“A shame it’s so close to dawn,” she murmured, echoing his thoughts.
“That’s no tragedy. My tail will harden when the sun rises,” he teased, still giddy with happiness. “You can play with it all day if you like. I’ll enjoy every minute.”
Her breath caught as though she’d just realized something, but she didn’t speak, only shifting against him. Her fingers idly traced a ridge of scar tissue along his collarbone, her cheeks growing pink. When he probed her thoughts through the bond, she pulled back, shutting him out.
“What is it?” His stomach twisted, waiting for her answer. Had he offended her somehow?
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You blocked your mind from me.”
She propped herself on her elbow. Her hair fell across her cheek, and she pushed it back impatiently. “I was just thinking that your tail isn’t the only thing that will be hard all day.”
He barked a laugh. He’d feared she was hiding some distaste for him, and she was only concealing an off-color joke. “I’ve had the same complaint myself. It’s only hard when I can’t use it.”
“You can’t”—her eyes met his, twinkling with amusement—“but I can.”
“You’re welcome to use me any way you like while frozen,” he said cheerfully. “As you have been.”
“I haven’t!” she yelped.
“You certainly have,” he teased, enjoying her fervent protest. “I have felt your luscious breast press against my open palm, and your backside grind against me while you took your pleasure. And you’ve kissed me more than once when I couldn’t kiss you back. You’re certainly welcome to climb atop my cock if itpleases you. It would be the most exquisite torture of my life, but I would endure it gladly every morning.”
The smile that crossed her face was neither shy nor startled nor embarrassed. It was downright wicked. “Then you might consider removing your breeches before the sun comes up.”
“I’ll make arrangements,” he said, dry humor covering his eagerness.
She kissed his jaw. The bond carried her bright anticipation, and he rushed to beat the heavy tightening in his limbs that foreshadowed daysleep. His breeches sailed to the floor. He positioned himself on his back, wings spread across the bed, his posture open and body bare, showing all his broken bits. The deep scars in his hide. The rebuilt legs, cracks visible. The cock that still slept on his thigh.
He grasped the base, coaxing it upright, just as the stone took him. It moved inward from his wingtips and his claws, freezing him joint by joint, locking muscle and tendon and the breath in his lungs. His eyes stayed open. His cock hardened last. It was fully, helplessly, magnificently hard.
She reached for him. Her fingers closed around his, warm and certain, before sliding upward along his shaft. He thought that his unuttered moan might shatter him.
“Good morning, husband,” she murmured.
Hannalinde
He was beautiful in stone.
She’d thought so before, in the Tower, when she’d stolen kisses from his frozen mouth, not realizing he was awake. But she’d never seen him like this: naked, spread out like an offering, the cock that his waking body denied him standing rigid and on display.
The morning light striped his chest in pale bars and caught the ghost of leaves in his healed wing membranes. She kissed him on the mouth. “I’ll be right back, my love.”
She left him briefly to check on Rosalore in the nursery and attempt to ease her aching breasts. She coaxed her sleepy daughter to nurse a little and left her in good hands with the nanny so she could return to Rikard’s stone arms.
There, she sought him through the bond. He was present, faintly. She could just touch his awareness, although it was muted. He was in there, watching her through those fixed-open eyes. Her shift whispered as she pulled it over her head and let the weak sunlight kiss her bare skin.
She’d touched his cock before, when curiosity had driven her to explore the safe, velveted texture. But that had been his waking body, soft and unresponsive. This was different. The stone of daysleep mimicked hard arousal, and the feel of him like this sent an answering spark through her.
She stroked him up and down, slowly, skimming over the slightly rough texture. It didn’t intimidate her, though. Her bone phallus had much more texture, with its carved ridges and extra nubs for stimulation. It had been good practice, though, her body learning to accommodate what it had come to fear.
Through the bond, a flare of his pleasure, quiet but unmistakable. He could feel every touch, even if the mental connection wasn’t as blaringly direct as it had been during the night.
She straddled him, feeling scandalous. Her thighs spread wide across his hips, and her knees found purchase in the mattress on either side. Her hands braced on his chest as she adjusted her position so his cock was lined up with her entrance. His blank eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but she was in his field of vision, and through the bond, she felt his quiet desire sharpen into hunger.
Encouraged, she sank down on the broad, blunt tip, and panic rose in her throat. She held herself there, breathing, letting her body adjust to the pressure. Rikard himself had taught her this:Patience. Don’t push. Let the yourself open.Her body knew what it wanted, if she gave it time to stop being afraid.
She sank down an inch. The stretch was immediate, a fullness she’d felt with Rikard’s tail but different, because this was unresponsive stone rather than living, pulsing flesh. Still, it felt good to them both. Every glimpse she got of his emotional state confirmed it. He was grateful, in awe of her. Proud of how brave she was to try this.
