Page 121 of The War of Four Winters

I hollowed my cheeks as I pulled back, creating suction that made his hips jerk forward involuntarily. My hands gripped his thighs for balance as I took him deeper, until he brushed the back of my throat. The stretch bordered on pain but I welcomed it, craved it, needed this physical sensation to drive away the memory of water filling my lungs, of cold seeping into my bones.

My jaw ached pleasantly as I bobbed my head, finding a rhythm that drew strangled moans from Ruith's throat. I cupped his balls with my free hand, rolling them gently while my other hand wrapped around the base of his shaft where my mouth couldn't reach. The dual stimulation drew a curse from him, his thighs trembling with the effort to remain standing.

Power surged through me at his response—a heady contrast to the helplessness I'd felt trapped beneath the river's surface. Here, kneeling before him, I held control in a way that had nothing to do with submission and everything to do with choice. My movements grew more confident, more demanding, taking my own pleasure in the way his breath hitched and his muscles tensed beneath my hands.

"Elindir," he gasped, his voice wrecked. "Your mouth... fuck—"

I looked up through my lashes, watching his face contort with pleasure as I worked him with lips and tongue. His head was thrown back, throat exposed, chest flushed. He was magnificent like this—my king undone by pleasure rather than burdened by war. I moaned around his length, the vibrations making his cock pulse against my tongue.

My mind emptied of everything except the slide of his cock against my tongue, the salty-sweet taste intensifying as his pleasure built, the scent of his arousal filling my lungs with each desperate breath. All thoughts of war and death receded, replaced by the animal need for connection. In this moment, we weren't king and consort, weren't commanders planning battle strategy. We were simply two bodies finding solace in shared pleasure, temporary sanctuary in the eye of the storm.

I lost track of time as I worshipped him with my mouth, my own arousal building to a painful edge despite having no friction against my own cock. Each muffled groan from above told me exactly what he needed—faster here, slower there, more pressure, more suction.

His fingers suddenly tightened in my hair, pulling me off his cock with just enough force to send sparks of pleasure-pain down my spine.

"Stop," he growled, chest heaving. "I want to finish inside you."

The raw need in his voice sent heat pooling in my belly. I rose to my feet, legs unsteady from kneeling and arousal. Before I could speak, his mouth crashed against mine, his tongue delving deep as if trying to taste himself on me. His teeth caught my bottom lip, biting hard enough to draw a gasp from my throat.

His hands were frantic on my clothing, tearing at laces and fastenings with none of his usual finesse. I helped as best I could with trembling fingers until I stood naked before him, my skin prickling with goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the hunger in his eyes.

"On the bed," he commanded, voice rough with need. "Now."

I complied instantly, stretching out on our bed as Ruith grabbed a vial of oil. His hands were steady as he worked me open with oil-slicked fingers. The familiar burn and stretch made me arch off the mattress, seeking more.

"Please," I gasped, past pride or patience. "I need you inside me!"

When he finally pushed inside, we both groaned in relief. My body yielded to his, accepting his full length despite the initial resistance. His forehead pressed against mine, our breath mingling in the space between us.

"I almost lost you," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion that had nothing to do with physical pleasure. "When I heard about the bridge collapse—when they pulled you from that river—"

I silenced him with a desperate kiss, unable to bear the pain in his voice. "I'm here," I promised against his lips. "I'm alive. We both are."

His hips began to move, each thrust driving away the memory of cold river water, of bridges collapsing, of death that had nearly claimed us both. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing to feel every inch of him inside me.

"Harder," I demanded, nails digging into his shoulders. "Make me feel it."

He complied immediately, his rhythm growing more punishing as he drove into me with a force that bordered on violence. Each thrust shoved me up the bed until I braced my hands against the headboard, pushing back to meet him. The slap of skin against skin filled the chamber, punctuated by our harsh breathing and broken moans.

"Touch yourself," Ruith ordered, his voice wrecked. "I want to watch you come apart for me."

My hand wrapped around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming after days of healing and worry. My body tightened around him as pleasure built, coiling at the base of my spine, drawing my balls up tight against my body.

"That's it," he encouraged, shifting his angle to hit just the right spot inside me. "Let go. Show me you're alive."

I came with his name on my lips, my back arching off the bed as pleasure crashed through me in waves that seemed endless. My body clenched around him, drawing a curse from his throat as his own rhythm faltered. He followed moments later, burying himself deep inside me as he found his release, my name a broken prayer on his lips.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin despite the winter chill beyond our chambers. His weight pinned me to the mattress, a comforting pressure that kept me grounded in reality. The sound of our heartbeats proved survival against impossible odds.

"We should go to the boys," I said eventually, though I made no move to leave the warmth of his embrace. "They'll be worried."

Ruith nodded against my neck, his breath warm against my skin. "Our sons deserve to know their fathers have returned safely."

"Our sons." The words still felt new on my tongue, sweet with promise despite the bitterness of war surrounding us. "When this is over, we'll give them the childhood neither of us had."

"We will," Ruith agreed, determination hardening his voice. "A world without collars or conscription. Without endless battles or clan rivalries." He rolled off me, though his hand remained possessively on my hip. "I believe that now, more than ever."

"How does it feel?" I asked softly. "Having ended the civil war?"

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