Chapter 68 #2
She canted her hips toward him, desperate to get closer.
An irritating smirk pulled up the corners of Rey’s full, beautiful lips.
He watched her with such intimacy as his fingers worked inside her, stroking and building her into a panting, writhing mess.
Her back arched off the furs, her hands and wrists twisting against her binds, but they were held tightly in place.
She was helpless against the onslaught of pleasure—powerless as every muscle in her body seemed to tighten…
Just as his fingers stilled. Pulled free.
“Rey!” she whined as he placed openmouthed kisses all down her throat.
“I told you,” he muttered, teeth scraping along her collarbone, “you’ll have to earn it.”
On he continued his games as the moons climbed higher beyond the windows.
Sweat misted her brow, her body aching for release.
Finally—finally—he had mercy on her. Silla broke, warm shivers radiating out from her center until they reached every part of her being.
Every taut muscle fell lax with satiated relief, and Silla heaved for breath.
As her consciousness slowly came back to her, Silla felt the smoky binds at her ankles expanding up her legs, along her stomach.
She whimpered, twisting away from the hot prickles, but as the scent of smoke intensified, she blinked down to see her nightdress burning to cinders before her very eyes.
Silla opened her mouth to protest, but it was over before she could make a sound.
Rey’s smoke evaporated, though the binds at her wrists and ankles remained.
The smoke at her right ankle pulled up, twisting her over at the hips.
Arms pinned above her head and twisted half on her side, Silla had her legs scissored apart.
It was obscene to be positioned like this, every inch of her on display, but one look over her shoulder had desire building sharply once more inside her.
On the surface, Rey might look like a man in control. But the little signs said otherwise—the sharp intake of breath; the clench and release of his shoulders.
“I’ve wanted you like this,” he admitted, pushing down his breeches and taking himself in hand, “for a long time, Silla.”
Words had vacated her. There was only the soft, floaty feeling she got when he looked at her like this. The way he couldn’t resist touching himself while looking at her.
“Look at you,” he murmured, kicking off his breeches before crawling over her. “All twisted up for me.”
“You,” she agreed, wishing she could pull him down to her. The slow slide of his skin against hers would surely drive her mad.
She had only a moment of anticipation before he pushed inside her.
The stretch of him was delicious, always on the very edge of pain, yet never quite fully there.
Rey rocked, gentle but relentless, until he reached the deepest part of her.
A sound escaped him, strangled and harsh.
Curling himself over her body, Rey rested his forehead on her cheek, like he needed a moment to adjust as well.
“All right?” he whispered, and she nodded in reply.
With his body cocooned around hers, she felt so cherished.
So protected. So loved. But with his hot breath steaming her cheek and the possessive slide of his hand down her neck, she also felt desired.
And the thought that this stern, deadly warrior would show this side of himself only to her made her dizzy with joy.
But then Rey began to move, and all thoughts fled her mind. In this new position, he reached different parts of her. She was helpless; unable to do anything but feel. He started with slow, experimental thrusts, but soon pushed himself upright, clutching her hip while moving in earnest.
Rey’s eyes held a glazed, lost sort of look as he stared at the place their bodies were joined.
His thumb soon found the sensitive part of her, rubbing in tandem with his short, determined thrusts.
Silla’s pleasure spiked upward, and an orgasm broke through her like a sudden, brutal storm.
Through the sharp bites of pleasure, she heard Rey’s low muttered curses, a sound that only prolonged the sensations.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
Candlelight caught on his coarse curls, crowning him in light.
He looked like a king, reigning over his subjects.
But his eyes blazed with visceral want, every line in his body now drawn up taut, and Silla knew this was a man holding on by the very finest thread.
With her delicate inner muscles, she clenched down around him, dark delight filling her at his hiss.
“Not yet, you wicked woman,” he muttered, pulling out. “I’ve waited too long.”
Silla frowned, her lax, satiated body suddenly so empty.
But it wasn’t a heartbeat later that the smoke was once again tugging at her ankles, rolling her onto her back.
Her thighs were spread wide, knees bent and pressed into the bed.
Gods, she thought she couldn’t have another, but the way Rey rearranged her just how he wanted only made her body throb for him.
His hands came down on either side of her head, smoothing her curls away so they would not pull.
The way he handled her—reverential yet demanding—made her melt beneath his touch.
Her trust in him was absolute, and she did not take her eyes from Rey’s as he placed her legs against his shoulders.
She gasped as he pushed inside her, hitting a spot that made stars scatter across her vision.
Garbled praise fell from Rey’s lips: “Beautiful,” and “Take it,” and “It’s yours.
” His long, measured strokes quickly descended into a fevered pace, his words shifting to grunts.
There was something so delicious about the way he used her body—the way he took what he wanted and gave so much in return.
