Page 99 of A Song of Ash and Moonlight

“Your father’s work?” I said, quiet anger in my voice.

He nodded, fists at his sides.

“And you kept them so that every now and then he might see them and remember?”

He nodded again. “To remind him. And to remind myself.”

I stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to each scar. My touch seemed to calm him; his shoulders loosened and his fists unclenched. Tenderness such as I’d never known ached in my chest. I wrapped my arms fully around him, pressed my bare skin against his. His hands came up to seize mine. I felt his heartbeat under my fingers.

“I’m turning around now,” he said, and I nodded against his back, my heart pounding fast, and when we faced each other fully, a softness came over his face. His eyes shone. There was no other word for it: he was marveling at me.

“Farrin in the stove light,” he said, a smile playing at his lips. He shook his head. “You’re exquisite, love. If I were the savant and you the wilder, I’d write a thousand songs about you.”

That made me laugh, relieved and delighted and perilously near tears. “A thousand? That seems excessive.”

I began to cross my arms over myself without really thinking about it. I wasn’t used to being naked for longer than it took to batheor dress, and though I still wore my trousers and socks, I might as well have been completely bare for how exposed I felt.

“No, Farrin.” He came to me and lowered my arms, firm but gentle. He turned my face up to his, kissed my cheeks, the corners of my mouth. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I whispered, letting my eyes fall closed, letting my arms hang loose. “Yes.”

“Then help me undress.”

I did, my fingers shaking, and when he stood completely naked before me, I burned at the sight of him: his obvious strength, the grace in even his smallest movements. I felt some of my nerves melt away. I knew that body, even though I hadn’t seen it properly until now. I knew the tenderness of his hands, the weight of his muscles, how it felt to be filled by him.

He let out a low groan and came to me, cradled my head in his hands, and kissed me deeply, his tongue opening my mouth, his hands sliding into my hair. I stretched as tall as I could, then slipped my arms around his neck. I felt his hard length between us, pressing against my stomach, and whimpered into his kiss.

“When you look at me like that,” he murmured against my lips, “it makes me forget all the bad, and I can think of only the good.”

I nuzzled his cheek. “When I look at you like what?”

“Like you want what I want.”

I shivered as his hands slid down my back. He tugged at my pants, fumbling at the knot I’d tied in the drawstring so they had a chance of staying on.

I laughed a little, reveling in his obvious, earnest desire. “And what do you want?”

“To love you, Farrin,” he whispered, dropping a kiss in my hair. “All I want is to love you.”

His words opened something in me—a door I hadn’t known wasthere, a door that had been locked all my life. To be safe in the arms of such a man, to be loved for everything I was, to feel the rightness of my angry, lonely heart meeting another. I held him fiercely to me. I wanted more of him but couldn’t find the right words to say so. “Ryder,” I begged, with only that single, gasped word.

He seemed to understand. He grabbed the fabric of my trousers in both hands and shoved them down past my hips. They slid down my legs to pool on the floor, and then his hands were on me, cupping my backside, pulling me close.

“Gods, you’re…” He buried his face in my neck, kissed me hard, sucked on my skin. “Beautiful Farrin. You’re exquisite, love. A sunrise in my arms.” He laughed ruefully. “Soon you’ll have me writing poetry in your honor.”

My whole body warmed at his words. I pressed myself toward him, let him gather me up against his body. The glide of skin on skin took my breath away; it hadn’t been like this with Gareth, nor in any of my scattered, clumsy fantasies. I felt like a mere bird in his hands, light as air but sheltered against all wind and storms, all enemies. My many worries were gone; the weight strapped to my shoulders had lifted.

He guided me toward the bed, which boasted a fine blue quilt, a blanket of gray cashmere, and two pillows stuffed with down. It was a bed in a room in a stable, but he was a Bask, after all. I sank luxuriously into the fine fabric and reached for him, ready to welcome him into my arms, but he wasn’t there. He knelt at the foot of the bed and peeled off my socks, the last bit of clothing I wore. My cheeks burned as he kissed the arches of my feet, the turns of my calves. I had no idea what I looked like from such an angle; a quick swoop of doubt winged its dark way through my heart.

“Ryder—” I began, ready to stop him, flushed from head to toe with embarrassment and wanting, so frustrated I could cry.

But then his hands slid up my legs, and he was kissing my thighs, parting them gently, and with my name on his lips, he sank down and put his mouth on me—right there between my legs, on the softest, hottest part of me.

I arched up against him with a gasp. My hands flew to his head, grabbed his hair. I’d never felt such a thing: his tongue stroking me, his lips lightly sucking on my skin.Ecstasy. That was the word. With his every touch, my pleasure crested higher and higher, white-hot and aching.

He paused to look up at me. The sight of him there, settled happily between my thighs, was its own kind of magic. My legs were jelly, my stomach tight and trembling. I laughed shakily, sinking back into the pillows.

“Should I stop?” he murmured against my skin.

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