddered.
Panting, he collapsed over her back, kissing the length of her spine over her dress. ‘Was that what you needed?’ he asked huskily, his body still trembling in the aftermath.
Wren removed the undergarments from her mouth. ‘Gods, yes,’ she managed, resting her brow against the dresser.
Smiling against her neck, Torj slid from her body, running a gentle hand over the curve of her backside. ‘Wait there.’
Wren gaped at him in disbelief. ‘Like this?’
But Torj only moved a few steps to a nearby pitcher of water and took a strip of fresh linen from the supplies. Wetting it, he brought it back to Wren and gently washed between her thighs, wiping away the evidence of what they’d done.
‘Was I too rough?’ he asked, pulling her skirts down and tossing the rag aside.
‘You were perfect,’ she replied as he gathered her into his arms.
He kissed her soundly then, savouring the taste and feel of her before breaking away to rest his brow against hers. ‘Worshipping your body is my honour,’ he told her. ‘My fucking privilege.’
She cupped his face with her palm, smiling softly. ‘The feeling is mutual, Bear Slayer. Gods, I’ve missed you.’
Torj pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before tidying the dresser while Wren righted her clothes, her cheeks stained pink.
She looked so beautiful, so full of life and fire that it almost hurt.
He was hurting, Torj realized. At the thought that all of this was temporary, that they may never get the tomorrows that went hand in hand with a soul bond.
With the poison coursing through him and the mid-realms, there was no promise of anything other than the now, and all the while they had to pretend they meant nothing to one another.
As the afterglow faded, sadness continued to weigh him down. He hated that this brief pocket of time together was a mere interlude. He wanted more for her, for them. But life had dictated otherwise, and the injustice of it hit him like a club.
As though sensing his melancholy, Wren flung something at him – the torn scrap of lace.
She grinned. ‘You owe me another pair of undergarments, by the way . . .’
Torj caught it against his chest and felt the still-damp fabric between his fingers, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘Is that so?’
‘Yes,’ Wren replied.
Torj’s cock was hardening again beneath her heated stare, her eyes trailing over his chest, his abdomen and the V above his hips.
He pocketed the lace, flashing her a devious grin of his own. ‘Then I’ll be keeping these,’ he told her as he slipped from her room.