"The way you grip me," he continued, voice roughening. "Like your body never wants to let go. Like it knows exactly where it belongs."
She was climbing again, impossibly. Everything was too sensitive, too much, but her body didn't care. That warmth in her chest burned brighter with each claiming thrust, reaching for him with desperate need.
"Are you going to come again?" He sounded darkly amused. "Already? So greedy."
One hand slid around to where they were joined, fingers finding her oversensitive clit. The touch was almost painful in its intensity, but the pleasure-pain made her cry out.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Scream for me. Let the whole castle know how thoroughly you're mine."
The vines tightened their hold, one wrapping gently around her throat, making her feel held and possessed from every angle.
"I can feel you getting close," he said, thrusts becoming erratic. "The way you tighten. The way that warmth in your chest sings." His teeth found her shoulder and he bit down hard dragging a whimpering cry from her throat. "Come. Now. Take me with you."
His command pushed her over the edge. She came with a scream that echoed off stone walls, her whole body convulsing. She felt him follow, felt him pulse inside her as he growled something in the old tongue against her skin.
They stayed locked together for long moments, both breathing hard. The vines slowly, gently lowered her until she was cradled against his chest, still held but no longer suspended.
"Every time you think you can hide from me," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple that felt oddly tender, "remember this. Remember how your body betrays every thought. How it begs for my touch even when your mind rebels."
The vines finally released her completely, retreating back into the walls and floor like they'd never been. But she could still feel them, phantom touches on oversensitive skin.
He carried her to the bed, settling them both beneath the covers. A part of her wanted to protest, to insist on space, on dignity, on something that hinted at rebellion, that showed him he hadn’t broken her completely. But exhaustion made her limbs heavy, and the warmth of his body was too tempting after the intensity of what just happened.
"Sleep," he commanded softly. "You're exhausted now, aren't you?"
She was. Bone-deep weariness from the day, from the overwhelming intensity of his touch.
"That's what I thought," he murmured against her hair. "So restless when I arrived. But properly settled now."
As sleep pulled her under, she felt him trace the curve of her jaw with one finger, the touch feather-light and strangely reverent.
"Tomorrow, little thief, we have training. Early. Very early."
Her heart stuttered, but he just pulled her closer.
For now, held in the arms of the Forest King who'd just destroyed and remade her, she could only surrender to exhaustion.
Chapter twenty-six
The knock on her door came too early, barely past dawn. Briar groaned into her pillow, body still aching from the previous night’s activities.
"Up," Eliam's voice carried through the door. "We leave in twenty minutes."
"Leave?" She sat up too quickly, wincing as her muscles groaned in protest. "Where are we going?"
The door opened without invitation and he strode in already dressed for travel. Dark leathers instead of court finery and a cloak lined with soft furs. He looked more like a warrior rather than a king.
His eyes tracked over her disheveled state with satisfaction. "Malachar left us a parting gift. The Silverwood River is frozen solid."
"So?"
"So," he said with exaggerated patience, "the Silverwood feeds half the forest's eastern groves. Without its flow, they'll start dying within days." He moved to her wardrobe, rifling through the gossamer nothings with increasing irritation. "Do you have anything practical?"
"You're the one who chooses my clothes."
"An oversight I'm regretting." He pulled out dress after dress, each more revealing than the last. "You can't traverse the forest in silk and wishful thinking."
"I could stay here."
