Aspen’s aloofness, his cold demeanor, his hard edges and sharp words—it all seems so fragile now. I put my hand to Aspen’s cheek, run my thumb over his lower lip.
He shudders. “Leave me now or I won’t be able to stop.”
I inch toward him until our lips almost touch. “I don’t want you to stop.”
Our kisses return, deeper, heavier. My lips part for more of him, and I feel his tongue brush against mine. His hands move up my back, my arms, my shoulders. His fingers trail the neckline of my dress. I regret my modest clothing now, wishing my dress were thinner. Or better yet, gone altogether.
As if he can read my mind, his fingers move to the shoulder of my dress, then slide it down, revealing my naked flesh. I shiver as the cold air snakes across my skin, but his lips trace a line of fire between my breasts, then over my exposed mound of curving flesh. I shudder as his tongue lingers over the summit. He tugs the other shoulder of the dress, pulling it down until my entire top hangs around my waist. It’s still not enough. I want to be closer.
My fingers find the collar of his shirt again. This time, I seek to loosen his cravat, throwing it to the ground once freed. Then I find the buttons of his shirt, his waistcoat, undoing each one with trembling fingers. He helps me with what remains, shrugging off his jacket, the open shirt, his trousers. I look him over, eyes lighting upon every muscle, every inch of golden skin. All that remains of his wound is dark bruising and several small tendrils of black. My eyes go lower, and I can’t help but blush when I finally understand the truth of Foxglove’skingdominnuendo.
He grins when he catches the look on my face, then returns his efforts to freeing me from my dress. Hands on my hips, he spins me around to untie the sashes that secure the skirt around my waist. It falls to the stone floor in a puddle of chiffon, leaving me bare in the cold autumn air with nothing but Aspen’s roving hands to warm me. Only one thing remains.
I step away from him and reach toward my thigh to undo my belted dagger, tossing it to the side where Aspen won’t accidentally touch it. When I return to face him, his eyes are drinking me in.
“Beautiful Evie,” he says.
“Dangerous Aspen,” I whisper.
He kisses me softly this time as he reaches for my thighs. With little effort he lifts me, and my legs go around his waist. The fiery yearning pulses at my core and I feel that sense of losing control growing stronger and stronger. This time I don’t fight it. I welcome it. Welcome his kisses, his hands, his fingers. All of him.
In this moment, there is no looming war, no ritual, no pact, no separation of our kind. In this moment, things are simple—he is mine and I am his. I’m teetering on the edge of passion, tasting all it has to offer me, sampling its joys and pains and moments of euphoria. But I want more than an edge, a sample, a taste.
I let myself fall completely.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The morning dawns on us, sending streams of light into the mouth of the cave. I open my eyes, lifting my head from Aspen’s warm chest. Salty air tickles my senses, blending with Aspen’s rosemary and cinnamon. He wakes, and his eyes meet mine. For a moment, the silence between us feels tense, awkward.
A wave of fear runs through me. Does he regret this? DoIregret this?
His lips pull into the wicked smile I know so well, and he kisses me. Memories of last night rush through me in a wave of pleasure, and my body responds in turn. His hands rove my skin, slip beneath the discarded dress I’d used as a makeshift blanket to caress my back, my hips, my thighs.
“You kept your promise,” he whispers between kisses.
“What promise?”
“That I’d never bed you. Luckily, you never said I couldn’tcaveyou.”
I smile against his lips. “I’m pretty sure I never used the wordsI promise. Nevertheless, I should have given you more credit. Turns out, any place will do.”
“It will,” he says. “However, bed sounds nice. Do you think you’ll reconsider?”
I pull away from him and pretend to ponder. “Hmm. I suppose I can do that.”
“What do you say we return to the palace, get in bed, do this all over again, and have a proper sleep on a surface that doesn’t feel like cold knives?”
I want to say yes, but a more serious thought comes to mind. “What about the ritual?”
His vulnerability returns, but only for a flash. “Have you decided?”
I lay my head back on his chest, bringing my fingers to trail over his golden skin and the hard muscles of his torso. “Tell me about it.”
He’s silent for a moment. “At its simplest, the Bonding ritual requires only one thing—an exchange of names. I’m sure you are already familiar with the act of giving one’s true name.”
“Yes,” I say, suppressing a shudder. I don’t mention that it’s something human children are taught never to do. Always be careful of your wording when introducing yourself to a fae, we’re told. Never say anything like,I give you my name.
“Well, the Bonding ritual is nothing more than that,” he says. “One party states that they give their true name to the other, and the other party states the same. That’s all it takes for the Bond to take hold.”
