Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Reif Marintide had found himself in a number of questionable situations before, some more unsavory than others, but being propositioned to claim a lady’s virtue was a first.
While flattering, if not slightly unnerving, he had to admit Lady Cyra Firebane was undoubtedly more bold than most females of his acquaintance.
She was fiery, carried herself with confidence, and if he was being honest, he quite enjoyed the way she laughed.
It was full and rich, not at all like the airy, practiced giggling of other ladies.
Though it hadn’t been in his initial plan to bring someone home with him this evening, he was rather pleased by his current circumstances.
He could do far worse than take home the surprisingly striking Lady Cyra.
She was a good head shorter than him, even with her heels, and he had at least seven years on her in age.
If he recalled, she was twenty and three, whereas he recently celebrated his thirtieth year.
Not a terrible difference, at least one she didn’t seem to mind.
Her hair was long and reminded him of the flames of a fire—vibrant red that melted into a burnished gold.
The dress she wore was a deep crimson, hugging every delectable curve, and Reif found he couldn’t wait to discover the flesh hidden beneath the beaded fabric.
Kohl lined her molten eyes, golden and intense, fanning out at the edges.
Rubies dripped from her ears and neck, drawing his gaze to the lovely swell of her breasts.
Right now, Reif had her neatly pinned against the stone wall of the alcove, and while Lady Cyra put up a courageous front, there was no mistaking the flutter of her pulse against her slender neck, or her quick intake of breath, or the way her eyes expanded when he declared no other male would ever compare to him.
It filled him with a kind of smug satisfaction to know he already had such an effect on her.
He inhaled, ready to relish in his proclamation, when the temptation of her scent consumed him.
She smelled of cinnamon and buttery vanilla with a hint of smoke, and it was damn near mouthwatering.
Yes, he mused to himself, pleasing her in his bed was going to be an absolute delight.
He edged back, just enough to put a breath of space between them. Then offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She blinked quickly, her lashes fluttering. Her gaze snapped from his arm to his eyes. “Right now?”
“Why wait?” He took her hand and gently folded her fingers around the crook of his elbow. “The night is young and there’s much to learn.”
“Oh.” The word slipped between her lips. “Right. Of course.”
Reif pulled back the curtain of winterblooms, allowing her to exit on his arm.
“And um…” Cyra rubbed her lips together, her gaze darting around the ballroom full of dancing couples and superfluous conversation. “What shall we say if someone sees us leaving together?”
Reif lifted a brow. “Are you worried about someone seeing us leaving together?”
“Yes.” Her eyes flashed to him. “My brother.”
Ah.
A valid concern to be sure. Lord Asher Firebane was incredibly protective of his younger sister, especially since they were all each other had—much like Reif and his cousin, Narissa.
Granted, Lord Firebane had recently married into the Starstorm family, so now he and Lady Cyra found themselves ensconced into a loving family with a surplus of siblings, but Lord Firebane was still fully invested in his sister’s life.
There was no way he would look kindly upon the opportunity presented to Reif, even if he was doing Lady Cyra a favor.
He would have to take extra caution.
“Not to fear, Lady Cyra.” He patted her hand as they made their way along the far wall of shadows and moonlight, careful to avoid any unwanted attention. “If indeed we are caught, then I will simply reprise my role as a chivalrous lord who was simply escorting you to your carriage for the evening.”
“Mm. Very well.” But it was obvious Lady Cyra didn’t believe him, either that or she didn’t think such a claim would outsmart the gossiping lords and ladies of Aeramere. Her grip on his arm tightened and she ducked her head as they exited the front of House Celestine into the cold winter night.
Frosty wind gusted off the mountains and swept through the ornate gardens, billowing into them as Reif hailed one of the waiting carriages.
Two beautiful white Eponians trotted up to the entrance of the house, tossing their manes of silver and stretching their wings.
The majestic flying horses made for expedited trips throughout Aeramere, for it was far faster to move through the sky as opposed to the ground.
He glanced up at the night sky, imagining the ride to be a bumpy one considering the heavy overlay of clouds.
Tiny snowflakes tumbled down from the dark sky, churning like they were caught in a snow globe.
Lady Cyra turned into him, clutched at him, and only then did he realize she was without a coat.
“Do you not have a cape, my lady?” he asked, already shrugging out of his jacket to drape it around her shoulders.
She shook her head, shivering. “I must’ve forgotten it. I don’t remember it being quite this bitter before.”
“Indeed.” The temperature had certainly dropped dramatically since his arrival at the Yuletide Ball.
Reif bundled her into his wool coat, ignoring the frigid bite of wind through the silk of his shirt.
He yanked open the door of the coach and helped Lady Cyra inside, enjoying the warmth of her hand when it slipped into his own.
Climbing in after her, he pulled the door shut and knocked on the roof twice, signaling they were ready to leave.
The leather bench groaned beneath his weight and he glanced to where Lady Cyra sat across from him, arms wrapped tightly around herself, with her bottom lip still trembling.
“Goodness,” she breathed as another shiver wrecked her. “I should’ve been more prepared for the weather.”
