Page 42 of Ash and Roses

Before I can answer that, he has me on my back. It takes him only seconds to escape from his pants and claim the space between my legs. His lips find mine just as another part of him finds another part of me. He thrusts inwards and we gasp in unison. His rhythm is slow, precise.

“Are you okay?” He breathes, his words coming out like a low growl.

I pant a response. “Is this… the best… you can do?”

I feel him laugh as much as I hear it, and in answer, his pace and ferocity intensify. He slams into me, and I have to dig my nails into his back just to hold on as a wave of pleasure takes me.

“Better?”

“You could… stand to learn… a thing… or two.”

He takes me up on my challenge and rolls us so that I’m on top so expertly that we don’t lose any momentum. “Then show me.” He grits his teeth and arches his neck as I ride him. There’s no denying that I’m not exactly in peak condition at the moment, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. I need this, and he seems to be enjoying it as much as I am.

He lifts his hands to my hips, but I snatch them in mine and pin them down above his head. “Who said you could touch me?”

I squeeze his wrists with the building of my pleasure, and his hands ball into fists with the building of his. I’m close, but I can tell he’s closer and I’m not about to let him finish first. I bring my lips to his neck and suck at the skin until I have just enough between my teeth. I bite down hard and he gasps in pained rapture. The moment he takes to recover is enough for me to catch up to him, and when we’re riding the same wave, I go all in.

He sucks in a sharp breath at the same moment I do and we groan into each other. Every cell of my body sings with euphoria as he twitches inside me, filling me in more ways than one.

I collapse beside him, my shaking arms no longer possessing the strength to keep me upright, as if whatever power had been driving me is gone. We stay like that for a long time, catching our breath and revelling in the aftermath of what we’ve just done. I won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me say it, butfuck, that was good.

“I can’t believe you bit me.” He touches a hand to his neck and then pulls it away to check for blood.

I laugh. “The moment called for it.”

“You were right before. You’re the furthest thing from a lady.” He rolls to face me, his lips twitched up into a shy smile that falters after only a moment. “I’m sorry I threw myself at you.”

“Does it look like I’m complaining?” When his mood doesn’t lighten, I roll toward him and put a hand on his arm. This time, he doesn’t shy away from the touch. “Who’s Evan? You were calling out for him in your sleep.”

His eyes fall closed, and for a time I think he won’t answer. “He was my brother.”

“And Kaylee was your sister? You said her name too, but it was mostly Evan.”

He nods. “I was dreaming about their deaths. I dream about them almost every night.”

“Do you want to know what I dream about?” Before he can answer, I take his hand in mine and lift it over me so that his fingertips brush against the scars on my back.

“Tell me,” he says, and I know he’s not asking about the dreams.

I don’t owe him an answer, but for whatever reason, I don’t mind if he knows. So I tell him everything. The words flow out of me like a river after a rain, and once they get started, there’s no hope of stopping them. I tell him about the Marked and what sparing them cost me. I tell him about Jade and buying his freedom. I tell him about the Marching and food rations and rumours of uprising. The only thing I keep to myself is the mention of Marein and my meeting with the Marked in the tunnels beneath Lunae. Politics has no place in the bedchamber, and I don’t yet trust him enough for that.

He waits in attentive silence until he’s certain I’ve finished. “That’s why you’ve been so adamant about not going home. So insistent on fighting with me at the mere mention of it.” When I say nothing, he lets out what might be the longest sigh I’ve ever heard. “Only a monster would send you back to that.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

ABBY

When my eyes open to the soft flicker of fading firelight, I know the second half of the night had been dreamless—for both me and the man still sleeping next to me. His chest rises and falls with even breaths and there’s not an ounce of tenseness on his face. He seems so different like this. So small, almost childlike. When was the last time he slept so peacefully? The fear that filled him last night was on such a level that I wouldn’t have blamed him if he told me he feared simply closing his eyes.

Careful not to disturb him, I slip the blanket from my body and tiptoe across the room. My stomach clenches in a demand for food and something will have to be done about that before the incessant growling wakes him. There will be things to say after what happened last night, and I’d like to prolong that as long as possible. It will be easy enough to find my way to the kitchen, but the thought of wolves roaming the halls is still fresh in my mind.

As silently as I can, I wiggle a knife free from the board on the wall, selecting the biggest, longest one I can find. Quinn said he hasn’t been in this room for years, but despite that, this knife appears to have kept its edge.

Good.

If anyone gets between me and the filling of my belly, they’re going to have a bad day.

The bookshelf door unlocks with a loud click and what must be rusted wheels screech in protest as it slides open. I cringe at the sound and the fact that Quinn didn’t seem to have this much trouble with it last night. Only a fool would deny that he’s stronger than me, but I don’t need the reminder of it. Quinn groans softly at the sound and rolls over in the bed, but seconds later resumes his steady breathing.

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