The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom #1)(96)

But Aren knew the truth. And against all odds, he had forgiven her. Now . . . now the thought of turning her back on this place, of turning her back on him, was the worst future she could imagine.

“You can’t let me leave Ithicana.” Her throat felt tight, and the words came out breathy and strange. “I know too much. You’d be risking too much.”

His eyes burned into hers, and never in her life had she felt like someone else saw her so perfectly. “I can let you go, because I trust you.”

She couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t want to leave.” The words were a truth dug from the depths of her heart. She did not want to leave Ithicana. She did not want to leave him. She wanted to stay, to fight and sweat and bleed for him and his harsh, wild, and beautiful kingdom.

The storm circled, watching but leaving them untouched for this one moment.

Aren’s hands loosened on her arms, and for one terrifying heartbeat, she thought he’d let her go. That he wanted her to go.

Instead his fingers traced up the backs of her arms, the light touch leaving rivers of sensation in their wake. Gentle strokes up and down, as though he were calming some wild thing that was apt to bite.

Or testing the waters.

His hands grazed the sides of her breasts, and Lara exhaled a soft breath as his thumbs hooked on the straps of her dress, easing them down as he bent, his lips brushing one naked shoulder. Then the other.

A whimper escaped her as Aren pulled her damp hair away, exposing her neck and kissing her collarbone, her throat, the line of her jaw. Only his grip on her dress kept it from falling away and leaving her naked before him.

Lara wanted to touch him.

Wanted to feel his sleek skin stretched over hard muscles, but she was afraid, because she knew to do so would be her undoing. There would be no turning back.

Aren’s lips paused, and she held her breath, waiting for them to descend on her own even as she wondered whether, if she allowed herself to sink into this hot pool of desire, she’d ever surface again. Whether she’d want to.

But he only rested his forehead against hers. “I need you to say that you want this, Lara. That you’re allowing this because you choose to, not because it was forced upon you.”

Her chest burned, and emotion so intense it hurt surged through her. She pulled back so their eyes locked. “I want this.” And because that wasn’t the sum of it, she added, “I want you.”

The storm returned with a vengeance as their lips collided, but Lara barely felt the winds as Aren lifted her against him, his hands gripping her hips as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms sliding around his neck. His mouth was hot, his tongue slick against hers, the rain drenching their skin as he carried her through the tempest and into the shelter of the house.

Inside, his feet slid on the wet tile and they slammed against the wall, knocking what remained on the shelves to the floor. He braced himself, his hands to either side of her, his breath hot against her throat as Lara ground against him. Her heels dug into his back as she pulled him closer, wanting nothing between them, even as the friction of his belt against her dragged a moan from her lips.

Her back arched until only her head touched the wall behind her, and her dress, the skirt already bunched around her waist, was pulled down to expose the top of her breasts. She felt Aren’s breath catch.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he growled. “Insufferable and venom-tongued and the most incredible woman I’ve set eyes on.”

His words made her thighs slick and she gasped. “Door. Shut the damned door.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” He slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, before allowing her to slide to the ground, the hardness of him pressing against her stomach before he turned to wrench on the door and shut out the storm.

The heavy bolt in place, Aren stalked toward her, his hazel eyes predatory, ever the hunter. Lara stepped backward into the bedroom, daring him to follow. Luring him in because she was not, and never would be, anyone’s prey. Her calves hit the solid wood of his bed, and she stared him down, stopping him in his tracks.

The howl of the wind was muffled now, and over it, she could hear him breathing. Each inhale and exhale ratcheted up her need as her eyes roved over his body, marking the way the muscles in his jaw flexed as he watched her with equal focus.

Reaching blindly for the lantern, Lara turned the flame up high, then set it to one side, her eyes never leaving his. Clasping hold of the sodden bodice of her dress, the neckline clinging to her peaked nipples, she slowly peeled the silk from her body, discarding the garment on the floor. Then she lay back on the bed, resting her weight on her elbows. With deliberate slowness, Lara allowed her knees to fall open.

She watched his control snap, watched as he held his ground only because of the strength of her stare, his desire apparent against the rain-soaked trousers that were all he wore. “Take them off,” she commanded, his low laugh making her skin prickle with the need to have his hands on her once more.

He unbuckled his belt, then hooked his thumbs over it and pushed, the weight of the knife fastened to it dragging his trousers to the floor, where he kicked them aside. This time it was Lara’s turn to catch her breath as she took in the hard length of him, for while she’d seen him naked before, it had never been like this. Her thighs trembled beneath the floodgate of her need to have him, and she nodded once.

In three strides, he was across the room, but rather than pinning her to the bed, as she’d thought he would, he fell to his knees before her. Ithicana—and its king—bent to nothing and no one. But he bent for her.