The town rises to its feet. Cheers shake the rafters. And finally, since exile carved me out of my own blood, I feel like I belong.
CHAPTER 25
CLARA
My fingers curl into the lapels of his absurdly expensive coat, dragging him into the dim, pine-scented quiet of the storage room. The door clicks shut, sealing us in a world of our own making. I don’t give him a chance to speak, to question, to command. I surge up and crush my mouth to his.
It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a claiming. A raw, desperate press of lips and tongue that rips the air from my own lungs. He freezes for a heartbeat, a statue of stunned orc, and then a low, guttural sound vibrates through his chest into mine. His hands come up, not to push me away, but to frame my face, his thumbs stroking my jawline as his mouth opens under mine, yielding, consuming.
I break the kiss, gasping. “No talking.” My voice is a ragged whisper. I fumble with the fastenings of his trousers, my hands trembling with a urgency I can’t control. “Just feel.”
He watches me, his breath coming in harsh rasps, his dark eyes burning with a intensity that should terrify me. It fuels me. I free his cock, thick and heavy and already straining in my hand. A shiver runs through him at my touch.
I push him back against a stack of wool blankets, the old wood of the shelf creaking in protest. “My turn,” I breatheagainst his neck, tasting the salt of his skin. I hike up my skirt, tear at my own underwear, and guide him to me. The blunt head of him presses against my entrance and I sink down, taking him inside in one slow, breathtaking glide.
A choked groan is ripped from him, his head falling back against the shelves with a solid thud. His hands clamp onto my hips, his grip iron-strong, holding me steady as I adjust to the glorious, stretching fullness of him. I start to move, a slow, rolling rhythm that builds its own heat. His hips jerk upward to meet my downward stroke, and a sharp, pleasured gasp escapes me.
“Clara.” My name is a reverent prayer on his lips, rough and raw.
I lean forward, bracing my hands on his broad shoulders, and find a new angle, a deeper pace. The world narrows to this: the sound of our ragged breathing, the scent of him and pine and us, the slick, perfect friction building between my legs with every rise and fall of my body. His fingers dig into the flesh of my hips, urging me on, meeting every one of my thrusts with a powerful surge of his own. The rhythm is ours, frantic and perfect, a silent language of need spoken only with our bodies.
His hips surge up to meet my downward stroke, a perfect, desperate rhythm that grabs the air from my lungs. I brace my hands on his shoulders, my fingers digging into the hard muscle beneath his coat. Every thrust sends a jolt of pure, liquid heat straight to my core. My pussy clenches around his cock, a tight, wet fist, and a low, guttural groan is torn from his throat.
“You feel…” His voice is gravel, rough and strained. “You feel so fucking perfect.”
The words unravel something deep inside me. I drop my forehead to his, our breath mingling in the scant space between us. The world outside this room, the cold, the noise, it all dissolves into nothing. There is only this. The slick, drivingrhythm of our bodies joining. The way his hands slide from my hips to cup my ass, pulling me down onto him harder, deeper. The raw, open need on his face.
I shift, just a fraction, and his next thrust hits a spot that makes my vision blur. A sharp cry escapes me, swallowed by his mouth as he captures my lips in a searing kiss. He tastes of winter air and something uniquely, fiercelyhim. I kiss him back, all teeth and tongue and desperate hunger, my movements on his cock becoming less controlled, more frantic.
He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against my cheek. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
His promise is my undoing. The coil of pleasure in my belly snaps, and a wave of sensation crashes over me. My body convulses around him, milking his cock as my climax rips through me in silent, shuddering waves. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, muffling my cries against his skin as he holds me through it, his own rhythm stuttering, losing its precision.
He follows me over the edge with a choked, guttural sound that is my name. His release is a hot, pulsing flood inside me, and his arms lock around me, crushing me to his chest as he empties himself completely. We stay like that, tangled together, breathing in ragged unison, the only sound the frantic beating of our hearts slowing to a steady, shared rhythm.
The world comes back in pieces. The rough wool of the blankets against my thighs. The solid, unyielding plane of his chest under my palms. The frantic, slowing drumbeat of his heart against my ear. The air is thick with the scent of us, of pine and sweat and something else, something electric and spent.
I don’t lift my head from the crook of his neck. The words are out before I can catch them, a breathy whisper against his skin, so soft I’m not sure he hears them. “I think I’m falling for you.”
His entire body goes still beneath me. The hands that were stroking my back freeze. The steady rise and fall of his cheststops. For one terrifying second, there is only silence, thick and heavy as the winter snow outside.
Then, a low rumble starts in his chest, a sound that’s part laugh, part groan. He shifts, and I feel the rough texture of his chin as he turns his head to press a kiss into my hair. “You think?” His voice is a gravelly whisper, laced with a warmth that wasn’t there before. “You drag me into a closet, have your wicked way with me, and now you’re conducting a feasibility study?”
A laugh hiccups out of me, shaky with relief. I tilt my head back just enough to see his face. His dark eyes are crinkled at the corners, his usual smugness replaced by a soft, wondering expression that makes my stomach flip. “Data collection is important,” I murmur, tracing the line of his jaw with my finger. “I’m nothing if not thorough.”
He captures my wandering finger, bringing it to his lips. “Your methods are… persuasive.” He kisses the tip, his gaze holding mine. “But falling suggests a lack of control. A surrender.” His thumb brushes over my lower lip. “And you, Clara Wynn, never surrender.”
“Maybe I’m learning.” My voice is barely a whisper.
His expression sobers. He searches my face, his dark eyes seeming to see straight through all my defenses, all the witty retorts I usually hide behind. He sees the raw, terrified hope I just confessed to. He sees me.
He doesn’t say it back. He doesn’t need to. The way he gazes at me, the way his thumb continues its gentle, soothing stroke against my lip, it’s an answer all its own. It’s a promise. It’s a beginning.
CHAPTER 26
DRALGOR
The sound of hammers carries through the ridge like a heartbeat. It starts early, before the sun clears the mountain line, and lingers until the sky turns violet with evening. It is not the harsh clamor of steel on steel I grew up with, nor the manic frenzy of a city project where crews push until their bones ache for profit that isn’t theirs.