“You and me both,“ he agreed. “Lady Cyra, why don’t you come sit—”
“Just Cyra,” she interrupted softly. “If we’re going to be intimate, then it seems only fair you should call me by my given name.”
He liked the sound of that.
“Very well, Cyra.” Her name rolled off his tongue like melted honey. “Then you may call me Reif.”
Her cheeks flushed a rosy shade, but he didn’t know if it was because of their newfound acquaintance or the fact that she was still cold.
The coaches were hardly warm, though most were supplied with a fur blanket or two.
Reif glanced around and discovered a swath of sleek black fur laid across the back of his bench.
He tugged it down and unfurled it for better use.
“It’s probably best to keep warm,” he mumbled to himself more than anything.
Without asking for her permission, he reached over and plucked Cyra off her leather seat.
She plopped onto his lap with a squeal of surprise, throwing her arms around his neck as the carriage dipped through the windy night.
Draping the blanket across them, his hands slid beneath the heavy fabric in search of her waist. He palmed her hips, gripping them, securing his hold on her.
“There.” The beads of her gown scraped against his fingers and he grinned up at her. “Isn’t that better?”
“Yes.” Her voice caught and her tongue darted out, sliding between her lips. “I already find myself much warmer than before.”
Cyra shifted then, nestling closer, rubbing her perfectly round ass against his groin.
Awareness fired through him, hot and fast, sending a bolt of lusty desire straight to his cock.
She kept her arms locked around him, and any time she sucked in a hasty breath, the delightful swell of her cleavage lifted to greet him.
So close, in fact, that if he leaned forward just slightly, he could bury his face in her breasts.
Suffocation was a likely possibility but it would be a damned good way to die.
“Tell me, Cyra,” he drawled, angling his head so his mouth skated along her delicate neck.
The rubies she wore reminded him of drops of blood, and for one fleeting moment, he considered how tempting it might be to bite her.
To mark her. Maybe even claim her as his own.
He imagined her blood tasted like a smoky, sweet nectar.
But there would be time for that later. Instead, he gently massaged her hips, easing the tension that rippled off her. “Shall we begin our lessons now?”
“Now?” she squeaked, absently toying with the hair curling at the nape of his neck. “Here? In the carriage?”
Reif smirked, a thousand different ways to tease her already running through his mind. “I don’t see why not. A carriage can be most useful.”
“Oh.” Her lips pursed, making her look entirely too kissable. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“Talk,” Reif repeated, lifting a singular brow. “Are you wanting me to give verbal instruction, then?”
“No. I mean, yes. Eventually, of course.” Cyra squirmed a bit, adjusting herself to face him fully, completely unaware that her every movement caused his cock to throb and ache. “That is, I thought we could get to know one another first.”
Reif clicked his tongue smartly, letting one hand slide from her hip to her thigh. She stiffened beneath his touch. “I don’t recall general conversation being a part of the rules for tonight’s events.”
Cyra paled and a tiny line formed across her brow. “Right. I suppose I should have made myself more clear on the matter.”
It would appear that despite Lady Cyra’s best efforts to be both brazen and uninhibited, she was actually quite nervous about sharing his bed.
Not that he could blame her. First times were always full of uncertainty and doubt.
Reif, however, preferred his partners to be calm, soothed, and completely at ease around him.
If Cyra was anxious, then she would flounder, and would likely be too paranoid or embarrassed to learn the ways of the bedroom.
Worse, she would be uncomfortable and unlikely to enjoy any time they spent together.
And since that was the whole point of their escapade, he opted to extend her an olive branch.
“Very well.” He gave her thigh a gentle, calming pat as the carriage veered south through the skies toward his home in Azurvend. “How about we strike a deal?”
Her auburn brows pinched together. “What sort of deal?”
Cyra was wary.
And he liked her all the more for it.
“We’ll talk, just like you suggested. We can discuss what we like, what we loathe, that sort of thing. Ask each other questions.” His other hand curved around her waist, drawing her closer. “But, when you’re speaking, I will do my best to distract you. And then you shall do the same to me.”
If it was possible for her to look adorable when she frowned, Cyra succeeded beyond measure. “But what if I do something you don’t like?”
“Trust me.” He chuckled but it was tight. Laced with anticipation. “There is very little you could do that I won’t enjoy.”
The carriage bounced as it swept toward the ground to land, jostling Cyra in his lap. Reif’s hold on her tightened to keep her steady, and he found himself fascinated by the way she shivered in his arms, despite being wrapped in a fur blanket.
She canted her head slightly as the carriage touched down, signaling their impending arrival in Azurvend.
“And what if you do something I don’t like?” she asked, her molten gaze burrowing into him.
“Then I expect you to tell me immediately.”
“Oh.” Relief shadowed her eyes and the line crinkling across her forehead smoothed. Her gaze quickly darted to his mouth then back to his eyes. “Well, that doesn’t seem too terrible.”
“Do we have a deal, my lady?” he mused, half-expecting her to say no.
Instead Cyra brightened, and when she smiled, something inside Reif’s chest splintered wide open. “Indeed we do, my lord.”