He unbuckled his belt, the weight of the weapons hanging from it pulling his trousers low. Dragging them down to reveal paler skin, then hipbones, then all of him, and the sight nearly undid her.
Lara started to slide to her knees, but he caught her by the hips, his thumbs hooking the waist of her undergarments, easing them over her bandage. He knelt, kissing her navel as his hands chased back up her legs, fingers teasing her thighs apart.
“You’re perfect,” he growled, and she could feel the heat of his breath against the slick wetness of her sex, dragging a whimper of anticipation from her lips as he spread her wide, fingers sliding inside her even as he lowered his face to consume her.
Lara sobbed as pleasure stole over her, need that had long been denied building in her core as his tongue teased over her sensitive flesh, his fingers stroking deeper, her body turning liquid beneath his touch. She ground against him, her fingers caught in his hair, the world spinning faster and faster until she was on the brink, and then in one swift motion, Aren was back on his feet.
“Not yet,” he murmured, bending to kiss one of her breasts, his mouth hot as he sucked one nipple, then the other, her body shaking as his teeth scraped over them.
She wrapped one arm around his neck, kissing him. With the other, she caught hold of his cock, smiling as he groaned against her lips, his muscles flexing as she took hold of his length. She stroked it from tip to stem, stoking his desire as she pulled him toward the edge of breaking. Then she breathed into his ear, “I need you in me.”
He turned her, his mouth tracing lines of fire down her neck, nipping at her shoulder. His fingers interlaced with hers as he bent her over the table, neither of them caring as their hands slid through the mess of blood, knocking her weapons to the floor with a clatter.
“There is no one in the world like you.” His chest pressed against her back, and she could feel the thud of his heart. Could feel his cock between her thighs, turning her body to fire as she pushed back against him, needing him to fill her. Needing him to finish her. “You are my goddamned damnation, but there will never be anyone but you.”
Then he drove into her.
A scream of pleasure ripped from Lara’s throat as he thrust into her, over and over, the feel of him in her somehow both familiar and new, the sensation driving her to madness. Her shoulders shuddered, elbows giving way beneath his strength, the only thing keeping her from collapsing his arm around her torso, the other braced against the tabletop.
There was a wildness to it. A desperation, as if they’d both been deprived too long of water and needed to drink. Lara screamed as her pleasure built, then climaxed, every ounce of strength left in her used up by the intensity, even as it pulled Aren over the edge. He slammed into her, gasping her name, both of them collapsing against the table.
Spent past the point of endurance, Lara barely felt him as he lifted her and carried her to the bed. His arms wrapped around her as she slipped into oblivion.
When she woke hours later, she found herself curled around him, her face pressed against his chest, the steady thud thud of his heart beating in her ear. She inhaled, the familiar scent of him filling her nose, his hand pressed against the small of her back. It was the place she was meant to be—the place she hadn’t dared hope to ever find herself in again. Yet instead of contentment, a sense of trepidation crawled through her veins.
Aren was awake; she could tell from the sound of his breathing. And yet he was entirely still, his hand stiff against her back rather than moving with the gentle strokes and caresses she was used to waking to.
Something wasn’t right.
She lifted her face. Aren was staring at the ceiling, his expression barely visible from the light of the lantern across the room. But at her motion, he shifted, easing out from under her and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“Where are you going?” Her voice rasped and she coughed to clear her throat.
“I need to take a turn on patrol.”
It was an excuse. She reached for his hand, needing him to stay. Needing to extend this moment that in her heart she’d known was too good to be true. “Let someone else do it.”
But he was already across the room, pulling on his clothes, his back to her.
“Aren.” She fell out of bed, her legs tangling in a sheet, dizziness forcing her to pause as she stood. “Don’t go.”
His hands stilled on his belt, then he finished buckling it and reached for his boots, dragging them on. “This was a mistake.”
“It wasn’t. Don’t say that.”
“It was. I promised my people we were done. What we did tonight is no better than me spitting in their faces.”
It was like a vice clamped around her chest, tightening until it hurt to breathe.
“I can’t be around you, Lara. I can’t risk this happening again.”
She knew he was right, but still she said, “I love you.”
Aren only walked toward the door. He paused with his hand on the latch, before turning to look at her. “I’m sorry.”
Then he disappeared into the night.
51
Aren
Aren stumbled half a dozen times walking down the path to the village; it was a small miracle that he didn’t step on a snake or twist an ankle, his mind everywhere but on the ground in front of him.
Her sob as he’d left had been worse than a knife to the gut, the anguish in it a thousand times greater than when he’d stitched up her leg. All he wanted was to go back. To scoop her up and lose himself in her. To keep her safe until she was strong. To never be away from her again.
Except every time he closed his eyes, he saw the expressions that would cross his people’s faces if they discovered what he’d done. If they discovered that he, their king, had taken the woman who’d betrayed them back into his bed.
Back into his heart.
He barely noticed the nods of his soldiers on watch as he made his way toward the center of the village, to the faint glow of the fire and the lone shadow sitting next to it.
“Took an awfully long time to stitch up that leg, even for you,” Jor drawled, then stretched until his back cracked. “She all right?”
Lara wasn’t anywhere close to all right, but Jor didn’t need to know that. “Will be fine as long as it doesn’t foul. As long as she keeps off of it.”
“Not much chance of that.” Jor held out a bottle. “You all right?”
Not even close. “I’m fine. Where’s Taryn?”
“Lia’s with her. Lass had a rough year, but she’s strong. Put a weapon in her hand and she’ll fight.”
The last thing Taryn needed was more violence, but Aren only nodded, trusting Jor’s judgment on the matter.
Sitting across the fire, he took a long mouthful from the bottle, staring at the flames. Trying to regain control of his emotions, but the wild twist of hurt and anger and guilt refused to let him be.
“You have to choose, you know.” Jor took the bottle back, drinking deeply. “Between her and Ithicana. You can’t have both.”
“I don’t want her.” As if saying it could make it true.
“Could’ve fooled me with the sounds coming out of Nana’s house.”