“Me either,” I said, breathlessly.
He moved against me, teasing me where I was already so wet and needy. “I’ll go slowly,” he promised.
He did. Oh, how he did.
He worked me higher again until I was breathless with need and begging him not to make me wait any longer. He slid the tip inside me and I tightened.
“Relax, sweet Lilia,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I’ll stop if it’s too much.”
I took three deep breaths. “I’m ready.” I pulled him to me once more.
He moved in, inch by slow, agonizing inch, watching to make sure I was okay. The stretch was undeniable, the way he filled me almost overwhelming, yet it was utterly exquisite. I’d never felt so much desire.
“You all right?” He paused.
“More than okay,” I managed. “Don’t stop.”
A low moan escaped him, and he pressed deeper.
“Yes.” I clutched his shoulders.
He cupped my face in his large hands and covered my face and neck with kisses. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
He released my face and moved in and out, slowly at first, and I matched his rhythm. As his pace grew fiercer, I clung on to him, rising, rising, as the sensations grew stronger, almost overpowering.
I grabbed his horns and broke with a cry, one that sounded more feral than anything that had ever come out of me.
He rocked into me, wilder, and fiercer. A feral moan rumbled out of him. He thrust harder, relentless, and then shuddered before going still inside me.
With a sound that was more beast than man, he growled, “Mine.”
CHAPTER 17
HADRIEN
Ithought about Lilia all day.
All while the sun crossed the sky in its slow waltz. Thoughts of the night replayed in my mind with vivid reminders. The softness of her skin. Her fragrance, her taste—nothing had ever gotten me so hard before, or made me so desperate that I couldn’t think of anything else but her. The gasp she’d made when I slowly slid inside her. The way her fingers had dug into my shoulders. How her soft moans escalated the closer she rose, grasping me, the sheets, anything she could hold. How she’d shattered for me with that rapturous look on her face.
When dusk finally broke, breaking me from my reveries of Lilia, I was still achingly hard as if I hadn’t been freed from my stone. Desperate to be with her again, I had to head out for a quick flight before I approached her. It would be too difficult to hide my need to be with her again, and not to bark out “to hell with the wards” so I could take her right to my room.
I couldn’t do that. She’d think I was a veritable beast.
Once I’d finally managed some self-control, I flew back to the castle and found Lilia. Despite attempting to sound neutral, my voice sounded strangled when I suggested we head to another ward. We worked together at the next one, now with more efficiency and less frustration, as we’d found a way to channel our energies to work together.
That didn’t mean I didn’t still agonize over how much I yearned to touch her again. With the way I caught her glancing at me or subtly brushing her fingers to mine, I dared to hope Lilia felt the same way.
Dinner wasits own particular torment.
Genevieve had prepared a venison stew, rich and fragrant with spices, and Victor had opened a bottle of a robust red from the wine cellar. The four of us sat at the long table in the Great Hall, and I was grateful for the distraction, the conversation, anything to fix my attention on that wasn’t how close Lilia was.
The firelight danced across her face as she sat across from me. She gestured with her hands in animated excitement as she told Victor about a variant of yarrow she’d found. My eyes followed the movements of her hands, and I relived the touch of them on my skin last night. Victor asked questions in his unhurried way. Genevieve refilled the bread basket and refilled a shallow bowl with olive oil and herbs.
Lilia glanced at me across the table. A look that lingered and I held it, until she dropped her gaze and played with the stem of her wineglass. I couldn’t stop staring at the movement of her hand.
When I looked up, Genevieve was watching us both with an expression of serene, unreadable satisfaction. She turned to Victor and silent communication passed between them, the way it did for people who had spent decades understanding each other without words. Victor sipped his wine but said nothing.
Once we’d finished our meal, Genevieve covered a yawn—one that seemed feigned. Without looking up, she said, “Victor and I are rather tired this evening. An early night, I think.” She cleared bowls with unhurried efficiency and left the room.
