“Like I said, highness,” he whispered against my skin. “All you had to do was ask.”
I shivered, then turned around so that we were face-to-face. I smiled and leaned forward, as though I were going to kiss him, but at the last moment, I gave him a peck on the nose instead.
Sullivan raised his eyebrows. “Using my own trick against me? That’s not fair.”
“Who said anything about fair?” I grinned. “Especially when we both know that it’s more fun not to play fair.”
I leaned forward again, kissing his neck, just like he had done mine. This time, my fingers went to work on the laces of his clothes. Sullivan lifted his arms, and I drew his tunic up and over his head, tossing it aside. I stopped to admire his bare muscled chest, then skimmed my fingers over the faint scars that cut across his skin, slowly working my way lower and lower. I undid the laces on his leggings, then we both stepped out of our boots, peeled off our socks, and shimmied out of our remaining garments.
When there were no more barriers between us, I stepped close to him again. Sullivan’s hands fisted by his sides, but he didn’t reach for me. Not yet. We stood there, staring into each other’s eyes, both of us breathing hard, anticipating what was coming next.
I had thought to play a slow, teasing game just as he’d done with me, but I wanted him too badly to wait any longer, so I tangled my hand in his hair and drew his lips down to mine. Sullivan growled and started to pull me closer, but I put my other hand on his shoulder and stepped forward. I walked Sullivan all the way over to the bed in the back of the room. His legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he fell back onto the soft blankets.
Sullivan propped himself up on his elbows, while I looked him over from head to toe. His rumpled brown hair. The stubble on his chin. His bare muscled chest. The hard length of him just waiting to be claimed.
“I pictured you like this so many times,” I confessed in a low, husky voice. “Here. In my bed. With me.”
He held out his hand. “Then come and have me, highness.”
I threaded my fingers through his, and he pulled me down onto the bed with him. I took all the proper herbs and precautions, as did he, so there was no worry between us, only desire.
We kissed, our lips and tongues crashing together time and time again, even as our hands slid over each other’s body, kneading, caressing, and bringing as much pleasure to the other as possible.
I rolled Sullivan onto his back, then straddled him. My hand closed over his long, hard cock, and I stroked him the same way he had me. Sullivan arched back, his hands fisting in the blankets. But he was just as impatient as I was, and he reached for me again. I leaned forward, and he pulled me down on top of him, thrusting into me at the same time.
We both moaned. I kissed him again, driving my tongue into his mouth, while his hands roamed up and down my back. Then I rose and started rocking my hips, taking him a little deeper inside with every quick slide.
Sullivan anchored his hands on my hips, urging me on, and I rocked harder, faster, moving in exquisite pleasure with him until we both finally cried out and reached our release together.
* * *
Afterward, Sullivan kept his promise. He tucked me under the blankets, then spooned against my back and drifted off to sleep. I slept as well, but some time later the soothing blackness receded, replaced by memories I would have rather forgotten . . .
I had never been so hungry.
My hunger was like a gargoyle in my belly, constantly growling, grumbling, and demanding to be fed. But there was nothing in the snowy woods to eat, unless I wanted to gnaw on some pine cones.
I eyed one of the spiky brown cones that littered the ground. Would eating a pine cone kill me? I didn’t know, but it certainly wouldn’t be good for me. Then again, neither was wandering around the woods in circles.
Three days ago, I had stumbled away from the ruined remains of Winterwind, my family estate. My father, Jarl Sancus, had been poisoned with wormroot by Ansel, my traitorous tutor, while my mother, Lady Leighton Larimar Winter Blair, had been murdered by a Mortan weather magier while we’d been fleeing from our home. I’d gotten lucky and had managed to kill the weather magier, and I’d been wandering through the woods ever since.
I thought I’d been walking south, heading toward the nearest town, but I must have gotten turned around in the trees because I hadn’t come across any signs of civilization. No hunters stalking deer, no one chopping wood, not even a traveler on the way to Unger or Andvari. My only company was the bluefrost doves softly cooing in the treetops, and for all I knew, I was the last person alive on the entire continent. But staring hungrily at pine cones certainly wasn’t doing me any good, so I wrapped my arms around my still-growling stomach and trudged on.
The only good thing about walking through the woods was that there was plenty of water. I stopped in a clearing, scooped up a handful of snow from the ground, and shoved it into my mouth. The cold crystals froze my tongue before they slowly, reluctantly melted.
I was still crouching down, shoveling snow into my mouth and trying to pretend that it was something more substantial and filling, when a faint crack rang out.
I froze. Another crack rang out, and then another one, falling into a steady rhythm that I recognized as footsteps.
Someone was coming this way.
I stayed frozen in place a moment longer, then my mind sluggishly kicked into gear, whispering a warning. As much as I longed to find someone to help me—or at least give me something to bloody eat—Mortan assassins could be roaming around, searching for survivors of the Winterwind attack. I surged to my feet, but before I could hide behind a tree, two people strode into the clearing.
They stopped and stared, as surprised to see me as I was them.
One was a man, more than six feet tall, with dark brown hair, eyes, and skin, and a long, bushy brown beard. He was bundled up in a black cloak trimmed with shaggy brown fur that made him look like a grizzly. He was carrying a knapsack on either shoulder, with another, larger one strapped to his back. Several small bags were also fastened to his black leather belt, along with a piece of rope with a box dangling from the end. Black cloth covered the container, hiding the contents.
The other person was a woman with long blond hair, blue eyes, and milky skin, who was as petite and slender as the man was tall and stocky. Her black cloak was trimmed with sleek purple feathers, making her resemble a small, elegant strix.
The two of them must have been traipsing through the woods for quite some time, given the snow that crusted their black boots, but they looked warm and cozy in their thick cloaks, as though the chilly air wasn’t bothering them. I had to clench my hands into fists to keep from shivering in my thin blue dress.
“Hello, there, little lady,” the woman crooned in a soft voice. “What are you doing out here?”
“I’m . . . lost.”
It was more or less the truth, and it seemed to be the safest, most plausible explanation. I couldn’t tell these people, these strangers, who I was or what had happened at Winterwind. Not until I knew for certain that they weren’t Mortan assassins.
Part of me still wanted to bolt into the woods, but that hadn’t done me any good the last three days, so I forced myself to walk forward, as though I weren’t afraid of them.
“Can you help me find my parents? We were heading toward Andvari and stopped to make camp a few hours ago. My mother sent me to get some firewood, but I couldn’t find any, and I got turned around. All these stupid trees look the same.” I let out a weak laugh, hoping they wouldn’t realize how ridiculous my story was.