Page 69 of Bride of Ash & Dust

Malrik would probably love that. I clench my jaw as Syvan strolls up to me. His cheeks are bright with either wine or excitement, probably both. He looks like he’s about to say something that’s going to make me want to punch him. I grab the sides of the carriage, pull myself inside, and slam the door behind me before he gets the chance.

The carriage rocks as Lilias pushes herself to the side to make room for me on the one hard seat. She smells like red wine and floral perfume, and gods, that’s a scent I could drown in. I settle on the seat, close my eyes, and try to will my cock to calm down.

Malrik says something I can’t quite make out, and the crowd applauds once more. The carriage lurches forward. Lilias’s dress rustles as she leans into me, her thighs pressed against my legs.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s fine,” I manage to reply through gritted teeth.

“You’d think the mighty kingdom of Vsenrog could spring for a larger carriage,” she whispers.

I laugh, then let my eyes open. Her skirts are bunched against the wall, and it looks like she’s kneeling on the floor of the carriage.

“Fuck,” I growl, under my breath. “Come here.”

I shift on the seat, pulling her up until she’s pressed against my lap. The carriage rocks in a deeply concerning way, then rights itself. My cock screams as it pulses into the thick silk of her skirts. I try my best to ignore it. We can’t be going far in this godsdamned thing.

Lilias shifts, sending a bolt of pleasure and need through my body that makes me bite back a moan.

“Oh!” she gasps, like I’ve caught her in the middle of something scandalous.

“Yes?” I whisper, desperate for a distraction from the building pressure between my legs.

She makes a sound like a half-swallowed laugh against my chest. That sound does wicked things to my insides. I clench my jaw and try to think about something other than the strips of red silk she wore under her robe on our wedding night.

“Go on,” I growl.

“No, it’s—” she stammers. “It’s just, you’re right. What Blayne told me about the stopping point. That really must not be true.”

It takes my overheated brain a moment to pull the sense from her words.

Right. Her shithead lover told her that a man can’t stop once his cock is hard, that he needs to fuck a woman no matter what.

And she’s sitting in my lap right now. There’s no way she could miss my godsdamn rock-hard cock begging for attention.

“Shit,” I mutter. “If we went at it in here, we’d break this fucking thing apart.”

She laughs, deep and full. I close my eyes as I weigh whether or not it would be worth destroying the carriage.

No. Fuck, what am I thinking? I exhale slowly.

“No,” I whisper. “Like I said, the stopping point, that’s bullshit. It just— It goes away on its own.”

You hear that? I tell my aching, idiot cock. Go away. There’s nothing to see here.

Lilias makes a sound that could almost be disappointment, although it probably only sounds that way because it’s filtered through the haze of sexual frustration that’s clinging to me like a fucking cloak. She doesn’t want what’s between my legs. She got forced into this marriage, this stupid tour, and this damned carriage. This woman never would have chosen me.

The carriage ride drags on. I concentrate on the sound of the rain hitting the hood. Lilias is so silent I wonder if the wine and the rocking of the carriage have put her to sleep.

“Zarek?” she asks, after the carriage has jolted back and forth for so long that I could swear we must be at the western border already.

I make a murmuring sound of affirmation, letting her know I’m still awake.

“Syvan told me about Gerrart,” she whispers.

And just like that, any traces of sexual arousal lingering in my body melt into the floorboards.

“Oh,” I reply as my hand makes fist around the thin wooden strip of the door sash.