31. Ryewood
Ryewood
Ididn’t sleep last night.
Couldn’t. Not with the memory of her seared into my brain.
The sound of my name, wrecked and fucking perfect. The way she clenched around my fingers. The way she moaned into my mouth when she shattered. The way she tasted, fuck, the way she tasted.
I had to bring myself to release three times before I could even close my eyes. Three times in that tiny washroom—biting back her name so Finn and Grier wouldn’t hear.
It still wasn’t enough.
Now she’s riding beside me, looking soft and beautiful in the late morning light, and all I can think about is burying my face between her thighs and making her come again.
She catches my eye and doesn’t look away. Just holds my gaze with heat and a look that says I’m still thinking about last night.
Good. So am I.
Grier, Finn, and Rosie ride ahead, giving us a buffer of privacy. It’s the only thing stopping me from pulling her off that horse and finishing what I started.
I try to force my eyes forward, but they keep drifting back. To the roll of her hips, to the grip of her thighs, to the way her body moves like she was made to ride. I shift in my saddle. This is going to be a long ride.
I lean closer, voice low enough that only she can hear.
“That’s quite a grip you have on those reins. Something got you wound up?”
She turns to look at me, slow and deliberate. Those impossible eyes trail down my chest, my stomach, and linger where my trousers are already straining, making my cock twitch. Fuck, this woman is going to kill me.
“I could ask you the same, Ryewood. That saddle looks uncomfortable. Something…pressing?”
“You know exactly what’s pressing. Your hand was on it last night. Don’t play innocent now.”
The memory of her hand on my cock is burned into my brain. She barely touched me, but that’s all it took. I’ve been dying ever since.
“Innocent, hmm.” She tilts her head, all wide eyes, the picture of sweetness. “You wouldn’t think so if you knew all the ways I was planning on ruining you.”
Fuck. Every drop of blood in my body rushes to my cock.
“Dangerous words.” My voice drops to something dark. “I’m going to need specifics. Now.” The command in my voice surprises even me, but the way she bites her bottom lip tells me exactly what that tone did to her.
“Oh, Ryewood. Where’s the fun in that? I’d rather show you.”
I’m so hard it’s painful, my blood is on fire, and the only thought left is show me, wreck me, take me apart piece by piece. I don’t care; I’m already hers.
I urge my horse closer. “You’re playing a dangerous game, little fox.”
“Am I?” She says it like she’s pleased with herself. “And what are you going to do about it?”
“The next time I get you alone, my fingers won’t be enough. Not even close.”
Her eyes darken and her lips part. Her thighs clench against the saddle, and I nearly groan. Good, now she knows what this is doing to me.
“Is that a promise, Ryewood?”
“It’s a fucking vow.”
I’ve never meant anything more in my life. She doesn’t understand yet what she’s done to me. How thoroughly she’s taken me apart. I can feel how far I’d go. I’d kill for her; I’d tear down thrones for her. I would do anything to keep her.
“Hey! Finn wanted me to check if you two were okay back here.” Rosie’s voice cuts through the moment. I blink, pulling myself back, and find her trotting toward us with an easy smile.
“We’re fine,” Gemma says, a little too quickly. “Just…talking.”
“Mmhmm.” Rosie falls into step beside her, with a knowing smile, and within moments, they’re deep in conversation about the ceremony, and I can’t bring myself to focus on a single word. Because I’m too busy watching her.
She’s finally letting me in. After all those walls, all those careful deflections, she’s looking at me like last night was real, and I’m lighter than I’ve been in years.
Like I’ve been holding my breath my whole life, and she’s finally taught me how to exhale.
I will do whatever it takes to keep her, whatever it takes to keep this.
It goes on like this, her talking and laughing with Rosie, me falling deeper with every glance, for what feels like hours.
“I can see smoke from the chimneys! We must be close,” Finn calls from ahead.
Thank fuck. I need to get off this horse. I’ve been hard so long it’s painful.
Gemma looks over her shoulder at me, and she gives me an adorable smirk before she nudges her horse forward to catch up with the others. I follow her; I’ll always follow her.
We reach the inn in Briarwood by early afternoon. The Willowmere Estate is just beyond the next hill, but we need to change and prepare before the tethering ceremony.
A messenger meets us in the courtyard with parcels from the castle, clothing sent ahead by my father’s orders.
I see my name, Grier’s name, Finn’s name, Rosie’s name, but no Gemma.
I check twice, three times.
“There must be a mistake,” I say, my jaw tightening.
