I groan, shock and worry washes over me, dampening my release. That was way too fucking close.
Once the dam has broken, Fox and I quickly fall back into a too familiar pattern.
It’s like two years ago when I first started going to his room. Our physical relationship resumes as if there were no interruption, but we don’t kiss, we rarely look at each other during, and we don’t talk before or afterward—although the latter is mostly for fear of being overheard.
Neither of us brings up the idea of a relationship again, except in reference to our fake one, and though we don’t talk about it, I think we both know that there’s a time limit to this brief relapse.
When we go back to Vernallis, it won’t be like this anymore.
We’re never going to be more than this.
With one week left until my birthday, we’re out on the practice field again.
Fox and I circle each other, our practice swords at the ready. He’s clearly distracted today, and his eyes keep dropping to my lips, my neck, my waist.
“You’re not paying attention,” I scold, smacking him on the arm with the flat of my blade to punctuate the point.
“I am,” he insists, even as he makes no effort to block my strike.
“I could kill you and you’d never know because you’re too focused on my breasts.”
“Probably,” he agrees, sounding unbothered by his potential demise.
I see my opening and strike, knocking his blade from his grip with a satisfying clatter. He blinks at his empty hand, then lunges for my weapon.
I laugh as I twist away, holding my sword above my head. “That’s cheating!”
He’s already got his fingers around the hilt of my sword, his chest pressed against mine. The heat of him burns me even through our clothes. He wrenches the sword from my grasp and tosses it aside. We stumble, toppling over into the hard-packed snow.
Fox rolls me over and pins me to the ground, fingers circling both my wrists. His breath is hot against my neck as our chests rise and fall in rapid tandem.
A bead of sweat slides down his temple as he holds my arms above my head, his thighs straddling mine. I could break free—Iknow the counter move—but I don’t. Instead, I arch my back and his pupils dilate, jaw clenching.
He abruptly stands and pulls me to my feet. Our eyes meet, and without having to discuss it, we walk off the field and straight back to our tent.
With five days left to go, Fox holds me up in the air, my legs draped over his shoulders, my back pressed against the rough bark of a tall tree. One of his hands grips my ass to steady me while his other hand works up and down his own length.
I gasp, fingers digging into his scalp as his tongue works against me, tracing patterns that make my entire body tremble. He thrusts his tongue into me, fucking me with it, and my head falls back against the tree, eyes fluttering closed as sensation overwhelms me.
He makes me come twice, first by sucking on my clit until I see stars, and again by sinking his teeth into my inner thigh.
Later, as we sit at dinner pretending to be happily mated, he keeps running his thumb over the bite mark beneath the hem of my dress, and my body trembles so much it’s hard to hold my fork steady as I eat.
“Do you ever want to let your wings out?” I blurt out later that evening.
We’re halfway to the hot springs, with no one around to hear us, but still I hadn’t really meant to ask out loud.
Fox looks up so sharply that I hear his neck crack. “What?”
“When you’re fighting I mean. I’ve hardly ever seen you let them out, but you’re in all sorts of life threatening situations. I just wondered if you have to focus on it.”
“Oh.” He blinks a few times, as if dazed. “Er, no. I don’t have to think about it.”
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“Maybe because there haven’t been any wars between the Fae in such a long time,” I muse. “Most males haven’t ever been in a real fight, so every time there’s a tavern brawl everyone’s wings come out. But since you’re used to fighting, that doesn’t happen to you.”
