Page 25 of Chosen

“A toast!” Truth cried, drawing even more attention our way.

I groaned.

“I would toast to my husband, the warrior Sigurd, Prince of Thor’s Ridge and of The Bay. May he always find the sun on his cheeks and the wind at his back. May he somehow find the strength each day to suffer me, and may our lives be long and happy.”

“Hear! Hear!” someone shouted.

People raised their glasses and others called out toasts and blessings. They were still doing so when she took my hand and led me toward the front door.

“What are you doing? Where are we going?” I started shooting questions at her, even though I made no effort to prevent her from dragging me along.

“The people and performance will continue until dusk. Do you want to entertain people that long?” She laughed.

I groaned and moved a little quicker to follow her outside. Truth didn’t stop until she reached the stables.

“We need a carriage,” she instructed.

“Yes, my lady!” a lad called.

“Highness,” I corrected him.

The boy looked between us blankly, then his eyes slowly lit up with understanding.

“Congratulations, Highnesses!”

A few moments later, a pristine carriage was brought out. The damn thing was so shiny under the sun it hurt my eyes a little. She climbed inside, but I remained where I was. I hated carriages. I much preferred the wind in my hair and hooves pounding beneath me. With a sigh of defeat, I begrudgingly joined her.

What else was I going to do? Go back and mingle with the people? Not happening.

We rolled out through the front gate and I maintained a frown until we were at the edge of the city. Once we were alone, it dawned on me that we were really, truly alone. We ran out without guards. The only person with us was the damn boy who was driving the carriage.

Truth was on the bench opposite of me, our knees were tangled. She watched me with a smile that gave me goosebumps.

“What?” I couldn’t help but ask.

She leaned forward and shifted her knee, giving mine a shove so that my thighs were parted wide. Her body claimed the space between them, and she wrapped an arm around my neck and kissed my cheek.

“You’re wound so tight. You don’t know whether to be happy or irritated. I see it in your brow and those pretty blue eyes,” she whispered, before pulling back to stare into my soul. She held my gaze and drifted lower, to her knees.

Her hands slid down me and planted at either side of my waist and she still looked up at me from beneath her dark lashes. Her head tipped and her teeth grazed the front of my britches. My cock twitched to life just as she gathered the laces of my pants in her teeth and slowly tipped her head, untying them in one practiced move.

Her nails bit my hips while her face nuzzled around in my lap until she’d freed my cock. She didn’t pounce on it. Instead, she kept right on bumping it with her cheek and skimming kisses along the shaft. I found myself shifting my hips and holding my breath in anticipation.

“Renata,” I called, when she flicked her tongue up the length of me and pressed a firm kiss to the crown.

Before I could say another word, she captured the tip and greedily swallowed the length in one stroke. My calves locked and my hand shot to her head. When she spat out everything but the tip and did it again my fingers curled in her dark tresses and my head dropped back.

There was no warm up. It had been a brief taunting and a rough taking.

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