Page 83 of Feathers and Thorns

She lifted her skirt and climbed on top of him, letting the fabric pool at their hips. He sucked in a breath when he realized her breasts were bare under her tunic, and his eyes darkened. She could feel him harden under her and couldn’t help the satisfied smile that pulled at the corners of her lips.

Without breaking eye contact, she leaned over to extinguish the oil lamp, twisting the gear to turn down the wick and blowing softly into the chimney until they were shrouded in darkness. Then she leaned forward and kissed along his collarbone.

“Little bird … what are you?—”

“Shh,” she cut him off. “Tell me to stop if you want, but otherwise, shh.”

She took his silence as permission to continue her ministrations.

She let her tongue trail along his jaw, enjoying the rough feel of his stubble tickling her taste buds. Without the amenities back at the mansion, he had acquired a more disheveled look that only made him that much sexier.

She could smell the oat milk on his skin and deduced that he must have hit the bathing tent shortly before she had. Her suspicions were confirmed when she sat up and ran a hand through his still-damp hair.

She trailed her fingertips up and down his sides, delighting in the fact that he squirmed under her. He was ticklish, and he hated that she knew it, but she loved the way it made him press into her harder. She continued to kiss and nip everywhere but his lips and even dared to bite him just hard enough to leave a mark on his neck.

He took her closeness as an opportunity to flip them. He cradled her head and lifted his hips, using the momentum to get her on her back, then lifted himself with the opposite arm. He was now hovering above her in the missionary position, and he could just make out the look of surprise on her face.

“Now it’s your turn to say stop.”

He tortured her in the same way she had him. He kissed her everywhere but where she really wanted. He avoided her lips and kissed up the inside of her thighs, stopping short of where her underwear should have been. His hands circled the sides of her hips, coming up empty. He traced a finger along the joint where her hip and pelvic bone met, causing her to writhe. When he did, in fact, confirm she was not wearing anything under her skirt, he hardened even more.

Unable to take it anymore, he growled, “Naughty little bird,” and crashed his lips to hers. When he broke the kiss to catch his breath, his eyes had gone black, his pupils blown out like she was the most beautiful drug. He continued trailing hot kisses down her neck and onto the bare flesh that peeked out from the middle of her tunic.

“Take it off,” she said, her voice breathless. Then she sat up, fumbling with the small brown buttons.

He grabbed her hands and pressed them to her sides, keeping his dark eyes on hers. The swirls of midnight blue were like whirlpools in the Obsidian Sea.

He undid each button at an agonizing pace then gently pushed the fabric off her shoulders. He slid the shirt down until it reached her wrists then used the excess material to tie them together.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, her heart beating in her chest like an ancient drum.

A rumble of pleasure sounded from behind Rook’s ribcage as he ran his fingers over her torso. Her nipples were a dusky rose and had formed into sharp peaks in the cool air of their tent. He purposefully avoided all of her most sensitive areas as his hands roamed.

“You are still in control, little bird.” He grazed his teeth along her jaw and nipped at the soft flesh at the top of her chest. “The bonds are loose. You can free yourself at any time.”

Soren put his words to the test and easily slipped a hand free from the knot he had tied. She traced her nails down the curve of his chest and up the back of his neck, pulling his hair lightly to place a kiss on the corner of his lips. Then she returned her arm to its position at her back and waited.

The lust coursing through his veins had Rook feeling like he was about to burst. He laid Soren on her back, pulled the skirt down over her hips, and then took a moment to drink in her naked silhouette before he undid the belt on his dark brown pants. He coiled it twice before setting it on top of his ruck.

“If it becomes too much, say dreamer.”

Soren nodded, but he urged her to speak.

“Say it for me, little bird. What word do you speak if it becomes too much?”

“Dreamer.”

“That’s my girl,” he praised.

She expected him to touch her then, but he reached toward the table. She watched with wide-eyed curiosity as he removed the chimney and wick from the oil lamp then lifted the jar of golden liquid out of its base.

Rook tested the heat of the castor oil by tilting the jar and letting a few drops hit the soft skin on the inside of his wrist. It was quite warm but cooled quickly and tingled afterward.

“What are you going to do?” Soren asked.

“I am going to make you feel so good, little bird.” He could see her mouth form an O in the darkened tent and bared his teeth. “Under one condition,” he said, letting a few drops of the caster oil fall between her breasts.

Soren let out a surprised squeak, and Rook reached forward to press his index fingers against her lips.

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