Chapter 53
Fifty-Three
Ipulled my tunic off over my head, then caught a glow of luminescence streaked across the fabric. Instantly, I was back at the edge of that cave, being dragged by that Fae toward my death.
Fieran seemed to register the flash of horror across my face. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “I just realized I’m lying in your bed, and I’m filthy—I had to crouch on the ground in that garden—I should go.”
“You should run away?” Fieran teased gently. He rose and walked across the room, his waist leanly tapered under those broad shoulders, and his ass and thighs lean but rounded with muscle. “I do have a bathtub.”
He was a work of art, and it seemed surreal he was going to be my husband. Even just for a scheme.
He stepped through the door of the bathroom, and in the distance, there was the rush of a tub filling.
I clambered to my feet in that moment when he wasn’t present to hypnotize me with his dick, then hesitated. My clothes were streaked with that luminescence, and I didn’t want to put them on again; most of all, I didn’t want to leave him.
Leaving him felt dangerous. It gave the queen an opportunity to crack open this fragile thing between us and crush our plotting under her foot.
I wanted to stay. But when I felt raw and vulnerable, when I had already cried in front of him, when I wanted…I also wanted to escape.
He came back through the doorway, dressed now in black pants that hung low on his hips and nothing else, and came to me. “I know it’s hard for you, but…let me take care of you.”
“I don’t need it,” I lied again.
“I know.” His hand slid over my shoulder. “You don’t need me. But I want to take care of you. Let me pretend.”
I hesitated. It was enough for him.
He lifted me into his arms effortlessly. He carried me into his enormous bathroom. Moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating a sunken tub that was more than large enough for two, framed by lush green plants.
His bare chest was warm against my cheek, the beating of his heart soothing.
He set me down beside the tub on a lush rug.
Steam curled off the surface of the water, scented with something clean and fresh; the scent reminded me of the smell after the rain came, and suddenly I longed to dive into that water and wash away all the terrors.
Fieran’s fingers brushed my jaw as he pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was gentle, though there was nothing but certainty in the heat in his gaze.
He began to undo the bindings, his knuckles grazing my ribs, my breasts. He was unhurried, even as his touch set my pulse racing. He treated every bit of exposed skin as if it were something sacred.
He gently unwrapped the fabric and dropped it in a pile beside the tub. I was still now, letting him undress me. I couldn’t fully understand why I had become so passive.
His big hands skated over my hips, drawing my leggings down. He was careful with me, pulling off one leg, then the other. Now I wore nothing but my underwear, and I shivered with a sense of not just need but as if I were careening out of control.
Sex was one thing. What was this?
He returned to my waistband, tucking his thumb into the fabric and rolling it down. His thumb brushing against my skin set a flame alight in me, and I bit my lip.
But Fear didn’t seem to notice. Always determined, he was intent on caring for me now. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me down into the tub. He held me against his body as he dipped his hand in the water, letting it pour over my shoulders and my arms. My tense muscles unknotted.
His touch was tender, reverent, maddening.
He reached for a soft cloth and began to trace away dirt, dried blood, and the streaks of luminescence. Heat curled low in my stomach, a pull of need that drew a little tighter with every pass of his hand.
Moonlight clung in silver to his skin, as if the light itself wanted to drape itself over him, illuminating those carved cheekbones, the shape of his throat, the power of his shoulders. But he was still intent on nothing but me.
“I’m going to wash your hair,” he told me, drawing me through the water with him to some invisible bench. He pulled me into his lap, arranging me the way he wanted me, with the curve of my ass against his lap, my head resting against his shoulder.
He cupped water and gently poured it over my scalp. His fingers threaded through the strands, massaging softly, and my eyes fluttered shut.
I heard him exhale, unsteady.
His thumbs made slow circles at the back of my skull, working away tension. Each movement was deliberate and patient, as though he was coaxing loose every fraction of pain.
The heat of his palms soaked through me, relaxing muscles that had been tight for days. Since I came to the Trials.
