Page 11 of The War of Four Winters

I leaned down to press my lips to the nape of his neck, a reward for his honesty.

"Oil," I commanded, nodding toward the shelf near the table where we kept a vial for such occasions.

He stretched out an arm, fingers just managing to hook the small bottle and pull it within reach. I took it from him, uncorking it with my teeth while keeping him pinned beneath me. The familiar scent of mountain herbs filled the air as I poured the oil over my fingers.

What followed was a dance we'd perfected over months of learning each other. The initial resistance as my oil-slicked fingers breached him, followed by the gradual melting of tension as pleasure overtook discomfort. The way his breathing hitched when I found that perfect spot inside him. The growing impatience in his movements as I took my time preparing him, drawing out the moment until he was pressing back against me in silent demand.

"Please," he finally breathed, the word barely audible against the wood beneath his cheek.

"What was that?" I asked, deliberately withdrawing my touch. "I didn't quite hear you."

He turned his head, copper hair falling across flushed features as he glared at me over his shoulder. "You know exactly what I said."

"Perhaps." I traced the line of his spine with my free hand. "But I want to hear it again. Louder this time."

His jaw tightened, pride warring with desire. Finally, he broke. "Please," he repeated, voice clear and deliberate this time. "Fuck me before I finish myself off and leave you wanting."

I laughed at the threat, knowing he was entirely capable of following through. "Since you begged so sweetly," I relented, positioning myself behind him. I slid in with a single smooth motion that made us both groan.

We moved together with practiced synchronicity, finding that perfect rhythm we'd perfected over months. The table creaked beneath Elindir as he rocked back to meet me. Beneath him, important dispatches and treaty drafts crumpled and smeared with sweat. I couldn't bring myself to care. Whatever was written there, it wasn’t as important as this moment.

I reached around to find his cock hard and straining. He gasped when I took him in my hand, but the sound morphed into a moan as I slid my thumb over the bead of moisture gathering over his slit.

Sweat gathered at the small of his back, creating a sheen that caught the firelight. His hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, muscles in his arms straining as he pushed back to meet each movement with equal force.

I angled my hips slightly, knowing exactly how to find that spot inside him that would break his control. When I found it, his whole body tensed, a strangled curse escaping his lips as his head fell forward. More fluid leaked from his cock as I maintained the angle, deliberately working that sensitive place with each thrust. I dragged my nails down his spine, watching the red lines bloom on his skin. My other hand held his hip with bruising force, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave perfect imprints that would remind him of this moment long after we parted.

His response was to clench around me deliberately, the sudden pressure making my vision blur at the edges. Two could play at this game of control, and he'd become a master at turning my dominance back on me. I leaned forward, draping myself over his back to sink my teeth into the curve of his shoulder, tasting salt.

"Mine," I growled against his ear, draping myself over his back to bite at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. "Say it."

"Yours," he agreed breathlessly, turning his head to seek my mouth. "Just as you are mine."

The addition sent a shock of heat through me. This possessiveness ran both ways now, a truth I was still learning to embrace. I captured his mouth in a kiss that was more claim than affection, teeth clashing as the rhythm of our bodies intensified.

His body clenched around mine, hot and perfect. My hand worked him faster, timing each stroke with the thrust of my hips until his body convulsed beneath me. Hot pulses spilled over my fingers and onto the papers below. My vision went white as pleasure crashed through me in waves, every muscle tensing as I drove into him one final time.

After, we remained locked together as our breathing gradually slowed, neither willing to break the connection just yet. My fingers traced idle patterns on his back, following the faint scars that mapped his history. Evidence of a past that shaped him but no longer defined him.

"We should wash," he murmured eventually, though he made no move to rise.

"In a moment," I replied, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. The thought of letting him go, even to cross the room to our bed, seemed impossible just then.

Eventually, I eased myself from his body, both of us hissing at the sudden separation. I steadied him with a hand at his waist as he pushed himself upright, legs clearly unsteady beneath him. He finally straightened, looking down at the mess we'd made of the table.

With a laugh, he picked up a thoroughly ruined parchment, holding it at arm's length. "There's cum on your treasury report, Your Majesty.”

Despite everything, I found myself laughing. "I’ll have another report tomorrow," I said, taking the ruined document from his hands and tossing it aside. “That’s one thing about being a king no one bothers to tell you about. All the damn paperwork.”

"Poor King Ruith," he replied dryly, gathering more of the spoiled papers into a pile.

Eventually, we made our way to the furs, limbs heavy with satisfaction. I held him close enough to feel the steady rhythm of his heart against my chest as we drifted toward sleep. A fragile miracle, that pulse. One I'd already died to preserve once.

"You mustn’t hold me so tight," he murmured against my skin, his breath warm against my throat. "I promise I’ll come back to you. As you ordered, my king."

I said nothing, stroking his copper hair as he drifted into sleep.

Sleepeludedmedespitebone-deep exhaustion. The weight of tomorrow's preparations pressed against my chest, heavier than the ceremonial scepter of kingship itself. Beside me, Elindir's breathing had settled into the steady rhythm of deep sleep. I studied the ceiling of our chamber, tracing the ancient patterns carved into stone by craftsmen long dead, trying to quiet my mind.

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