Page 131 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

I look over to find Grier with Ryewood in a headlock, laughing in a way I almost never hear from him. Ryewood is trying to throw him off while Finn heckles them both. Despite everything, I smile at the idiots. My idiots.

A messenger appears at the top of the cliff stairs, and we all tense.

“Prince Hayesland! The King has requested your presence immediately.”

Hayes’s expression hardens. “Of course he does.”

He and Grier start toward the steps while Rosie gathers her things. Finn waits for her, and I don’t miss the way his hand brushes the back of her arm as she passes.

“Coming?” Finn calls over his shoulder.

“I need to stretch first.” I roll my shoulders. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Ryewood reaches for his shirt, and I let myself drink in one last look at all that golden skin, the sheen still clinging to his chest, and the trail of hair disappearing beneath his waistband⁠—

I look up and find he’s already watching me with that knowing, infuriating smirk on his face. He pulls his shirt over his head and stops, letting the fabric bunch at his chest. Then he drags it down slowly, over his pecs and every ridge of his abdomen. I bite my lower lip, but I refuse to look away. His shirt finally falls into place, and the look on his face says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me and is savoring it far too much. It makes my thighs press together.

Fuck, I want this man.

“You coming, Rye?” Grier says flatly.

“I’ll wait for Gemma,” he says, eyes never leaving mine. “And help her stretch.”

The wink he sends me says stretching is not what he has in mind.

Grier’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t argue. He just turns and follows the others up the stone stairs.

And then it’s just us. The beach goes quiet in a way that prickles my skin. It’s empty but still exposed. I glance toward the stairs…I should go back, but I don’t. Instead, I move to the cliff wall and press my palms against the cool stone. I bend forward, stretching my hamstrings deliberately low, and I feel his eyes burn into me the whole time.

“You’re staring, Ryewood.” I throw the words over my shoulder like a challenge.

“You’re making it impossible not to, little fox.” There’s heat in his voice that makes my core tighten.

I arch my back further and roll my hips, taking my time.

“Just stretching,” I say sweetly, but we both know the game I’m playing.

“That’s not stretching.” I feel his voice closer now. “That’s fucking torture.”

I glance over my shoulder, and he’s right behind me. His eyes are dark, and his jaw is tight.

“Still just watching?”

His hand cups my ass, firm and claiming.

I straighten slowly and turn to face him. He’s close, so close that the heat radiating off him cuts through the February chill. I reach for him and trail my fingers down his chest, heading toward his waistband⁠—

He moves before I can get there. One hand catches my wrist, the other grips my hip, and he walks me backward until the cold stone of the cliff presses against my back. He pins my wrists above my head with one hand, holding me in place like it’s nothing. His other hand is still on my hip, thumb circling with a patience that borders on cruelty.

“I don’t think so, little fox.” His lips brush my ear. “I’d like to see you try.” He repeats my own words back to me, dark and promising. “Did you think I’d forget?” His thigh presses harder between my legs. “I’m going to ruin you so slowly. Push you until you’re shaking, until you’re crying out my name. And I won’t let you come until begging is the only thing you remember how to do.”

My breath catches, and my heart slams against my ribs. I should take control, should prove I’m not so easily handled, but his words have lit a fire inside me.

“So make me beg, Ryewood,” I say, daring him, but my voice comes out wanting, giving me away.

His thigh presses firmer between my legs, and I can’t stop the whimper that escapes. He smiles against my ear. “Let’s see how long you last.”

His hand slides from my hip and traces along my waistband, back and forth, back and forth, but never dips below. It’s sweet, agonizing torture. Every inch of me aches for him. And he knows it; I can see it in the dark satisfaction in his eyes.