Chapter 31
Cora POV
It has been a long four weeks, and Garrion is growing restless.
He’s strong enough now to make it down the stairs to the dining hall, gripping the railing with stubborn determination, but he still can’t make it outside.
Winter has settled over the keep like a heavy cloak, short days, long nights, snow piling against the stone walls.
The cold seems to seep into everything, even him.
I asked the doctor to give him sleeping drafts at night.
He needs rest more than anything, but his mind refuses to quiet.
And I… I’ve been keeping my distance. Not because I want to, but because I see the way he looks at me, hunger, longing, desire simmering beneath the surface.
His body isn’t ready for that, and if I stay too close, neither of us will have the strength to pretend otherwise.
So I train.
Mika has been relentless. The last four days have been nothing but sword drills, footwork, grip, balance, repetition until my arms burned and my fingers went numb. But I can feel the difference. My body is stronger. My movements sharper. I no longer struggle to hold the sword steady.
Today, Mika is teaching me how to disarm an opponent. He circles me, correcting my stance, adjusting my wrist, pushing me harder than ever.
Then, abruptly, he lowers his blade.
“I have to cut our training session short today, Cora,” he announces.
I stop mid?step, irritation flaring. “Why?”
I know this place now, every patrol schedule, every guard rotation, every supply run. I know when the food deliveries leave, when the blacksmith fires the forge, when the night watch changes shifts. Nothing happens here without me noticing.
So whatever is pulling Mika away must be something unusual.
And I don’t like being kept in the dark.
Mika wipes his blade on the snow?damp grass before answering. “Garrion asked me to supervise the grain delivery to the neighboring village.”
“Why?” I press, stepping closer.
He hesitates. “Maybe you should talk to Garrion about this.”
I lift my sword, not threatening him, but reminding him exactly who stands before him. “I am the lady of this house. You will tell me what I need to know.”
He exhales, shoulders dropping. “Bandits have been spotted near the trade road. Garrion wants me to use the grain delivery as an ambush.”
I nod once, sharp and satisfied. “Now was that so hard?”
He gives me a flat look.
“Just be careful. We don’t need two of you brooding around the fortress.” I order him.
A laugh escapes him, low and rough. “How about you worry about your husband, and I’ll let Soma worry about me?”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth lifts despite myself.
By the time I reach the fortress, the doctor is stepping out into the cold, fastening his cloak.
“How is my husband?” I ask, stopping him.
“Well, my lady,” he says with a small bow, “I believe I’ve done all I can for him. The wounds are closed. I’m satisfied he can resume most of his duties, though he must stay off a horse for now.”
Joy blooms in my chest, fierce and unstoppable. ‘Thank you,’ I breathe, already turning toward the stairs.
I take them two at a time, my heart racing faster than my feet.
Garrion is sitting on the edge of the bed when I burst into the room, his posture rigid, bracing himself for whatever the day demands. He looks up the moment I enter, and the sight of him, alive, healing, ready, undoes me.
I cross the room in a heartbeat, settle onto his lap, and cradle his face in my hands. All the restraint I’ve held these past weeks shatters. I claim his mouth with a kiss that is hungry, possessive, and overflowing with everything I’ve kept locked inside.
He responds with hunger that steals my breath, the kiss deepening until the world beyond us ceases to exist.
His hands move with practiced urgency, making quick work of the buckles and straps of my fighting leathers.
Piece by piece, the weight of training falls away, leaving only the raw closeness between us.
When his fingers brush against my skin, the sensation is electric sparks racing across every nerve, igniting something fierce and undeniable inside me. The intensity of his touch pulls a sound from my throat, a low, involuntary moan that betrays just how deeply he affects me.
Garrion throws me onto the bed with a force that makes my breath catch, his eyes shadowed, burning with an intensity that sends a shiver through me. For a heartbeat, I can’t read him, there’s desire there, yes, but something darker too, something that makes my pulse race.
He picks up my belt, and a flicker of unease runs through me. My mind leaps ahead, what? does he intend to spank me with it? The uncertainty coils inside me, sharp and electric.
Then he climbs over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his gaze never leaving mine.
With deliberate movements, he fastens the belt around my wrists, securing me against the bedpost.
The leather is firm, unyielding, and the realization of being bound sends a rush of conflicting emotions through me, fear, anticipation, trust, and the ache of surrender.
His voice is low, rough, and dangerous against my ear. “You denied me for four long weeks, wife,” he growls, each word vibrating through me, sending a shiver down my spine. “I will just have to make up for the lost time now.”
The sound of him, the weight of his presence, consumes me.
My breathing turns erratic, shallow and uneven, caught between the sharp edge of need and the flicker of fear curling in my chest.
