16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
E ither the gods are terribly bored, or they simply want to vex us, because several hours later the skies open up.
Rain falls in thick, heavy droplets from a blanket of dark and billowing storm clouds. Thunder booms above our heads, filling my ears with its force.
“To the forest,” Asheros calls to the others. “Let’s take shelter beneath the trees.”
Worry works at Savell’s jaw—no doubt remembering the troll—but with one more glance at the skies above, he nods and directs his mount off the road.
Asheros urges our horse to go faster, only directing the animal to slow once we’re beneath the canopy. Though we’re less exposed here than the road, water still falls onto our heads. Not that it matters much. My hair and clothes are soaked. So much so, that strands stick to my face, and the shirt I wear beneath my leathers clings to my body.
Asheros tugs the reins, and our horse slows to a stop. Approaching us, the others do the same, all looking to him for guidance.
“We’ll make camp here for the night,” he says, eyes sweeping the group. “Be on your guard.”
Ronan nods, and then he and Orim turn to their packs. Ronan hands the rolled up tents and posts to Savell, while Orim withdraws a loaf of bread and a jar of some kind of fruit jam. Kheldryn and Gryska take the horses’ reins and secure them to a nearby tree trunk.
“What can I do to help?” I ask Asheros, itching to do something. Even as Captain of the High King’s Guard, I was never one to stand by and watch while others worked, regardless of the task. If those I commanded were working, then I was, too.
He winks. “You can stand there and look delicious.”
Groaning, I roll my eyes, though his remark has heat dancing in my lower abdomen. “I’m serious. I have two perfectly good hands.”
“Oh, I’m very aware of that, Bladesinger,” he murmurs, that crystalline gaze falling to my hands. “I’d love to see the extent of what those beautiful hands can do.”
“If I didn’t know better,” I tell him, taking a step closer, “I’d say you actually want me to punch you.”
A wicked grin plays at his mouth. “Whatever could have given you that impression?”
Giving him an overly exaggerated scowl, I press my fist to his chest. His hand clasps over mine, gently holding my fist in place. I swallow, fighting the thrill that his touch sends pulsing through me.
“Next time, I won’t be so merciful,” I say, though my voice makes it seem as if my mind is elsewhere. In truth, my mind is elsewhere.
Asheros doesn’t move his hand from mine, diamond-irises locked on my own. “I’m counting on it.”
The intensity of his stare heats my skin, and I can’t seem to summon words.
At the sound of someone clearing their throat, Asheros and I step back. My head snaps in that direction, and Asheros tucks his arms into his sides.
“Apologies, Orim,” he says, as if nothing happened. How can his demeanor shift so quickly, while I’m struggling to compose myself? “What is it?”
“We’re about to eat,” Orim says, eyes flicking between us. “Would you two care to join us?”
“Already?” I ask.
Orim nods. “We’re finished making camp.”
I scan our surroundings to see the three tents constructed in a circular formation. It’s just like last time, except the campfire is missing because of the rain.
“How efficient,” I murmur to myself. Having been on the road for some time and making camp on a regular basis, Asheros’s companions no doubt learned to set up camp quickly, much like soldiers.
“So…” Orim’s voice trails off, amusement lifting the corners of his mouth. “Are you going to eat with us?”
“Of course,” Asheros replies coolly, without looking at me. “We’ll be just a moment.”
Orim dips his head in acknowledgment, then rejoins the others.
“I’m fine,” I tell Asheros, shaking what remains of my desire from my shoulders.
He cocks his head, arching a brow. “Are you?”
“I am.” Firmness gathers in my voice.
“Pity.” He leans forward, a dark haze seeping into his expression. “I rather enjoyed watching you begin to lose control.”
“How unfortunate for you,” I say, giving him my best attempt at smiling sweetly.
He holds my stare, mouth parted with amusement. “How unfortunate for me, indeed.”
“I’m going to eat before there’s no bread left for us.” I make a move to march ahead, pausing when he doesn’t follow. “Are you not hungry?”
“Oh, I’m starving, Bladesinger,” he says slowly, eyes dropping to my rear. “But bread won’t satisfy my craving.”
Heat flushes my cheeks, sparking the throbbing need in my core. Biting my bottom lip, I turn around knowing full well his eyes are still on me. A confidence like none I’ve experienced before thrums through me, and I stride toward the others, swaying my hips to a phantom melody.
Asheros grunts behind me, the sound betraying the effect I have on him.
It only fuels me, the power of it charging my senses. I reach the others gathered under the flap of Kheldryn and Gryska’s tent, where two hollowed logs are positioned across from each other as makeshift benches. Exaggerating the arch of my back, I bend over to sit beside Ronan. I flick my gaze to Asheros.
His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, muscles working at his jaw. Seeing how he’s barely moved, I smirk and avert my eyes.
Rolling his eyes at our display, Orim hands me a slice of bread slathered with jam.
“Thank you,” I tell him, resisting the urge to look Asheros’s way.
“Of course,” Orim replies warmly. He throws me a mischievous look before waving to Asheros. “Sometime today would be nice, my lord.”
