One of his hands curls around the arm of the chair. “I appreciate that.” He has yet to blink. “How long was I out for?”
“A few hours. No one came by. No messages—”
He stands in one fluid motion. The blanket slips from his shoulders. I’d nearly forgotten how tall he is, how completely overwhelming.
He steps forward.
I step back.
“What are you doing?” I demand, voice shrill as his approach forces my retreat. One, two, three steps. My back hits the bedpost. His powerful legs swallow the last of the distance, and in a moment of panic, I push against his shoulders to stop his forward motion. There is nowhere left to go.
My arms tremble. His skin—hot, smooth—contours to the shape of my palms. My head is empty, frighteningly empty.
He leans into my touch, and my arms collapse from the added weight as his form presses fully against mine. A low hum brightens my blood.
He says, “Will you kill me for this?”
That hum surges with new intensity. Staring into his eyes, I realize this isn’t an act. His heart is open to me. “I should,” I croak out.
The king lowers his head, brushing his nose with mine in a gesture of surprising affection. “Tell me to go.” The words steam between us.
I cannot.
“You want something from me?” I whisper hoarsely. “Then take it.”
Wrapping the length of my hair around his fist, Boreas gently pulls my head back, baring my throat to his mouth. A long breath shuddersout of me. The position fuses my lower torso to his, the long, thick ridge of his arousal pressed to my hip bone.
Swift, glancing heat behind my ear, beneath my jaw and chin, trailing the arch of my neck. He returns to the place where my pulse thrums, a swipe of his hot tongue on that staccato beat.
I’m panting. If I were not so focused on the throb between my legs, I’d slap myself from embarrassment. My fingers dig harder into his shoulders as a soft noise slips out of me. His other hand splays across my lower back, anchoring me in place.
The roughened tips of his fingers tease the hem of my tunic before diving to the skin beneath. It is so small a thing, that touch, yet it feels as though an arrow has been fired after being drawn for the last three months.
As I straighten, our mouths align. His breath floats across my tongue, tasting of everything forbidden. My eyes sink shut. An invitation, if he is daring enough to accept it.
And he does. There is no haste, no messy drive to completion. His tongue teases out, licking the corner of my mouth, flirting across my lower lip, slipping inside once I grant him entrance. Our noses brush, gentleness edged in hunger. On and on the kiss goes, a lazy exploration that drifts like clouds through my body.
One hand clenches reflexively around my hip. Mine lifts to his chest, fingers splayed across the warm muscle and sleek skin, the bedpost digging into my spine. As his tongue curls around mine, he draws a sound of helpless need from my throat. I press closer, chasing the spiraling sensation.
Desire flares, and I think,More.I want his body joined with mine. I want to push him to the very edge of insanity so that I may watch him break.
I want Boreas to lose control.
Fingers twining through the strands of his hair, I tug, urging him closer. Now there are teeth. Now there is racing, panting breath as the kiss descends into one of unsatiated hunger. Our tongues duel for dominance, my hands racing over every bit of flesh within reach.I’ve never felt this eager before. Like chaos resides inside my body, like my skin is the most insubstantial of barriers.
The Frost King bites my mouth possessively, and I match his carnality, reeling from the delicious abrasiveness of his cheeks, his tongue plunging continually deeper. My veins feel as though they are splitting open. Husband and wife we may be, yet this affair feels illicit and forbidden.
My touch sweeps across his shoulders, fingers digging into flexing muscle. The curve of his neck draws my attention, then the ridges of his upper back, the wings of his shoulder blades. Standing on tiptoe, body bowed toward his like a bowstring, I allow myself the pleasure of touching my husband for the very first time.
“Wren.” A deep, agonizing groan.
He eats at my mouth, and the sweetness of his breath floods my throat while his hands, those large, capable hands, slide down my lower back to cup my backside, fingers sinking into pliant flesh. One long, solid thigh slots between my legs, pressing against my folds. A moan flies out of me, and I tear my mouth away, panting.
Boreas studies me through hooded eyes as he shifts his leg in a subtle back and forth motion. My hands shake as they dive into his hair.
“Harder,” I rasp.
His only response is to relieve the pressure against my sex, slowing the motion.
