Chapter 26 #2
She wanted to respond, to say something clever, but then his thumb found her clit and her thoughts scattered. He worked her with focused intent, building her up with steady pressure that had her pushing back against his hand, seeking more.
“Please what?” His thumb circled her clit with barely-there pressure. “Tell me what you need.”
“You,” she gasped. “I need you.”
“You have me.” Another circle, still too light. “Be specific.”
“I need you inside me,” she managed, her face flushing at the words. “I need you to stop teasing and just—”
She heard fabric rustling, felt him shift behind her. When he pressed against her entrance, she tried to push back, take him in, but his hands on her hips held her still.
“My pace,” he said, and pushed in slowly, letting her feel every inch.
The stretch was intense from this angle, deeper, more overwhelming. She pressed her face into the sheets, muffling the sounds escaping her throat. Her fingers twisted in the fabric, knuckles white, as he set a rhythm that drove every coherent thought from her mind.
The warmth in her chest pulsed with each thrust, golden light flickering beneath her skin.
She could feel it reaching for him, recognizing its other half, and the sensation layered with the physical pleasure until she couldn’t separate them.
The fear she’d carried all day dissolved under the onslaught of sensation—his hands gripping hard enough to bruise, the sound of his breathing getting rougher, the way he filled her completely.
“That’s it,” he said, voice rough. “Stop thinking. Just feel.”
One hand slid around to find her clit, finger teasing until he shattered her completely. She came with a cry that might have been his name, her whole body convulsing, the warmth exploding outward in waves of golden light that painted the walls.
He didn’t slow down, using his grip on her hips to hold her steady as he chased his own release.
The continued stimulation when she was oversensitive had her gasping, caught between too much and not enough.
When he finally came, pulling her hips back against him and holding her there, she felt it through the warmth—his pleasure mixing with hers until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
They collapsed together, him turning her and pulling her against his chest before she could even catch her breath. She could feel his heart racing beneath her ear, could feel the possessive way his arms wrapped around her.
The fear that had been choking her earlier felt distant now, buried under layers of endorphins and exhaustion.
She knew it would return, but for now there was only this: skin against skin, his marks fresh on her hips, and the absolute certainty that nothing could take her from this room while he held her like this.
“Better?” he asked against her hair.
She nodded against his chest, not trusting her voice yet.
“Sleep,” he commanded softly. “The wards will hold. I’ll hold. Nothing touches you tonight except me.”
The courtyard was empty when Briar arrived, her breath misting in the cold morning air.
Fresh snow blanketed the ground, pristine and undisturbed, though the sky had cleared to a pale winter blue.
She pulled the fur-lined cloak tighter around herself, grateful for the practical clothing—woolen pants tucked into tall boots, a fitted leather vest over a warm tunic.
The outfit was distinctly Star Court in its pale grays and silver embroidery, but functional in a way her previous dresses hadn’t been.
She turned in a slow circle, wondering why Eliam had told her to meet him here before rushing off without explanation. The courtyard was large, surrounded by high walls that blocked the wind, with archways leading to various parts of the Star Court residence. But there was no sign of—
Movement caught her eye. Eliam emerged from one of the archways, and he wasn’t alone.
He was leading a horse—massive, white with gray dappling across its flanks, its breath steaming in the cold.
The animal’s hooves crunched through the snow with measured steps, clearly well-trained despite its size.
Briar’s stomach dropped. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Eliam said, though the slight curve of his lips suggested he knew exactly what her objection would be. He was smiling more often now and Briar wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“You’re going to tell me I need to learn to ride that thing.”
“That thing has a name. This is Phaeon.” He stopped a few feet from her, the horse towering over them both. “And yes, you need to learn.”
“I really don’t.” She took a step backward, eyeing the horse warily. It turned its massive head to look at her, dark eyes far too intelligent for her comfort. “I can just ride with you. It worked fine before.”
“It worked when we had no other option.” His free hand caught her wrist before she could retreat further, pulling her closer to both him and the horse. “If we’re traveling into the Wildwood, you need to be able to ride independently.”
“Why? We managed—”
“We weren’t being hunted by my brother.” His voice had gone serious.
“What happens if we’re separated? If something happens to me?
If we need to split up to evade pursuit?