Since long before the Trials.
He brushed the length of my soaking hair over my shoulder. “Finished.”
His fingers slid over my temple, sweeping away a wayward drop of water before it could fall into my eyes. For some reason, it was that careful care that made me feel totally unwound.
I kissed him, straddling his lap in one sudden movement. The two of us traded heated kisses until he suddenly rose.
He reached for a thick, plush towel and unfolded it with hands that weren’t quite steady, then wrapped it around my shoulders.
“Stand.” The command was soft, careful. I obeyed, gripping his forearm for balance as I rose from the water and stepped back up onto the marble floor.
He drew the towel around me slowly, as if memorizing each inch of skin. Then he swept me up in his arms, wrapped in the towel, and carried me to bed.
He laid me in the bed as if he were going to withdraw, and I caught his forearm. Muscles flexed beneath my fingers, and he looked down at me with a muscle tight in his jaw, as if it would take everything he had to pull away.
“I think you need to learn that someone can take care of you without wanting anything in return except for your comfort.” His hand brushed my hair. “I’m not doing this so the two of us can fuck—”
“I know.” It was terrifying, but I knew. At least I did in that moment; maybe my usual jadedness would return with the morning light. “But don’t stop taking care of me now.”
I bit my lower lip, looking up at him archly as I let the remnants of the towel slip aside.
He groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
He leaned over me, his lips grazing my clavicle, then my throat. I caught his head with my fingers in his dark hair and pulled his mouth to mine. “Come here.”
He braced himself above me, carefully holding the weight of his muscled body away from me. Our breaths mingled, and our gazes met in a heated moment.
Then his lips brushed mine again, slow, light.
He pulled away first. “What do you want your wedding to be like?”
“My wedding?” I shook my head. “You don’t have to feel bad that our wedding won’t be some dream. Even as a little girl, I never really dreamt of standing in the temple wreathed in flowers.”
“What did you dream of?”
“Magic,” I whispered, feeling the word pulled out of my soul when he was so close, when the night felt like a veil outside covering us up from the world we spent so much time fighting. “I dreamt of having my magic.”
“You’ll have your magic again,” he promised me. He kissed the corner of my mouth, and I put my arms around his neck, wanting more of him. “I’ve always been afraid of getting married. This is probably the only way I would.”
“Is that so?” I stroked his hair back with his hand, since his tousled hair had blocked that handsome face. “Why?”
“What if I were to admit to loving someone—truly loving them, not just charming them, controlling them—and then they rejected me? It would prove my mother right after all,” he said the words breezily, as if it were not a confession pulled from his chest, full of pain.
But I knew better.
“Your mother was wrong,” I told him fiercely, my hand cupping his cheek.
He turned his face into my palm, pressing his lips against my skin in a kiss that felt like gratitude.
Maybe he needed someone to take care of him, too.
He captured my mouth, this kiss claiming, bruising. And I welcomed it. My hips swayed up to meet his, my legs wrapping around his as I searched for friction. I traced the tip of my tongue along the seam of his lips, and his lips parted for me.
He pulled away abruptly, his voice rough. “I love seeing you naked in my bed. But you’re not wearing the one thing you need.”
“And what’s that?”
“My ring.”
Fear moved to a small chest in the corner of the room. He rummaged through it, finally pulling out an elaborate pendant hanging from a delicate gold chain. Without hesitation, he pulled off the pendant, leaving only the chain.
“This is worth more than some kingdoms.” He tossed the pendant carelessly aside. “But it’s not worth half as much as seeing my ring around your neck.”
He stepped behind me, his chest warm against my back as he fastened the chain. The ring settled in the hollow between my collarbone, cool against my flushed skin. His lips pressed against the nape of my neck, followed by a gentle scrape of teeth that made me gasp.
I pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him, the position placing me above him, in control.
His hands settled on my hips, but he made no move to direct me, content to let me set the pace.
I leaned down to kiss him, my hair falling around us like a curtain, creating a private world where only we existed.
