Tyriel heard him, but opted to ignore him as she watched the barmaids approaching her, heir faces flushed from Jaren’s attention, eyes wide and hopefully. They were out of luck, although she wouldn’t tell them.
She’d already spent too many nights alone and while she could do nothing about how a certain blond swordsman had no interest in her, she wasn’t sacrificing a bit of fun with a man she’d taken to her bed more than once, just because a couple of dewy-eyed girls were spinning daydreams about his lovely eyes and wide shoulders.
“Mistress Tyriel…” The brunette was the first to speak.
Aryn made a rude sound under his breath.
She kicked him, hard, under the table. Tyriel had no idea what grievance he’d brought with him to the table, but he had no business being so surly. He gave her a dark look, but she ignored him, smiling at the girl. “Hello, Izette.”
Izette glanced from her to Aryn, then back, clearly more adept at reading the atmosphere than some of those in the room. But the lovely young barmaid was more interested in pleasing the fae lord than appeasing a grouchy blond swordsman.
“M’lord Jaren says you dance, Mistress Tyriel.”
“Does he now?” Tyriel shot her former weapons and tactics teacher a sidelong look. He’d likely had a different idea in mind but this…well, it rather suited her purposes.
Aryn had to get out of the pub before he lost his fucking mind.
Tyriel had pulled off the leather corselet and outer blouse she’d worn, now clad only in her skirts and a chemise that laced up tightly over her lithe form, the sunkissed gold of her skin glowing in the firelight as she spun around, skirts flying high to reveal elegant ankles and bare calves, her body swaying to the music Jaren pulled from his lute with careless ease.
Her arms lifted, palms up as if seeking. Hips swaying enticingly before snapping in a move so sharply, it should have hurt but she made it all look so easy, graceful and fluid like water.
Several men reached out to touch her as she spun by. She easily evaded them, the teasing smile on her lips both a promise and reproof.
The music swelled, rising in volume and intensity.
She passed by him and he caught a hint of her scent, curled his fingers into a fist to keep from grabbing her.
For a moment, her eyes locked with his.
Her lips parted.
But then the music changed and with it, her rhythm.
And she spun away, this time toward the fae lord.
She spun faster and faster. Jaren had risen to his feet, fingers skipping adroitly over the strings as he stood before her.
Abruptly he stopped.
Tyriel stopped dancing.
Applause broke out as Jaren caught her hand and bent forward, his hair falling in a curtain to shield them as he pressed a courtly kiss to her skin.
Aryn turned on his heel, storming away.
“I don’t have much time,” Tyriel said as she led Jaren up the staircase to the room she shared with Aryn. “You fine fae lords can sit on your laurels while human servants fetch you food and drink, but some of us work for a living.”
“Yes,” Jaren said, voice a velvet stroke in the dim hall. “I spend so much time sitting on my…laurels. Are you going to wait on me, Mistress Tyriel?”
The rest of the words were spoken almost directly against her ear as she came to a stop outside the room she shared with Aryn, fingers suddenly clumsy as she dealt with the simple lock. The solid iron was uncomfortable against her skin, but nothing she couldn’t tolerate, thanks to the Wildling blood in her veins and once she had it open, she pocketed the key, ready to push inside, pull Jaren in with her and jump him.
Her breaths came raggedly, heart still pounding hard from the Wildling dance she’d performed, and from needs too long suppressed.
Jaren recognized the dance for what it was, an invitation and now, alone in the narrow hall with her, he crowded her against the door and bit her earlobe. “Open the door, my lady.”
Door. Yes. They should really go inside.
The latch sounded impossibly loud as she opened the door, only to replaced by the roaring in her ears as Jaren came in behind her and kicked the door shut and fell back against it, hauling her in close with his hands on her hips.
“Say yes,” Jaren murmured against her neck as he brought their bodies into alignment.
“Yes.” Tyriel shuddered as his hands moved up from her waist, cupping her breasts, plumping them together, plucking her nipples until they throbbed as he lowered his mouth to her neck and raked it with his teeth.
She moaned as he cupped her between her thighs, rubbing her through her skirts as he whispered, “You’re already wet. Needy. Good. I’m in no mood to be gentle tonight.”
He half-carried, half-hauled her to the nearest bed and bent her over, shoving her skirts to her waist. Weak in the knees already, Tyriel had to bite her lip as he pushed his hand inside the loose, short garment she wore under her skirts over her most intimate places. Body already tight with anticipation, she bucked against him as he plunged two fingers inside her.
“Jaren—” her cry broke as he screwed his wrist, pushing deeper before slowly pulling out.
“Beautiful, princess…come for me…”
She shivered in reaction, her muscles going limp. She might have slipped down his body in a puddle to the floor if strong hands hadn’t held her steady.
“My turn.” Jaren bit her earlobe.
Her heart stuttered at the harsh need in his voice and she gasped at the speed in which he bared himself, then filled her, hard, with no hesitation. Tyriel bounced up onto her toes in reaction to the thick, hard invasion of Jaren’s cock, a sob tearing free.
Magic pricked over her skin, stirring her awareness but her instincts settled as she recognized Jaren’s magic, wrapping around the room in a muffling veil.
He drove into her again, the head of his cock passing over one of the sensitive, nerve-filled bundles in her core and she instinctively tightened around him. His cock jerked and it only had the effect of her inner muscles squeezing him again, and again.
Jaren snarled and he shoved a fist into her hair, pulling. Her spine arched, her scalp tingling from the sensation.
“So hot,” he muttered. “You burn me. Let me burn you, my lady.”
Tyriel moaned as Jaren breathed a whisper of magic down her body, sending hot little flicks of illusory flames to lick at her skin, teasing her nipples before arrowing down the wet heat between her thighs to pleasure them both.
“Beast,” she whispered.
Then there was no time left for words as he drove them to the edge and over, his natural shields containing the small magics that erupted from them as they lost control.
Tyriel lay against him, judging the time by the angle of the sun.
She felt loose and languid, her mind sharp despite her body’s relaxed state.
“I so needed that,” she murmured as he stroked a hand over her hip.
“Why didn’t you turn your lovely eyes to your human companion?”
Tyriel didn’t control the flinch in time. Embarrassed, she sat up, dragging the bed linens up to cover her body in a rare display of self-conscious modesty.
“You noticed that.”
Jaren arched one brow. “Hard not to, the way you made it a point to not stare at him. You could bring any man to your bed if you chose, Tyriel.”