” His thumb brushed across her pulse. “Or would you prefer to be pressed against me for days on end, feeling every movement, every shift of muscle?”
Heat crept into her cheeks at the suggestion in his tone. “That’s not—”
“Because I recall you finding it rather… distracting last time.” His voice had dropped to that particular register that made her stomach flutter. “All that friction, the rhythm of movement, my thighs wrapped around—”
“Fine!” She cut him off, face burning. “Fine, I’ll learn. But when this giant thing throws me and I break my neck, that’s on you.”
“Phaeon won’t throw you.” He released her wrist only to place his hand on the small of her back, guiding her closer to the horse. “I was assured he’s well-trained and patient. Unlike some horses I could mention.”
The horse snorted, as if offended by the comparison to others. Up close, it was even more intimidating—all muscle and power barely contained.
“First,” Eliam said, his hand still warm on her back, “you need to let him know you’re not a threat.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who should be worried about threats,” Briar muttered, but she let Eliam guide her hand to the horse’s neck.
The coat was softer than she expected, warm under her palm. Phaeon turned his head slightly to look at her, but didn’t move otherwise.
“See? He’s accepting you.” Eliam’s hand covered hers, showing her how to stroke along the horse’s neck. “Horses can sense fear. Confidence is essential.”
“Fake confidence still counts?”
“It’s a start.” He moved behind her, his chest almost touching her back. “Now, the first thing you need to learn is how to mount properly.”
She turned her head to look at him and found his face much closer than expected. “Are you going to make suggestive comments about everything?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” His expression was perfectly controlled, but she could see amusement in his dark eyes. “Does it bother you?”
“It’s distracting.”
“Good. You need to learn to focus despite distractions.” He stepped back, taking the reins. “Watch.”
He demonstrated the proper way to mount—foot in stirrup, hand on the saddle, smooth motion up and over. He made it look effortless, of course. Sitting atop the horse, he looked every inch the fae lord—commanding, powerful, entirely in his element.
“Your turn,” he said, dismounting with the same fluid grace.
Briar approached the stirrup with considerably less confidence. It was higher than she’d expected, the angle awkward. She got her foot in, grabbed the saddle, and tried to pull herself up.
She made it halfway before her arms gave out and she slid back down, nearly losing her balance entirely. Eliam’s hand shot out to steady her waist.
“Less pulling, more pushing off with your grounded leg,” he instructed. “Use your momentum.”
She tried again. This time she made it farther but ended up sort of hanging off the side of the horse, one leg over, the other dangling uselessly.
“This is dignified,” she gasped, struggling to right herself.
“Tremendously.” His hand found her dangling leg, guiding it over until she was properly seated. “But you’re up.”
She was. She was also very high off the ground, and the horse hadn’t even moved yet. Her hands gripped the saddle horn with white knuckles.
“Relax,” Eliam said, one hand on Phaeon’s neck to keep him still, the other on her thigh. “You’re too tense. The horse can feel it.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one sitting on top of a creature that could kill you with one kick.”
“Phaeon has excellent manners. Unlike his rider, apparently.” His hand squeezed her thigh once before moving to adjust her posture. “Sit up straighter. Shoulders back. Look ahead, not down.”
She tried to follow his instructions, but everything felt wrong. The saddle was hard and unfamiliar, the height dizzying, and she could feel the horse’s power coiled beneath her, waiting.
“Now,” Eliam said, handing her the reins, “we’re going to walk.”
“Walk?” Her voice pitched higher. “Already?”
“Would you prefer to start with a gallop?” Eliam’s tone was dry, but his hand remained on Phaeon’s neck, keeping the horse still.
“I’d prefer to start with both feet on the ground.”
“Too late for that.” He positioned himself at Phaeon’s head, one hand on the bridle. “Hold the reins loosely. Don’t pull unless you want him to stop.”
“Pulling means stop. Got it.” She gripped the reins like a lifeline.
“Loosely,” he reminded her. “You’re not trying to strangle them.”
She forced her fingers to relax slightly, though every instinct screamed at her to hold on tighter. Eliam made a soft clicking sound, and Phaeon took a step forward.
The motion rocked through her entire body. She immediately tensed, grabbing the saddle horn.