Page 180 of Entangled

For hours, we go through everything I wrote down in the last week. Sitting at his feet feels like sitting on battlements and facing down an enemy. Jasper challenges me and comforts me in turns, bringing tears to my eyes only to wipe them away.

We talk until I grow too drowsy to continue, and I fall asleep in the cradle of his legs with the first stirring of hope that maybe this feeling isn’t forever. Maybe this is just now.

And maybe I really can have it all.

Chapter41

Eden

Survival tip #331

Remember the dead,

so you remember to live.

The music thrums through the forest, so thick with bass that I feel the reverberation in my feet. It pours through the shattered remains of the music room’s windows, still unfixed after they were destroyed in the battle for Bristlebrook.

I pause at the edge of the porch, the short drop feeling like the precipice of some great cliff.

It’s only just dark, but there are flashlights and solar lights strung up between the trees, and long planks spanning the dry moat to allow people to cross it easily. Drunken giggles and shouts tinkle from nearby tables laden with booze, sounding more relaxed than I can remember anyone being in a long time.

The apple tree glows like a soft, nebulous beacon in the dimming light. At least two dozen votive candles dangle from its darkened branches, in remembrance of our dead. Several people sit underneath the boughs, talking quietly to one another. And in the center of the lawn, the tents have been cleared away to make room for the enormous, raging bonfire. It flickers and charges, its smoky scent puffing along on the light breeze.

I’d worried the fire might bring up bad memories, but instead, the passionate lick and churn of the flames makes me want to dance and rage. It’s as though the tension coiling inside me this week has finally crested, broken apart into something terrifyingly free.

I’ve finally made a choice—tonight, I’m going after what I want.

I hear a low whistle. “Well, now, darlin’. I’m going to have to declare martial law—you’re putting my heart and health into civil unrest in that dress.”

Turning, I bite down on an amused smile, and Beau takes my hand.

“Spin, let me see you.”

I re-adjust my glasses and try not to squirm as I spin for him.

The dress isn’t anything scandalous, but it’s the most feminine thing I’ve worn since before I was captured. It’s floral and flows around my legs, with a fitted bodice that ties over my breasts that I’m trying very hard not to yank up to my throat. It even haspockets.

But Beau looks gorgeous. His hair is still wet from the shower, and his long-sleeved shirt clings to his chest and arms.

“Martial law?” I arch my brows primly, then tease as he tugs me into his arms, “So I suppose I’m under military control now?”

Beau’s laugh is tinged in surprise, and I blush as my smile grows. It’s getting easier to flirt with Beau. Especially when he’s constantly flirting with me. It’s getting easier to doeverythingwith Beau.

The music kicks up into a fast, playful tempo, and several women hoot around the fire. I catch sight of Heather as she pulls someone back from the fire. She glances up right as Beau runs his hands down my back and makes a face at me.

“You are most definitely under my control, civilian.” I shiver as he teases me with a kiss. His hands curve over my ass, squeezing, and my breath strangles in my throat. “Are you still wearing it?”

Itis heavy and delicious inside me. Over the last few days, I’ve grown used to the plugs, the sensation and increasing sizes, the care and cleaning. Beau has been teasing me with them, working me over until I’ve begged for him just to take me there.

But he hasn’t. Not yet.

I’m finally on the last and largest training plug, and just having it inside is so intense, my eyes practically cross with every step. I even have a small bottle of lube in my pocket, as Beau instructed, even though it drags my dress down a little on one side.

“Just in case,” he said.

Rather than giving him the answer he wants, though, I give him a narrow-eyed look through my glasses. “What. Does. It. Say?”

Beau’s smile turns sly.

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