The largest window in the cabin is behind him, and the curtains are thrown wide open, revealing the wintry landscape beyond, where snow continues to drift from the sky. As he settles into a steady rhythm, claiming me with hard, deep thrusts, I watch the graceful movements of his body, the swirling white snow framing him like something out of a dream.
And for a moment, I feel like I might be dreaming. Because surely this can’t be real. Surely I’m not truly being claimed by the Lord of Frostfall, the powerful highborn fae male I once feared.
But I feel so safe as he claims me.
Safe and treasured.
His eyes keep rolling back in his head, and his fae growls reverberate through the cabin, merging with the sound of flesh slapping flesh and the steady crackling of the fire.
He pauses and stares down at me, and a shiver rushes through me at the wicked gleam that abruptly enters his eyes. He pulls out of my center, but only for a moment, only so he can guide my legs over his shoulders, a position that forces me to spread wider. A position that allows him to sink even deeper when he finally resumes claiming me.
Oh, gods.
A keening moan escapes my throat.
“That’s it, little moth. Moan for me.”
His words send a fresh flush over my face and down my neck, spilling across my bosom. And the instant the thought crosses my mind, he takes advantage of it, leaning down to blow his winter-cold breath over my hardened peaks. I gasp.
Then he takes one nipple into his mouth, laving it with his warm tongue. Again and again, he repeats the motion, switching between my breasts, driving me wild with his relentless, lustful ministrations.
All the while, he continues thrusting into me, pounding me so hard that his scrotum smacks audibly against the curve of my ass.
At last, he pulls away from my bosom, his teeth dragging across my nipple just before he lets go. His cock swells larger inside me, and a feral growl vibrates from his chest, an animalistic noise that makes me quiver with need.
He reaches between us again, not to apply more healing light, but to circle a thumb over my most sensitive spot, my pulsing clit. I whimper and moan, but when I try to meet his thrusts, the hand still gripping my hip tightens, holding me firmly in place and keeping me exactly where he wants me, his strength effortlessly overpowering mine.
A shiver runs through me at this display of dominance. He began claiming me with gentleness, even using his winter magic to ease my pain, but now he is taking what he wants.
He’s keeping me pinned beneath him as he drives into my center, growling low in his throat while his thumb circles my clit with the perfect amount of pressure.
Just as the first wave of my release crashes over me, he thrusts faster, deeper, and I feel the first spurt of his seed entering my pussy. Oh, my gods. I cry out and clutch the furs as he rides me, taking what he wants, claiming me, filling me with his essence. It’s rough and nearly violent, but it’s what I need. It’s what we both need.
The promise of forever.
The intensity of our bond.
Fated mates.
My climax rushes through me, pulsating hot and quick, stealing every coherent thought. Gideon’s thrusts become uneven and he gasps between growls. He clutches me close, holding my heated body against his chilled one, anchoring me to him as the blissful quakes finally begin to fade.
He gives one final thrust, then stills inside me. Leaning down, he brushes my hair from my face, holding my gaze with an intense look. I sense his immense satisfaction. Warmth hums through our bond, and it feels as though the tether that connects our hearts is suddenly stronger. Unbreakable.
He brushes his nose against mine, his cold breath caressing my face, providing much-needed coolness to my sweat-dampened brow.
Slowly, he withdraws from my center, and I flush as his seed spills out to coat my inner thighs. Before I can move, he lifts me in his arms, cradling me in his lap. He nuzzles his nose against mine, a gesture he’s done a few times, one that never fails to make me swoon.
“Now we are fully bonded, little moth,” he murmurs. “Our hearts and souls, forever entwined.”
CHAPTER 22
GIDEON
I holdIsabel’s hand as we approach the sea of tents spread across the mountainside near Hollins. The Winter Court army stretches over the horizon and through the trees, thousands upon thousands of white canvas structures dotting the snow-laced terrain. Smoke drifts upward from cooking fires, boots crunch over frozen ground, steel clashes in the makeshift training pits, and shouted commands echo across the camp. Above it all, over a dozen winged, highborn fae patrol the sky.
I easily spot King Theron’s tent on the edge of camp, the largest structure of all. I tighten my grip on Isabel’s hand and guide her through the maze of tents, supply lines, and soldiers.
Sensing my mate’s unease at being around so many fae soldiers, the same Winter Court soldiers who conquered Braemar, I send her a pulse of reassurance through the bond, softened with affection.