The messenger shakes his head. “These are all the parcels sent, Your Highness. Formal attire for the prince’s guards and Lady Rosalie, as requested by the crown.”
Lady Rosalie, but not Gemma, not the swordmaster. My father didn’t forget her; he excluded her. Because he doesn’t see her as someone worth dressing or including. Rage burns through my chest.
“Ryewood,” Gemma says, low and calm, trying to steady me.
I turn to the others, forcing my voice to steady. “Get ready. We’ll meet you at the ceremony.”
Finn frowns. “Where are you going—”
“To fix this.”
I turn to Gemma, and my voice softens as I take her hand, lacing my fingers through hers.
“Come with me?” I say.
She hesitates just a fraction, enough that I know she understands what this means.
“If we do this,” I add quietly, “it won’t be invisible.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, searching my face. Color touches her cheeks, but then she smiles, barely there but enough.
“Okay,” she says softly.
She knows what this means, and she’s saying yes anyway.
The shop is small, tucked at the end of the main street. A bell chimes as we enter, and an older woman looks up at us from behind the counter.
“We need a dress,” I say. “For the tethering ceremony, something formal.”
“Of course, right this way, dear,” she replies sweetly, guiding Gemma toward her offerings.
“Take your time. The dressing room is just through there.”
Gemma disappears behind the curtain. I wait until she’s gone, then approach the shopkeeper.
“I’d like some privacy.” I press a stack of gold coins into her palm, far more than the dress will cost. “Can you take a long break?”
She glances at the coins, then at me, and nods.
“Of course. I’ll be in the back…. The very back.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
I wait, pulse thrumming. My cock, which has barely softened since this morning, stirs again at the thought of Gemma undressing just feet away.
The curtain sweeps open. She’s wearing deep emerald silk that clings to every curve.
The neckline dips low, showing the swell of her breasts.
But it’s not the dress that undoes me. It’s the way she looks at herself in the mirror with her eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and a smile tugging at her lips.
She’s so fucking adorable my chest cracks open.
I’m done. I’m completely done for this woman.
“This one’s perfect,” she says, smoothing the fabric. “We should go so we’re not late—”
“We’ve got time,” I say, already closing the distance. I take her hand and pull her back into the dressing room. My back hits the wall, and she stumbles against me, her hands landing on my chest. A startled sound slips from her that makes my chest do something stupid.
“Rye—”
“Ryewood.” I cup her face and kiss her, deep and hungry. The kind of kiss that says I’ve been thinking about this all day, because I have.
She melts into me instantly, kissing me back with just as much need. Her hands slide up my chest, gripping the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer like she can’t get enough.
I groan against her mouth. I want more. I want everything.
She whimpers into my mouth. And fuck, my hands on instinct find her waist, her hips, gathering the silk, dragging it up her thighs because if I don’t touch her right now, I’m going to lose my mind.
She pulls back with a look in her eyes that makes my cock throb and then sinks to her knees.
Fuck. I stop breathing. Stop thinking. Stop everything except staring at her, this gorgeous, devastating woman kneeling before me with that look in her eyes.
Her hand presses against my cock through my trousers, and she strokes me, slow and firm, watching my face the whole time. She’s barely touched me, and I’m already completely fucking gone for her.
Her other hand finds my belt. She works the buckle loose without breaking rhythm, still stroking, still squeezing, still driving me out of my fucking mind. She tugs at the laces, loosening them, her palm never leaving my cock.
Finally, she frees me. I spring out, thick and aching, and I watch her eyes darken as she takes me in.
Her gaze drops to my cock and turns hungry. Then she starts to sink down, her intentions clear.
“No, you don’t—” I rasp, cupping her face, tilting it up before she can reach me. “I have plans, little fox. Plans that involve a lot more of you moaning first.”
Her lips curve into a wicked smile. “Who says I won’t be?”
Before I can stop her, she wraps those perfect lips around my cock.
My vision whites out, and the world tilts. My hand slams against the wall to stay upright. My other hand fists in her hair, and the sound that comes out of me isn’t human.
The wet heat of her mouth is overwhelming. Her tongue works the underside of my cock while she sucks, while she takes me deeper and deeper until I feel myself hit the back of her throat.
She doesn’t gag; she moans.
I see stars. This is bliss. This is torture.
I look down, and the sight nearly ends me. Those perfect lips wrapped around my cock, with those impossible eyes locked on mine. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me. I can see it in the satisfaction in her eyes, the thrill of having me at her mercy.
And I am. Completely. Utterly. At her mercy.