Page 145 of The Faceless Queen

“Do it,” I whispered.

Brennan pulled back, his jaw muscles tensed. But he shook his head, his eyes sliding back and forth across the room, sweeping through our guests, our witnesses, before he looked back at me and gestured to his armor.

“Me first,” he said.

My heart swelled. Him first, so there’d be less time that I was naked. He was still trying to protect me. And I had to let him. I could tell he needed it. Needed some control in the situation.

So I nodded. And together we began tackling the steel cuffs at his wrists, unclasping and removing each one. I reached up, wrapping my hands around his shoulders, pulling his red cloak off, letting the material slide down his back to the floor. It pooled at his boots. The steel vest across his torso was next, forcing me to stand so close to him that my face was buried in his neck. I inhaled his scent, willing myself to be drunk on it as I unhooked the armor. His belt was next. I slid my hands down his torso to the leather strap, my fingers moving dangerously close to his cock. I sucked in a breath as I unbuckled him, pulling the belt open and carefully sliding it off his waist along with the sheaths for his sword and dagger.

Brennan eyed it slowly. The same one he’d pulled the night before to force me to shift, to show myself. His jaw clenched, but he helped me to carefully set them on the floor together. We rose up together, our eyes meeting. I kept my gaze there as my hands lowered and lifted up the hem of his tunic, drawing it up toward his shoulders. He raised his arms when I’d gotten it as high as I could go, and tugged the remaining material over his head before he pulled the sleeves from his arms and dropped it on the floor.

For the first time since we’d met, Brennan stood bare-chested before me. My jaw dropped as I took him in. Because by the Gods, old and new, I had not given him enough credit for his muscles. Or his strength.

Or his beauty.

My first assessment of him when he’d walked into the tavern couldn’t have been more wrong. I should have figured it out. He’d proven these past few weeks again and again that he’d trained hard. That he was more than just a tourney champion, or a knight. He was a warrior.

I reached for him on instinct, wanting to touch his bare chest, to run my fingers over the ridges of his abs, to trail them through the soft patch of hair that started below his belly button and disappeared beneath his riding pants.

I pressed my legs together, shocked at how wet and turned on I was. How ready my body was growing. Brennan coughed, watching me take him in, then looked down, his face almost sheepish, as he took my hand and pulled it away from him.

Not in admonishment. But because it had been too intimate. And we were still too public.

And more than that, we weren’t done. We still had to remove his boots, and there was only one way to do it. I sank to my knees and made the mistake of looking up at him. He was watching me with such intense ferocity that I gasped. His eyes had darkened, his chest rising and falling with erratic, sharp breaths. The skin above his collarbone was a pale pink, and there was a distinctive bulge growing in his pants, further stoking the flames between my legs. Anticipation was growing for what would come next. I could feel it inside as strongly as he did. And despite both our reservations and fears, we already were beginning to succumb to the moment. To fire and passion igniting between us.

He reached for one of the bed posts, his fingers wrapping so tightly around it, his knuckles whitened. His jaw muscles worked, his stomach clenching as I unlaced his boots. I slid one off and then the other. His socks next. Only his pants remained.

There were a few “woops” from the audience that broke through my concentration, and a fresh round of applause while I was still on the floor. I knew what the men were thinking about, imagining. I’d seen this fantasy thousands of times. Me on my knees, their pants down, their cocks out, my mouth open.

I looked back toward them on instinct, as if I were still Samara or Alyra, dancing at Geoffrey’s Tavern, and feeding off the crowd. Readily absorbing their lust and lifeforce.

Several streams came my way, and the Azete who was very much awake and feeding, was now raging and swallowing their energy, demanding more and more.

A knight I recognized from the first night of the tourney was watching so intently he stumbled.

Geoffrey guffawed. “You’re not the one getting bedded,” he admonished the men. Then his dark eyes winked at me.

I turned from him at once, all of my trepidation back, my stomach twisting.

Brennan reached for my hand, pulling me up to my feet. He shook his head, brushing his lips across my cheek. “Look at me. Only me.”

Then he guided my hands to his pants, his fingers light around my wrists.

Liquid heat pooled between my legs as I took hold of the laces, unraveling and tugging each layer apart, pulling them out, one at a time, until the top of his pants fell wide open for me.

More applause began, laughter and yells. I could hear Finlay and Thomas’ music in the hall. The beat of the dream. The beat of my heart.

Brennan met my eyes and bit his lip, his entire face tensed. Then he exhaled sharply and reached for his pants, tugging them down to his knees in one swift movement. His expression was almost pained as the room applauded and whistled. He tugged the legs off one by one, standing before me in nothing but his underwear, a simple pair of white linen shorts.

For a second, I couldn’t move. I couldn't think. He was so Godsdamned beautiful. I just wanted to look at him—to drink the moment in. Of all the men I’d seen naked over the years, none compared to him. None had come even close.

And then Jaron shouted, “Now hers! Take her clothes off.”

His outburst was followed by a round of, “Strip the bride! Strip the bride!”

Brennan growled beneath his breath and gripped my waist, turning me so my back was to the bed, his body positioned directly in front of mine.

“What are you doing?” I asked.