My heart sinks, making my blood go cold.
But he isn’t finished speaking. “In the sky. Right now.” His words are clipped. Sharp. Emitted between uneven breaths.
Hope sparks inside me. I pull back a few inches, enough to see his eyes again. “Right now? What do you mean right now?”
A seductive smile curls his mouth. “If I was used to the feel of your hands on me, I could control myself. But I can’t fly and kiss you at the same time. I can’t touch or be touched by you too long. We’ll plummet to our deaths.”
I arch a teasing brow. “I thought you said you’d never let me fall.”
“Which is exactly why we’re landing.”
Before I can prepare myself, Thorne’s wings go still and we begin to plummet. I squeal, securing my arms around his neck once more. His chest rumbles with laughter against mine. Our momentum shifts, gathering speed. Soon I’m no longer squealing but laughing with him, drinking in the thrill of my stomach dipping, still tingling with desire, still aching for that kiss.
This time, I don’t try to avert my gaze from our surroundings. I take it all in. The sky, those tendrils of color growing fainter the farther we dive, the ground rising up to meet us. Soon the silhouette of the manor comes into view, but Thorne slows down before we reach it. His wings beat the air slower, heavier, and we drift down to a plush lawn beside a lake. His feet hit the earth with grace. I, on the other hand, expend far more effort in disentangling my legs from around him.
Once I gather my bearings and secure my feet beneath me, Thorne takes my hand and leads me closer to the lake, where a gazebo sits near the shore. I vaguely recognize it from our ride the other day. I’d only seen it from afar then, but now I enter the charming structure of white wood draped in climbing ivy, its domed ceiling illuminated by a cluster of bright-green bugs. Or sprites, perhaps. They flutter overhead, then dart away to the lake’s edge as I step beneath the roof. Two wicker chairs and a lounge decorate the inside, covered in an array of plush pillows. The sound of the lake rippling with gentle waves provides an enchanting lullaby alongside the chirp of crickets and other nighttime critters skittering about the lawn and the forest beyond.
“It’s beautiful here,” I say, turning around to face Thorne.
He stands outside the gazebo, his hands braced overhead on the outer beam of the roof. His wings and horns are gone, and while part of me is disappointed to see those beautiful wings hidden, I suppose he’s used to banishing his unseelie form whenever it’s no longer needed. My eyes skate over his wide chest, muscles flexing as it pulses with his sharp breaths. I drop my gaze to the low rise of his trousers, the tantalizing V between his hips. I’m once again entranced by his beauty, his seductive allure.
But why isn’t he approaching me? Why is he still outside the gazebo?
His dark gaze is locked on mine, and there’s something predatory in his eyes. Something dark and thrilling that I want to explore. That I want to tease out of him.
“Briony.” The sound of my name mingles with the lapping of the lake, the rustle of the breeze. I nearly shudder. “Do you want me?”
“Was it not obvious up there?” I say.
He gives no reply, only studies my face, my shoulders, still bare from where my chemise slipped, then down to my stockinged legs. The veins in his forearms flex, as if he’s gripping that ceiling beam with all his might. It reminds me of what he did to the chair when I kissed his ear.
“Why are you hesitating?” I ask. I don’t want to say the rest, but I have to ask. “Is it because of…my engagement?”
He lowers one hand from the ceiling beam to run his hand over his jaw. I watch the trail of his fingertips as they graze his bottom lip, wishing I could replace that hand with my tongue. When he speaks, his voice is husky. Gravelly. A tone that has my stomach tightening. “A good man would care that the woman he desires is practically engaged to someone else. That she’s prepared to marry that person. An honorable man would refuse to touch her until her ties with the other party were thoroughly severed.”
My pulse quickens. Will he ask that of me? Ask me to dissolve our bargain and end my unwanted betrothal to Monty Phillips for good? A weight lifts off my shoulders at the thought.
“But,” Thorne says, his seductive grin returning, “I am neither good nor honorable. I will have whatever of you you’re willing to give me. Even if it’s fleeting. Temporary. Stolen. If that’s what you want. If you truly want me, say so and I will give myself to you, in any way you desire.”
“I want you,” I state without hesitation. My body thrums with my conviction. Stars above, I want him. Someone who is mine. My choice. My desire. Bargains, curses, and family rivalries aside, I want him. My baker, my villain, my dance partner, my friend, my enemy. All of that. I wanthim. “I need you, Thorne.”
He removes his other hand from the ceiling beam now. In just a few long strides, he reaches me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other splayed against my lower back. I collide with him as he presses his lips to mine, hard and demanding. Angling my head, I allow the kiss to deepen. I part my lips and feel his tongue sweep against mine, hungry and searching. My legs tremble at the feel of him kissing me—finallykissing me—and I turn my weight over to him, letting him support me, lift me, and lay me on the cushion-strewn floor of the gazebo.
My back settles into one of the cushions, and Thorne lowers himself over me, tugging the hem of my chemise higher to allow him to occupy the space between my legs. I wrap my thighs around his waist, much like I did in the sky. His lips leave mine to trail over my cheek, my jaw, and this time it doesn’t feel like a tease. This time it’s simply an extension of our kiss, an illustration of the passion burning between us.
His mouth paints every inch of my skin that my chemise bares, and when he reaches my breasts, he tugs the gown lower, greeting each mound with a sweep of his tongue. Then lower once more, freeing my stomach. I arch my back with every kiss he lays over my skin, then my hips as he pulls my chemise the rest of the way down.
He settles lower, trailing kisses over my garter, then to the lace at the top of my stockings. With a flick of his fingers, he unhooks the silk from the garter and slides my stockings down one leg, then the other, replacing every inch he bares with a kiss. He pulls down my garter and silk underwear next. My heart slams against my ribs as I lie fully naked before him. He sits back on his heels, eyes sweeping over me. “You’re stunning, Briony Rose.”
I lift myself from the cushion and rise to my knees before him. A sudden self-consciousness comes over me as I bring my hands to his chest, trailing my fingertips over the inked designs of coiled scales. This is so different from anything we’ve done before, even inthat one dream. Then, we refused to touch, only watched each other’s hands. But now he’s solid beneath me. Real. We know one another—the good parts and the bad, our pasts, our identities—and we still delight in the other’s touch.
A groan rumbles in his chest as I slide one hand down the front of his torso, then lower until I cup the length straining against his trousers. Leaning closer, I press my lips to his, capturing another groan. His tongue sweeps in as one hand palms my backside, the other rising up my waist, then over my breast, to tease my nipple with his thumb. I pant against his mouth and slide my hand beneath the waistband of his trousers. He leans back, shifting his position until his legs are beneath me and I’m straddling his hips.
Together we tug his trousers down, finally freeing the full length of him. He remains seated upright as I slide my aching center over him, gasping as he fills me. We pause, and he presses a long, gentle kiss against my lips. “I meant it, Briony,” he whispers against my mouth. “When I said you were perfect, I meant it. Whether we’re fighting or fucking, stones, you’re perfect. You’re everything. Exactly as you are. I love—”
My heart leaps at that word.
“I love everything about you,” he says, softly, slowly. “I love the way you argue. The way you laugh. I even love the way you hate me.”
