Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Lox’s mouth claims hers the moment they’re alone.
The kiss is rough and consuming, teeth grazing her lower lip until she gasps.
He presses her back against a tree, bark biting her shoulders as his hips grind into hers, swollen heat straining through damp linen.
Her hands fist in his tunic, dragging him closer until there’s only the pulse of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth, and the desperate press of their bodies.
He drags her deeper into the trees. They stumble, break, then collide again. Another tree, another kiss. His hand cups her breast through thin fabric, thumb circling until she moans into his mouth. Her thighs tremble as his palm slides beneath her skirt, claiming every inch he can reach.
His fingers trail up her leg until they find what they seek. Marian bites his shoulder to keep from crying out, as he explores at an unhurried pace that’s more devotion than conquest.
Lox’s mouth finds her again, slower this time, the hunger tempered by awe.
His hand slips higher, fingers tracing the slick heat of her before sliding inside.
Marian arches against him, her breath catching in his mouth.
He swallows the sound, kissing her harder, his hips pressing forward like he’s fighting the urge to be inside her.
His fingers move with a patience that borders on reverence. The world beyond them disappears – no revellers, no music, no forest watching. Only the rhythm of breath and pulse, of her body softening against his.
When she breaks from the kiss, gasping, his name falls from her lips. ‘Lox—’
His pace quickens as he slips another finger in. ‘Tell me what you want.’
She’s past words, past reason, reduced to need. She drags his face back to hers, her mouth fierce against his. ‘You,’ she breathes. ‘Just you.’
He pulls her off the tree with a growl, their bodies intertwined as they make their way to his quarters. By the time they reach it, Marian’s lips are swollen, her tunic wrinkled and half-laced, her pulse a wild staccato that thrums against every place he’s touched.
His hands slip beneath her as he lifts her up the narrow stairs.
She laughs and wraps her legs around his waist instinctively, their mouths colliding again, this time slower.
He pins her halfway up the steps, grinding into the cradle of her body until she cries out, teeth sinking into his neck.
He pulls her free and shoulders in his door, before kicking it shut behind them.
‘You’re wearing far too many clothes,’ Marian whispers against his throat.
He chuckles and tosses her onto the bed. ‘Care to rectify that?’
Her fingers work quickly, tugging at the laces of his shirt before dragging it over his head. Every line of him is hewn from muscle and raw, relentless grace.
But it’s the ink that makes her pause.
It’s everywhere. It climbs his arms in dark green and deep black; vines coiled with thorns and leaves are etched into flesh with a tenderness that borders on violence.
Across his right forearm, a vine splits at the elbow, with one path curling down toward his wrist and the other arcing upward to wrap around a long, silvery scar on his bicep.
Along his ribs, the vines grow wilder, etched with leaves that look weathered and wind-torn; and on the left side of his chest, a larger design curls beneath his collarbone: a pattern of woven ivy and hawthorn thorns circled around what looks like a broken arrowhead.
Each mark is a story written in skin.
Marian’s hands roam down his stomach. Her fingers dance over the ink as if it’s a ledger of his life. But now is not the time for history lessons. Her touch trails lower.
His breath catches when her hand cups him through his trousers, the pressure firm and slow.
‘Bark and bramble,’ he growls, biting his bottom lip. ‘Do you have any idea what you do to me?’
‘Show me,’ she commands. Marian strokes harder, her thumb brushing over the swollen ridge until his jaw snaps tight, head tipping back. The sight of Lox, the unshakable Rootkeeper, trembling beneath her touch makes something molten bloom inside her.
He seizes her wrist suddenly, his golden eyes blown black with hunger. ‘If you keep that up, I’ll be finished before I even get inside you,’ he grits, the words rippling with need.
Marian sits forward and presses her lips against the line of his hip, while her free hand tugs at the strings of his trousers until the knot falls free.
His whole body jolts when her hand slides inside the loosened fabric, closing around him. He lets her other hand go with a guttural sigh and Marian releases him, only so she can pull his pants down entirely.
He springs free, thick and already leaking at the tip.
Marian wraps her fingers around him. He shudders, hips bucking into her hand.
She strokes him slowly, learning the weight of him, how his breath stumbles when she traces the vein along the top.
Tension gathers in his shoulders, a flush rising along his neck.