Asheros stalks over to us and takes the slice of bread and jam Orim offers. He sits across from me, beside Savell, just barely under the tent’s cover. Rain falls onto the back of his head, droplets running from his neck down to his chest.
Taking a bite of my bread, my focus lingers on the beads of water collecting on his sun-kissed skin, wishing I could lick it from him.
Noticing my attention, Asheros grins as though my eyes roaming his body has won him something.
Two can play at this game.
Sensing his wordless challenge, I savor every bite of my bread, closing my eyes as if it’s pleasurable.
Asheros growls as he chews, low enough only I seem to hear. His forearms tense, flexing, and he widens his shoulders.
But I don’t relent.
I go as far as to moan softly, the way one does when they taste something delicious, slowly, torturously, sucking my fingers clean when I’m done.
Licking his lips, Asheros’s crystalline irises flare.
“Gods above,” Savell grumbles, waving us away. “Get a tent.” To the others, he adds, “I’m going to bed.”
Ronan and Orim stand. “Us, too.”
Kheldryn agrees, rising to her feet, while Gryska does the same beside her. “Good idea. Goodnight, everyone.”
“Goodnight,” Asheros says roughly, though his stare remains locked on me.
The others disperse, shedding their jackets and boots before vanishing into their tents.
Asheros stands utterly still, as if waiting for me to move first .
The thrill of the challenge dances along my skin, lifting the corner of my mouth. I sashay across the camp toward our tent.
I step inside, holding the flap open for him. “Are you coming?”
“Of course.” He swallows and enters the tent behind me.
With my back facing him, I move farther inside and take my time unfastening my leathers. His footsteps sound behind me, and he stops, close enough that I can feel his presence at my back. Undoing the last buckle, I let my leathers fall to my feet, then bend over to pick them up.
“Gods-damn me, Bladesinger.”
I roll my body upward, arching my back as I rise to my full height. “What?”
He forces an exhale. “You know perfectly well, what.”
I look at him over my shoulder, at his mouth, wrought with sweet agony. “Oh, do I?”
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warns, a feral beast clawing to be set free.
“And why is that?” I taunt, high on the power that comes from knowing I’m the reason his calm and collected mask is slipping.
“Because you might push farther than you’re willing to go.”
Fire blooms in my lower abdomen and between my legs. “Maybe I want to go there.”
He leans forward, tilting his head down to mine. “Are you sure about that, Bladesinger?”
I swallow, my words lodged in my throat.
Asheros drops his gaze. Seeming to remember himself, he steps back. Unbuttoning his brocade jacket, he tugs it from his shoulders, the motion puffing out his chest. Without his jacket to cover him, the white fabric of his shirt, nearly opaque from the rain, adheres to his chest and abdomen. Freeing himself from it, he effortlessly pulls the shirt over his head and wrings it out in front of him, all while avoiding my eyes.
Once we’re free of our wet clothes, Asheros hands me a bedroll. Kneeling, we unroll them together as far apart from each other as the tent allows. We lie down and make ourselves comfortable, both seemingly too tightly wound to speak.
“Sleep well, Bladesinger,” Asheros says at last.
“You, too,” I reply.
Wishing for nothing more than to lower myself onto his lap and have my way with him, I force myself to close my eyes.
H ours pass, and as the heat of my desire fades, the chill of the night air and my damp shirt bite at my skin. Though my eyelids have grown heavy, and I’ve curled into myself, I’m unable to suppress the shivers wracking my body. Despite Ceren’s training, and the discipline that I’ve sought to cultivate in the face of discomfort, I’ve never been good at withstanding the cold .
“Come here,” Asheros commands, his voice worn with fatigue.
I slow my breathing, hoping to convince him I’m asleep.
“I know you’re awake, Bladesinger.” A pause. “Come. Here .”
“Why?” I ask without turning around.
“Because the incessant chattering of your teeth is driving me mad.”
“My teeth are not—” My words become lodged in my throat, leaving me unable to give voice to the lie. “You’re being dramatic,” I say instead. My teeth aren’t chattering that loudly.
“Oh, really?” His tone carries the weight of my challenge, amusement rising in his voice. “I’m the one being dramatic?”
Pressing my lips together, I attempt to still myself. I make no move to leave my bedroll, and he doesn’t wait for me to. Cloth rustles, and then despite the cool dampness still lingering on my clothes and skin, there’s the warmth of a body at my back. Beside me, Asheros waits on his knees, a pillow in hand.
I rise to a sitting position. My eyes lock with his. Even in the dark, I can make out his wet hair, the silky white-blond mess of it clinging to his long, smooth face. Chest bare, every detail of his chiseled torso is visible. His own damp pants generously hug his waist, and I can’t help but let my gaze fall to his defined hips before looking back up at his face. I breathe him in. Spruce and freshly fallen rain linger in my nose with each inhale .
“Make room for me,” he orders.
Swallowing, I move over to make space for him on my bedroll. I lie back down, turning onto my side, and feel him settle into place behind me. Strong arms wrap around me, draping across my chest, and pull me closer, eliminating any remaining distance between our bodies. The lean wall of muscle that I’d felt the first time I tried to escape him meets my back, surrounding me in an embrace. But this time it’s familiar. This time, it’s warm and…
Comfortable.