The hunger in his tone ignites something deep inside me, but the intensity of it, the sheer force of his desire, makes my pulse race faster than I can control.
He straddles my legs, his weight holding me firmly in place. I’m pinned beneath him, unable to move, yet the restraint feels less like captivity and more like inevitability, as if this moment was always meant to happen.
His fingers find my chin, gentle but commanding, tilting my face upward until my eyes meet his. Then his mouth claims mine, slow and deliberate, each kiss drawn out, sensual, unhurried. His tongue explores with a patience that makes my pulse race, unraveling me piece by piece.
When his lips leave mine, they wander lower tracing the line of my jaw, brushing against the sensitive curve of my throat.
Each touch is fire, searing trails across my skin, leaving me trembling beneath him.
Every kiss feels like a promise, every breath stolen from me a reminder of how completely he owns this moment.
He moves with deliberate slowness, tracing a path down my body, each kiss searing like molten fire against my skin. When his lips linger just above my breasts, the heat of him makes me tremble, and a sound escapes me, half?moan, half?plea.
“Garrion… please,” I whisper, my voice breaking under the weight of need. “I can’t take anymore.”
But he doesn’t relent. His mouth continues its unhurried journey, each touch a torment of tenderness and hunger, each kiss designed to unravel me further. It is a sensual torture, exquisite and unbearable all at once, leaving me caught between surrender and desperation, consumed entirely by him.
His mouth closes around my nipple, his teeth gently grazing it. Then he sucks it hard and releases it.
His mouth traces a slow, deliberate path upward, each kiss burning hotter than the last until his lips find mine again. The kiss is consuming, devouring, leaving no doubt of the claim he’s making, reminding me exactly to whom I belong.
“One orgasm for each week you denied me, Cora,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough with desire, the words sinking into me like a vow.
My breath stutters, uneven, my body trembling beneath the weight of his promise.
Need coils tight inside me, overwhelming, yet a flicker of fear lingers, because I don’t know if I can withstand what he intends.
My body aches with anticipation, but I’m not certain it will survive the storm he’s about to unleash.
His fingers glide through my folds with ease and enter me. A sound escapes me, low and unrestrained, I hadn’t realized how much I missed his touch until now. It’s been so long, too long, and the ache of absence crashes into the heat of the moment.
“I think your body agrees, Cora,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice rough and intimate, sending shivers down my spine.
He shifts back onto his heels, the movement unhurried, deliberate. For a moment, he simply remains there, framed in the soft glow of candlelight, his naked form revealed without pretense or shame. His dick is hard, and I can see a small buildup of his seed on the tip.
He watches his fingers move fast in and out of me, and I feel his thumb occasionally glide over the sensitive bud. I start moving my hips against his hand desperate for release.
I strain against the belt, every muscle taut with desperation. The need to touch him, to feel the heat of his skin beneath my hands, consumes me until it’s all I can think about. The restraint only sharpens the ache, turning longing into something fierce and unbearable.
The intensity builds with every passing heartbeat, relentless, unyielding until I’m trembling beneath the weight of his attention. His gaze pins me as surely as the leather does, and I realize this moment is both punishment and gift.
Punishment, because he denies me the freedom I crave. Gift, because he knows me so well, knows exactly how to unravel me, how to make surrender feel inevitable.
It is a reminder of how deeply he understands my body, how easily he bends me to his will, and how impossible it is to resist the storm he awakens inside me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as my orgasm crashes through every nerve, my body trembling, convulsing beneath the force of it. The sound tears from my throat, his name, raw and desperate, echoing into the air.
Before it can escape fully, his mouth claims mine, swallowing the cry, turning it into something deeper, something shared. His kiss is consuming, grounding me even as I shatter, binding me to him in the storm.
Garrion pulls back from the kiss, his breath mingling with mine, his eyes locked so fiercely on me it feels as though he’s burning straight into my soul. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, the words rough, reverent, and devastatingly sincere.
His fingers slide out of me, and he brushes them against my lips before pressing gently forward. I part for him instinctively, wrapping my mouth around his fingers, tasting me on his skin.
I tug against the belt binding my wrists, harder this time, until the leather bites into my skin.
A sharp sting makes me wince, the burn impossible to ignore.
Garrion’s eyes catch the flicker of pain instantly.
Without hesitation, his hands move to the knot, and with a gentleness that contrasts the fire in his gaze, he frees me.
“Are you alright, Cora?” he asks, his voice low, threaded with concern.
I flex my wrists, the ache fading quickly, and meet his eyes. More than alright, I am alive with need, with power, with the certainty of what I want. My pulse thrums with a new resolve.