He groans when she squeezes gently, thumb sliding over the head, and he twitches into her grip.
She leans forward and Lox curses softly, watching her with wide, dark eyes as she leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the base of him, before dragging her tongue up the underside in a slow, maddening swipe.
‘Marian . . .’ he rasps, his voice breaking into something feral as his fingers dig into her curls.
She takes him into her mouth as deep as she can, using her hand to stroke what she can’t. Her tongue flicks over the sensitive tip. It doesn’t take long before his legs tremble with the effort it takes not to thrust.
He gasps and pulls her back with a gentleness that belies his shaking. ‘Stop. I want to be inside you when I lose control.’
She leans back and settles onto the mattress as though it were a throne. Her thighs fall wide, slick with her own anticipation, and when he looks down at her, he sighs like a man on the edge of unravelling.
His body hovers over hers, all heat and muscle, and when he lowers himself to kiss her again, it’s with a kind of urgency that makes her ache. Their skin slides together, slick and feverish, and Marian can feel the way he quivers as he lines himself up against her.
Lox doesn’t move at first. He stares at her like she’s made of something more dangerous than any blade he’s ever held.
‘Truth for a truth,’ he whispers, recalling the game they played when he took her to the ridge. ‘You terrify me.’
Marian doesn’t flinch from that gaze. She smiles and settles onto the pillows, auburn hair spread across the sheets. Her fingers trail languidly over her breasts, down her stomach, and beneath his rigid length. She gives him a gentle squeeze and tugs. ‘Then come worship what you fear.’
He slides against her folds, slick with her arousal, and Marian cries out at the friction.
‘Robin,’ she breathes.
He pushes in inch by inch, the stretch of him making her gasp, her fingers clutching at his back as he sinks deeper.
Her eyes flutter close as he fills her so fully, she forgets how to breathe.
He groans and the sound vibrates against her throat.
It’s too much and not enough all at once.
He stills, letting her adjust, and presses his forehead to hers, before he buries himself inside her entirely.
‘Fuck,’ he grunts, burying his face in her neck as he draws back and rolls his hips forward again, making Marian’s breath stutter into a moan. He’s deep, the friction unbearable, the drag of him inside her maddening in its rhythm.
Her legs wrap around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, urging him to go faster, harder, but Lox resists, keeping the pace torturous.
Marian whimpers, hands gripping his shoulders. She runs her fingers through his hair until she finds the base of his antlers.
A guttural sound tears from his chest, somewhere between a growl and a moan. His golden eyes flash wide, then dark, as though she’s touched something both sacred and forbidden. ‘Careful,’ he rasps, his voice ragged. ‘They’re—’
‘Sensitive,’ she finishes for him, a wicked lilt to her tone. Her nails trace up one curve, the other hand gripping where horn meets skull for leverage as she lifts herself up on him.
The reaction is immediate.
His breath shudders, hips surging up into her with helpless urgency.
‘Marian,’ he warns, her name both a curse and a prayer.
She pulls him closer by the antlers, half-playful, half-cruel, kissing him deeply until they’re both shaking.
Every sound from him vibrates straight through her – each moan and growl as raw as the forest in a storm.
His hands clamp at her hips, guiding, demanding, but she holds the antlers tighter, controlling the angle, the depth of his kiss, the surrender of his body.
‘Gods,’ Lox rasps, voice fraying. His hands fumble for purchase on her hips, tight enough she knows she’ll wear his fingers as bruises tomorrow.
Her nails find the soft skin where horn blends into scalp and she traces it like someone mapping the land.
The sensitivity there is astonishing: a featherlight touch sends a tremor through him that she can feel in the set of his shoulders and the clench of his jaw.
She presses harder, thumbs kneading the muscle at the base of the horn while palms cradle the curve, and his whole body answers with a wave of need that starts at his throat and breaks against the place where they are joined.
Marian uses the antlers as leverage to pull him into her until it elicits a gruff moan.
Lox drives inside her with a shuddering grunt.
His hips roll with a precision that leaves her nails biting into skin as he finds a rhythm that makes her yelp.
Every thrust drags a sound from her throat she doesn’t recognize – raw and needy and free.
His hands grip tighter as he rocks into her, each stroke hitting deep and just right.