Chapter 14 #2
“After,” he said, his voice gone rough as gravel, “I’d make ye feel things ye’ve never felt before. Until yer whole body releases. Until ye come fer me.”
“Come?”
“Climax. The peak. When all that pleasure crashes over ye like a wave and yer body goes tight around mine and ye forget everythin’ except how good it feels tae have me inside ye.”
She was shaking. Trembling like a leaf in wind, her breath coming in short, sharp pants that made her dizzy.
“That’s what consummation means,” Erik said softly. “That’s what the envoy expects. That’s what should happen tonight.”
He stood, creating distance. The loss of his warmth made her want to reach for him, which terrified her more than anything he’d just described.
“Now,” he said, jaw tight. “I can cut me own hand. Smear blood on those sheets. Ye keep yer maidenhead. Or…” He paused, something vulnerable flickering across his features. “Or I can show ye, little bird.”
Claricia looked at him—this man who’d saved her from drowning, who’d explained the most intimate act imaginable with patience and care, who was now offering her a choice when the law said he could simply take what he wanted.
Her body was screaming yes. Every nerve singing with want she couldn’t name. That ache between her thighs had become unbearable, and the thought of his hands on her—his mouth—made her dizzy with something that felt dangerously close to need.
But her mind…
Logan. What would Logan think of me wantin’ this? Wantin’ him?
“I cannae.” The words burst out, sharp with panic. “I cannae dae this. Nae taenight.”
Erik went very still. “Alright.”
She looked up at him, vision blurred with tears she refused to shed. “Ye’re nae angry?”
“At ye? Nay.” He moved to the table, picked up the eating knife. “Disappointed, maybe. But nae angry. Ye’ve a right tae say nay, Claricia. ‘Tis yer body.”
“What are ye daein’?”
He walked over to his belt, and drew a blade across his palm without hesitation—deep enough to bleed proper, the cut clean and deliberate. Blood welled immediately, dark in the firelight.
“Erik!”
He moved to the bed, smearing his blood across the pristine white sheets with methodical efficiency. “This way ye keep yer maidenhead, the envoy gets his evidence, and we both keep breathin’.”
She crossed to the bed, staring at the spreading stain—dark and visceral and utterly damning. “That’s the most idiotic, self-sacrificin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Probably.” He wrapped his injured hand in leather, the movements practiced. “But I’ll nae have ye forced intae somethin’ before ye’re ready. Even if it means sleepin’ in that cursed chair.”
“Ye call that a chair?” She glanced at the miserable piece of furniture by the hearth—barely padded, nowhere near long enough for a man of his size.
“Aye. Ye get the bed. I get splinters in me arse and a crick in me neck that’ll last fer days.” He settled into it with a grimace that would’ve been comical under different circumstances.
“Erik.” She moved closer, compelled by something she couldn’t name. “Thank ye.”
“Fer what? Explainin’ how I’d bed ye and then nae daein’ it?”
“Fer givin’ me the choice.” Her voice broke on the words. “Fer bleedin’ fer me instead of just… takin’ what the law says is yers by right.”
His eyes locked on hers—intense, burning with something that made her stomach flip. “I’ll never force ye, Claricia.”
She wanted to say something profound. Something worthy of the gift he’d just given her. Instead, she just nodded and retreated to the bed, crawling beneath blankets that smelled of lavender and woodsmoke.
The chamber fell silent except for the fire’s crackling and the wind’s keening outside.
Sleep didn’t come. Hours passed. The fire burned low. And still she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened if she’d said yes.
She lay there acutely aware of him in that chair—the soft sounds of his breathing, the occasional creak of wood as he shifted, trying to find comfort that didn’t exist. She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her face, still hear his voice describing things that made her body ache in ways she didn’t understand.
Sleep proved impossible.
Erik shifted in the chair for what must have been the hundredth time, trying to find some position that didn’t feel like divine punishment for his sins. The wood dug into his spine with malicious precision, and his legs—too long for this cursed piece of furniture—had gone numb an hour before.
This is what ye get fer playin’ the noble fool. Splinters in places nay man should have splinters, and a wife in yer bed ye cannae touch.
From the bed came a soft sound—fabric rustling as she shifted, a quiet sigh that went straight through him like an arrow. He could picture too easily how her hair would spread across those pillows like spilled bronze, how firelight would paint gold across skin he had no right to be thinking about.
He tried closing his eyes. Tried thinking about supply lists and defense rotations and anything except the woman in his bed. But his mind—and his body—had other ideas.
That little gasp she made when I mentioned me mouth between her legs…
His manhood stirred, pressing insistent and uncomfortable against his trews. Perfect. As if this night couldn’t get any worse.
Another sound from the bed—her breathing changing, quickening slightly. Was she awake? Thinking about what he’d told her? Wondering what it would feel like if she’d said yes?
Stop. Just... stop. Ye’ll drive yerself mad thinkin’ about her like this.
But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to slide into that bed beside her, to pull her warm body against his, to kiss her until she forgot every reason she thought she should resist. To bury himself inside her slowly, carefully, until that sharp pain gave way to pleasure and she arched beneath him, gasping his name.
The chair creaked ominously as he shifted again, and he bit back a curse.
His hand—the one he’d cut—throbbed dully beneath the leather wrapping. A small price to pay for her trust. For the chance that someday she might look at him without seeing her brother’s killer. That someday she might want him without guilt or shame.
From the bed came another sound—softer this time, almost like a sigh.
And Erik closed his eyes, settling in for what promised to be the longest night of his life.
When dawn finally crept across the floor hours later, pale and unwelcome, he allowed himself one glance back at the bed.
She’d shifted in sleep, one arm flung across the space where he should have been lying.
The blankets had slipped down, revealing the curve of her shoulder, the fall of her hair across the pillow, her face gone soft and unguarded in ways it never was when waking.
Beautiful enough to make him ache with wanting.
Erik turned away before that thought could sink roots any deeper than it already had. Before he did something stupid like cross that distance and find out if she’d welcome him or put a blade through his ribs.