Pleasure built, low and deep-rooted, and though it felt impossible, she knew she would soon break apart again.
Perhaps there was no limit with this man.
The unbridled passion in Rey’s eyes fell to something more tender, and suddenly the pressure was gone—Rey released his grip on her thighs and wrapped them around his hips.
His body came down on hers, the hot slide of his firm chest against her sensitive breasts driving her mad.
Rey cradled her face, bringing his lips down to hers in a soft, reverent kiss.
“I can bend you any way I want, Silla,” he whispered between kisses, “but I want you most of all like this.”
The heat and pressure at her wrists vanished, and Silla wanted to cry out at its loss.
It had been exciting—a thrill to place her trust in him like that.
But as Rey threaded his fingers with hers, his intimate gaze set her skin alight.
Heat unfurled in the deepest part of her being, and Silla let her adoration for this man pour from her.
“I like you like this, too,” she whispered. “I think I might even love you.”
The words spilled from her, completely unfiltered. She hadn’t meant to say that—hadn’t known she felt it until this very instant. But suddenly she couldn’t bear not saying it. Silla tilted her head and fit her lips against his.
“I love you, Reynir Galtung,” she breathed against his skin. “I had to say it. And it doesn’t matter if you return the—”
His finger pressed into the divot of her lower lip, cutting her words short. Silla blinked up at his gaze, burning with the heat of a thousand suns.
“Is it love when all you really want to do is feed her sweet rolls and wrap her in a blanket and care for her so she’s never wanting for anything?”
An incredulous laugh fell from her.
“Is it love when every gods damned thought circles back to her; when you see her and it feels like your heart beats outside your own gods damned body; when you plot murder anytime another man looks her way?”
Silla found herself smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.
“Love is too tame a word for what I feel for you, Sunshine.”
Heart pounding in her chest, words eluded her.
Reynir Galtung smiled, that dimple carving into his cheek. “Have I rendered you speechless?” he teased. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything—”
“You love me,” she repeated, ignoring all the rest. “Even after I used your full name.”
He kissed her softly, drawing back for a moment. “Only you can use it.”
“I shall abuse this privilege,” she vowed.
He kissed her more roughly, and she laughed against his mouth. But when he drew back, all traces of amusement were gone. I love you, he told her with his eyes, rocking inside her.
I love you, too, she told him back, squeezing his hands tighter.
Their lips crashed together, each of them pouring in their passion and love and utter adoration.
Rey’s movements were choppy, his tempo quickly building, and Silla’s unfulfilled pleasure from earlier barreled back into her.
The tension built to dizzying levels, and then she was arching, inundated in wave after wave of exquisite sensation.
The pleasure ebbed and pulsed until it had reached all through her.
Above her, Rey made a guttural sound, burying his nose against her neck as he found his own release.
They lay in a tangle, twitching with the aftershocks as they tried to catch their breaths.
After a long moment, Rey pushed himself up, then blinked.
He rolled his lips together, as though trying to suppress a smile.
“What?” asked Silla.
“Your hair.” Rey laughed throatily. “It’s certainly tangled.”
Silla patted her mangled hair, a smile spreading wide as she stared up at the man she loved. “You can apply a treatment of bear grease to it later.”
She made to pull him back down for another kiss, but Rey jerked back at a sudden scratching sound.
“What—” In the span of a heartbeat, Rey had leaped from the bed, retrieved his sword, and was striding—bare-arsed—to the source of the sound. Silla scrambled after him, wobbly as a newborn faun as she pulled a fur around her shoulders.
Rey hauled the curtain back, and together they stared into a pair of beady black eyes.
“The black hawk,” murmured Silla, peering through the glass. Her heart pounded as she tried to seek meaning from the bird’s presence. But without the god of chaos lurking in her blood, it seemed rather less ominous.
Rey reached for the window opening, lifting his sword, but she placed a hand on his wrist. “Wait,” said Silla, stepping closer. The hawk scraped its yellow beak along the glass, and for the first time, Silla realized the offerings plate was empty. “It’s only hungry.”
She felt Rey’s incredulous stare as she padded to the table where the leavings of their evening meal rested.
Silla picked up a plate and carried it to the window.
After hauling the pane open, she offered a leftover roast chicken leg to the bird.
The hawk snatched it with its razor-sharp beak and, with a soft, throaty sound, took to the skies.
Silla turned back to Rey and shrugged.
Reynir Galtung shook his beautiful head. “Only you could tame the gods damned herald of death.”
Silla shrugged and set the plate aside. “I suppose I’m used to befriending the surliest of beings.”
His brows shot down, and he leveled her with his fiercest axe eyes.
“Come now, Reynir,” Silla cooed, sauntering toward the bed. “Bring that glare back to the furs.”