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I roll my eyes and offer a huff of frustration.
“Please fuck me,” I ask and then, because even though I’m more aroused than I’ve ever been before, I want him to know I see him, see what leap he’s taking in this, I add his name, my voice soft. “Ruskin. Rus, please.”
It works to drive all restraint from him, and he releases a groan as he sinks into me.
I cry out at the pressure, the stretch of him pushing against my walls. For a moment, I think it will be too much, that I can’t possibly handle every inch of him, but he stills, allowing me to adjust. The closeness breaches all boundaries, the intimate connection of our bodies making everything else fall away. I no longer care about games and power plays, just the feeling of him inside of me. There’s nothing else in this moment—just me and him and what we’re sharing.
A bead of sweat runs down my spine and I bend further forward, placing my forehead against the wood. He rubs his thumb against the small of my back, a soothing motion that makes me shiver with pleasure. I shift a little, trying to find a better fit, and he instantly understands. His hand gently circles my hip, lifting me up to re-position himself inside me. The movement grazes the head of him against something deep-rooted and wonderful.
“Oh God,” I whine against the table.
“There we go,” he sounds disgustingly pleased with himself. So much so that I can’t let him get away with it. I push roughly back onto him, taking him deeper, and I’m pleased when the smugness is replaced with a sharp intake of air.
“Absolutely no patience,” he chastises, but I can hear the smirk on his lips. He pulls his hips back, then drives forward, plunging back into me, hitting that perfect spot. As he buries himself to the hilt, I’m incoherent. I have no clever reply. I can only cling to the table as he thrusts into me, battering me with wave after wave of rapture.
I can tell when he’s close, his movements becoming more frantic with each roll of his hips. It builds just as the pleasure within me rise up into a relentless force, sending every nerve screaming.
“Rus!” I shout, and he wraps his arm around my stomach, hauling me up against him. His hand massages between my legs as he continues to pump into me, and I can only cry out with satisfaction as I reach completion, riding the sensation all the way down as my inner muscles spasm around him.
Ruskin lets out a loud, low moan, then administers one more punishing thrust before he tenses. He sinks his head onto my shoulder, teeth nipping at the skin there as he spills inside of me.
We stand there, bodies still joined, clothes half off. We’re both panting, and the fog of delicious, incredible sex begins to lift. My brain at last starts functioning again…
And I realize I’ve thoroughly crossed my line.
I wonder if he feels it too. Something has changed between us, there’s no mistaking that—especially when he presses a tender kiss to the spot he was biting a moment before, a soft brush of lips as he disentangles our bodies. I turn, letting my skirts drop as he tucks himself back into his pants. His hands cover himself as he straightens his clothes, and I lift my eyes to his.
It’s strange, how it’s somehow both easier and harder to meet his gaze after what we’ve just done. I’ve exposed myself to him in more ways than one, made myself more vulnerable than ever before in a relationship where I hardly had the upper hand to begin with, and yet…
He’s done the same too, hasn’t he? If Destan’s description of his behavior after the harvest moon is anything to go by, he doesn’t like to lose control. That’s why he wouldn’t even tell his closest friends and allies what’s happening to the realm, why he’s kept his secrets so close to his chest and everyone else at arm’s length.
But I definitely wasn’t at arm’s length here.
Yes, a lot of it might have just been about desire, but as we stand together now—still so close I can feel the heat coming off his skin—I’m certain that this wasn’t just about lust. He’s let me in. Maybe only a fraction, maybe only to just one side of the complex puzzle he is—but if the door is ajar, you can bet I’m going to push on it.
“Let me get you some water,” he says, his voice soft, his Seelie features settling into place.
I realize as he says it how thirsty I am, my body parched from the effort of our activities.
I nod in thanks as he exits the room. It surprises me at first, that he’s going to get it himself, and then I feel an abrupt wave of gratitude that he’s not summoned a servant, who would no doubt immediately be able to tell what had happened, even if I did get my dress closed in time.
Speaking of which...I pull the fabric back up over myself and start work on the laces.
I take the time to examine the library I’d been too worked up to really see before. There are more doors here, leading to rooms deeper into Ruskin’s quarters than I’ve ever been. As always, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I wander towards them—it’s not like Ruskin said anything about me not snooping around.
I follow a short corridor, passing what looks like an open door to a drawing room, but it’s a bigger set of double doors I’m interested in. I have a hunch they’ll lead to the most interesting part of this place.
I push them open and my guess is confirmed. They lead to a grand bedroom, the palette muted, but hardly depressing. Dark golds and greens make up the bedspread, and the frame of the huge four-poster is dotted with climbing plants and the occasional rose.
It’s when I glance up that I catch my breath. At first, I think the room is like so many others in the palace—open to the sky—but then I realize that makes no sense, because it’s the middle of the day, and the expanse above me shows the stars glittering in a velvety black night. It’s an enchantment, a decoration like a captivating oil painting. But this is no mere painting. I watch as the clouds drift across it, emphasizing the vastness of the heavens. I suspect the moon, now just a sliver of pale yellow, changes with the days.
My eyes fall to the bed, wondering what it must be like to lie in it and stare up at the sky while remaining safely cocooned in your own private space. I’m curious as to whether it shows the day when the evening draws in, or whether it depicts sunsets and sunrises.
A voice makes me jump as I stand there, contemplating the four-poster.
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of going another round?”
Chapter 22