How can laying in the arms of my kidnapper be comfortable?
With his shirtless chest pressed to me, muscled arms holding me close, my rear brushes against his length. A breath catches in my throat, and without thinking, I arch into him. I play it off like I’m only trying to make myself more comfortable, but I can’t deny the trickles of desire that dance across my exposed skin when I do.
Asheros lets out a heavy breath. His arms tighten around me.
Especially the arm across my breasts.
I exhale, my breasts and nipples aching under the slight pressure.
He lowers his mouth to my neck, by my ear. “Playing more games, are we, Bladesinger?”
The gravelly, husky edge to his voice has my eyelids fluttering. I tilt my head back, baring my neck. “Perhaps. ”
He lifts his arm from my chest, brushing the backs of his fingers against the soft skin of my neck. “I think yes.”
Gods above.
This male will be my undoing.
Gently, he extends his fingers and touches his palm to my neck, just under my jawline. The pads of his fingers press softly on either side of my throat. It sends a shudder through me, drawing a soft moan from my lips.
“Mmm, you like that, don’t you,” he murmurs, his voice seductively low. I can hear the pleasure underlying his tone, as if he’s enjoying this as much as I do. As though he’s enjoying my pleasure. His other hand finds its way up to my breast, painstakingly slow, his fingers trailing up my abdomen. “I wonder what else you like.”
He palms my breast through my damp shirt and flicks his thumb over my hardened nipple, letting out a groan. “So desperate for me.”
He does it again, and this time, I whimper.
Pulling his hand down, he toys with the hem of my shirt. “Do you want me to touch you without anything between us, Bladesinger?” he asks, voice just shy of a rasp.
“Yes,” I murmur. Exhilaration trickles through my body, softening the bite of the cold.
Asheros dips his hand beneath my shirt, trailing his hand back up to my breast. He squeezes gently at first and then applies more pressure. My breast fills his hand, fingers wholly clutched around it. Still palming my breast, he takes my pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and twisting.
I moan softly, circling my hips to rub his growing hardness.
“Fuck, Lymseia,” he grunts, tilting his face down to my neck. His warm mouth meets my skin, placing kisses up and down from my jawline to my shoulder. His movements slow, and he parts his lips slightly, sucking my skin between his teeth while he continues to play with my nipple.
The fires of a thousand suns spread through me from the inside out, banishing any lick of cold left on my body. I writhe against him, unable to contain the pleasure and desire and need working their way through me.
Reaching behind me, I entwine my fingers into his hair, holding his head to my neck while his lips stoke the flames burning in my lower abdomen. My breaths come quicker now, and my exhales turn into moans.
“Gods,” Asheros groans into my skin. “Those moans .”
“What?” I pant.
“Those sounds you make,” he whispers, dragging his mouth up to my ear, “are heavenly.”
His words make me shudder, and my eyelids flutter. As if to emphasize his point, he tightens his hand around my breast, thumb rubbing circles over my nipple at a relentless pace.
No longer under my control, my hips buck, body rolling against his. His own breaths quicken, his grip on me roughening. A moan escapes his lips. Bare and exposed and full of desire.
Of pleasure.
The sound is my undoing.
My hand falls from his hair. I turn around and crash my mouth against his. If my kisses are a battle, and my lips swords, then Asheros meets each of my strikes with one of his own. A perfect match. He snakes his tongue past my parted lips, and whatever defenses I had left, crumble around him. He grasps my hips, pulling me to his. The force of his kiss has me nearly leaning backward, but his hand slides up my back to support me.
There isn’t a single part of my mouth he doesn’t explore, his hands running up and down my body, and there isn’t a part of him that I leave untouched, either. My hands sweep the length of his chest, up to the base of his neck, and then down past the waistband of his pants. Without lessening the intensity of our kiss, the hunger we both share ravaging the other, I move my hand to his hard length. Flattening my palm against him, I stroke his hardness in time with our mouths.
Asheros’s hand glides up into my hair, curling his fingers around the strands. He tugs my head backward, breaking our kiss. My lips feel puffy and empty when he does, and I’m forced to look him in the eyes.
Neither of us says a word.
I continue to stroke him through his pants, wanting nothing more than to take him in my hand. His eyes burn into mine, crystalline embers that pierce like ice. Our intermingled stares say so much more than words ever could.
We want each other.
Desperately.
The truth of it settles into me, my heart pounding with exhilaration. He wants me.
And I want him, too.
Body and soul.
Asheros breathes heavily, each breath shorter than the last. A low, gravelly moan tumbles from his lips. He grabs my wrist with his free hand, pushing my hand away from him. His gaze stays fixed on mine, even as we both catch our breath.
It’s only when our breathing slows to a normal pace that he clears his throat. “Are you still cold, Bladesinger?”
I shake my head. My eyes fall to his lips, and then back up to his eyes. “No.”
“Good,” he breathes. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me into his lean frame. “Rest, now.”
Melting into his embrace, I close my eyes. Despite the desire still coursing through me, sleep tugs at my mind, and I let myself drift away in Asheros’s arms.