Page 66 of A Song of Ash and Moonlight

He shifted beside me, then said, “Look at me while I do this, Farrin.”

His voice was a firm caress, a guiding light in the haze of my desire, and the relief I felt when I heard him tell me what to do, where to look, was overwhelming. Dizzy, smiling with unfettered happiness, I obeyed him, lifting my gaze to meet his. He kissed my arms, from my wrists all the way up to my shoulders, each kiss making me shift and sigh in his embrace. And then he gathered both my hands in one of his and pulled them gently over my head to pin them softly against the pillows.

He kept his gaze upon me the entire time, and though I could hardly bear meeting his eyes, I made myself do it, made myself look right at him even while his other hand—the one not trapping my hands over my head—slid down my body. He took his time, his fingers wandering across my half-clothed torso as I panted beneath him, my hips still circling against his thigh. And then he began lifting my skirts, swirling little circles up my legs—on my knees, my thighs, every trembling bit of skin—until he found the top of my tights and, witha glance up at me first, began slowly tugging them down my legs. I stopped him when they reached my knees.

“I feel safer with them at least partway on,” I explained, feeling even in my absolute joy a stab of shame upon making such a request. But Ryder only nodded and kissed me again, long and slow, while his hand slid once again under my rucked-up skirts. My underwear wasn’t pretty or elaborate—just plain linen with a simple bow at the top to keep them in place—but when Ryder touched it, gently pushing apart my thighs to draw circles on the sodden fabric, he shuddered beside me and swore quietly into my hair.

“Fuck,” he said roughly, and the sound of his voice—so masculine, deep and hungry, completely undone to be touching me—made me cry out a little, a soft, whimpering sob, and arch up against his body. One hand continued to trap mine over my head, while his other hand slipped beneath my underwear, finding me wet and hot and aching. He pressed his hips against mine with a sharp groan and kissed me—hard, desperate—until we both had to pull away to breathe.

“Is that good, Farrin?” he rasped, his thumb circling around me.

I nodded helplessly, shaking under his touch.

“No, no, gods, please, Farrin,tellme,” he said, looking at me with those blazing blue eyes. “I need to hear you say it.”

“It feels good,” I gasped out, clinging to him. “Ryder, you feel so good, I…” I shook my head against his cheek, turned my face into the soft black fall of his hair. I was moving shamelessly against him, angling my hips toward him so he would, I hoped, understand what I wanted without me having to ask—and of course he did. With another harsh curse whispered into my hair, he slid a finger inside me.

“Like this?” he asked, his voice strained as he moved against me, in me, his thumb still circling, his hand still pinning me to the bed.

“Yes,” I breathed, sobbing a little; the glorious, golden pleasure building inside me was rising fast.“Yes—”

And then I could no longer speak, helpless in the throes of it, of Ryder, of my own shaking, humming body. I clung to him for a long time, my heart a jubilant drum, and then began to laugh and cry at once, hiding my face against his chest. It took him a moment to realize that my laughter hid tears; he tensed a little and started to pull away.

“No, please don’t go,” I whispered. I moved closer, silently rejoicing when he draped a leg over mine, drawing me sweetly against him. There was a question in his eyes; in response I simply smiled, bashful heat crawling up my cheeks.

“Thank you,” I told him. “I don’t know what else to say right now, don’t know how to explain. I’m…soon I think I’ll rather lose my nerve.”

I could feel it happening already: the awareness of how much of my body was unclothed, the knowledge of that making me tense when only seconds before I’d felt limp and happy, even sultry. Me, Farrin Ashbourne, lying blissfully in the arms of a man—and not just any man, butRyder Bask.

I wiped my face, shut my eyes tight, willed my body to relax, begged my mind to stop its worried nattering.

“You’re safe, Farrin” came Ryder’s gentle voice. He drew long, lazy lines up and down my back, and then, after a moment, found the quilt at the foot of the bed and drew it up over our bodies. The feeling of being cocooned against him was a delicious one, and soothing, but not even that was enough to quiet my mind. It occurred to me all of a sudden that this didn’t seem fair. I’d been selfish. Lovers reciprocated their loving, did they not?

I started to speak, hesitated, tried again. “Ryder. Do you…do you need…or want…”

“Want, certainly. But need? No, Farrin. You owe me nothing. If youwantto do more, that’s one thing, but I don’t think you do. Not tonight.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look up at him. “Not tonight,” I agreedquietly. “This was a huge thing for me. I need to…” I couldn’t finish, couldn’t find the words.

Luckily, I didn’t need to. Ryder seemed to understand. He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my hair. I closed my eyes and reveled in each one. I couldn’t imagine ever tiring of his kisses.

Then a thought occurred to me. I plucked nervously at the nearest button on Ryder’s jacket.

“I could sing for you,” I said quietly. “If you want. I can’t give you…” I bit my lip, horribly embarrassed. Suddenly my suggestion seemed silly. “But I can give you a song. A new one, written just for you.”

Ryder ducked his head down to look at me. The expression on his face was one of stunned delight.

“You’d do that for me?” he said. “Farrin…” He kissed my fingers, his eyes never leaving mine. “It would be an honor,” he said, gravely, “but it isn’t necessary.”

So he said, but I saw that soft light in his eyes, how overcome he was at the very idea, and felt at once that itwasnecessary—not for him, but for me. To bring him such joy was a kind of victory; if my nerves kept me from lying with him as any other woman would, then I would give him what no other woman could.

Shyly, I opened my arms to him, and once he’d settled against me—carefully, reverently, as if afraid to crush me—I began drawing my fingers through his hair, one long stroke after another, and took a breath, and sang.

It was a simple melody, wordless but sweet, and the notes came to me easily, dropping into my mind like a soft spring rain. Shelter, simple gladness, careful tenderness—these were the feelings I held in my heart as I sang to him, and when I felt the skin on the back of his neck break into goose bumps, I smiled around the notes, sweetening them further. He shuddered in my arms, and I pressed my cheek tothe crown of his head, closed my eyes, crooned an aching arpeggio into his hair.

Then a knock came at the door, jarring us from our reverie.

“Occupied!” Ryder barked, sharp and angry, and whoever it was didn’t bother us again. I found a vicious delight in imagining it was Gemma, come to say good night and now shocked to realize what had happened in this room to her eldest sister, whom she had always believed to be incapable of such things.

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