I teased him, positioning myself so that his length pressed against my core without entering me and rubbing him through my slick folds.
His grip on my hips tightened, and his face changed: tension in his jaw, a flush spreading across his cheekbones, and his pupils dilated until his eyes were nearly black except for a ring of gleaming gold. I loved seeing what I did to him.
I slid him through my folds once, twice, then abruptly slid him inside, letting my knees slide apart to either side of his lean torso to let him spear me. I sank down, letting out a gasp at his length, until I was pressed to his lean torso. The way he stretched me hurt, but it also felt good.
He slid his thumb against my clit, making sure that I had all the friction I needed there, and I began to roll my hips, watching his control fray as he rubbed my clit harder and harder. The two of us both gasped, ragged with need as I rode him wildly.
Most of the time in Stonehaven, I had felt as if I were too much somehow: too sexual, too barbed, too awkward. But Fieran took everything I had to give him, not as if he tolerated it, but as if it were a gift.
I leaned forward, changing the angle, and the ring fell forward, brushing over his chest. The friction against that perfect spot inside me made stars explode behind my eyelids.
Fear’s hands moved to my thighs, encouraging my movements but still letting me dictate the pace. I rode him harder, chasing the building pressure, the exquisite tension coiling tighter and tighter low in my belly.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he said, his voice strained. “Taking your pleasure. Taking me. I could watch you ride me for a thousand years, and I’d never tire of seeing the way your perfect breasts sway.”
He reached a hand to grip my breast, his thumb stroking over my nipple. “Look at these breasts. You were made for me. Made to be my undoing.”
His words pushed me closer to the edge. I could feel him pulsing inside me, feel the tension in his body that told me he was as close as I was.
One of his hands slid between us, fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at my center once more, and the touch was all it took to send me spiraling over the edge.
I felt him follow me, his hips bucking up, and when I collapsed against his chest, he pulled me close, thrusting upward a few last times as he finished.
My body trembled against his with the after-effects of my orgasm, my core squeezing against nothing. His fingers sunk into my hair to angle my face up, and his mouth found mine in a kiss that was consuming, possessive.
Before I could fully understand what was happening, he rolled us over, pinning me beneath him.
“I need more of you.” The raw need in his voice sent a fresh surge of heat through me.
He entered me again in one smooth thrust that had me arching off the bed.
His hands captured my wrists, pinning them to the mattress on either side of my head.
The position made me feel deliciously vulnerable, completely at his mercy.
He began to move, setting a relentless pace that had me gasping his name.
The feeling of being pinned, possessed, claimed, combined with the exquisite friction of his body moving within mine, quickly rebuilt the pleasure that had barely receded. Fear’s mouth moved to my neck, sucking, biting gently, surely leaving marks that I would find in the morning.
“Gods, I love feeling your pussy milk my cock,” he murmured. “That little sound you make is driving me mad.”
His movements became more erratic, his breathing harsh against my ear. I wrapped my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, meeting his thrusts with my own. The change in angle had him hitting that perfect spot with each thrust, and I felt myself climbing rapidly toward another peak.
“You’re my good girl—at least for tonight—come for me again, Never.”
His words were the final push I needed. The pleasure crested and broke, more intense than before, tearing a cry from my throat that might have been his name. My body clenched around him, and he stiffened, his release flooding me as he groaned my name like a prayer.
For several long moments, we lay together, our breathing gradually slowing, our hearts finding a steadier rhythm. Fear released my wrists, his fingers gently stroking the places where he had held me. He rolled to his side, bringing me with him, keeping our bodies connected.
His hand found my cheek, turning my face to his for a kiss that was impossibly tender after all that fierceness.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine, and I saw in them a question he didn’t voice.
I answered by pressing closer, my hand coming up to curl around the nape of his neck, drawing him into another kiss that conveyed everything I wasn’t ready to say aloud.
The ring on its chain rested between us, warmed now by our bodies, a silent promise of possibilities I had never allowed myself to imagine before tonight.