She sank down onto him with a broken moan. The new angle was devastating, letting him hit even deeper. His hands guided her at first, showing her how to roll her hips, how to rise and fall in a way that had them both gasping.
"That's it," he encouraged.
Briar found her rhythm, bracing her hands on his chest as she rode him. The position gave her control, let her find exactly the right angle, the perfect pressure. His hands moved to her breasts, pinching her nipples in time with her movements.
"Look at you," he said, voice destroyed. "Taking me so well. So perfect. Mine."
"Yes," she gasped, movements becoming erratic as she climbed higher. "Yours."
"Forever," he insisted. "Say it."
"Forever," she sobbed. "Always, forever—"
He sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms around her, changing the angle again. Now they were face to face, breathing each other's air as she continued to ride him. One of his hands tangled in her hair, the other still gripping her hip.
"Come for me," he commanded against her mouth. "Shatter around me like you've been wanting to for hours. Show me what I almost lost in that river."
The combination of his words, his hands, the perfect angle—she peaked with a scream that he swallowed with his kiss. Her whole body convulsed, clenching around him so hard he had to hold her hips still.
Only when she was trembling with aftershocks did he let himself follow, driving into her three more times before spilling inside her with a roar of her name.
They collapsed together onto the furs, still joined, both shaking with the intensity of what had just happened. He kept her close, like she might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly.
"Hours," he said finally against her hair. "Hours of that torture."
"Sorry?" she offered weakly, though they both knew she wasn't.
"No." He pressed kisses to her temple, her cheek, surprisingly tender after the desperation. "But next time you want me, just say so. Don't torment me while you sleep."
"Next time," she repeated, and felt him smile against her skin.
"Yes," he said simply. "Next time."
They lay there in the afterglow, both pretending this was simple. Just bodies seeking warmth. Just need after near loss. Just physical.
But the way he held her, possessive and protective and something softer he'd never name, told a different story. And the way she curled into him, trusting and sated and home, confirmed what they both knew but wouldn't say.
This was becoming something neither had planned for.
Something that would hurt when it was inevitably torn away.
Chapter twenty-eight
Three days after nearly drowning, after he'd carried her wrapped in his cloak through the castle, ignoring the shocked stares of servants who'd never seen their lord carry anything, let alone a human and with such careful possession, Briar was beginning to understand that near-drowning had consequences she hadn't anticipated.
Morning light streamed through her windows, late morning, she realized with a start. She never slept this late. But then again, she never had the Forest King personally ensuring she "rested properly" by ordering servants to add sleeping draughts to her evening tea.
She stretched, muscles protesting the enforced bed rest, and froze at the sound of her door opening.
"You're awake." Eliam entered the room, carrying yet another breakfast tray. The third morning in a row he'd personally brought her food. "Good. You slept through yesterday's lunch."
"Because you drugged me."
"I ensured proper rest." He moved into the room with that predatory grace, setting the tray on her bedside table. "There's a difference."
She pushed herself up against the pillows, trying not to notice how his eyes tracked every movement. "I don't need—"
"You do." He began arranging the tray with meticulous care. Toast cut into perfect triangles, crusts removed. Fresh berries in a delicate bowl. Tea that steamed at exactly the right temperature. "The healer says—"
