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He held himself over me, his arms shaking, and I breathed for a moment, eyes closed, until I was able to relax a bit. I nodded and said, “Please, it’s all right now.” I looked up at him with a smile, panting a little, shifting to accommodate him. “Really,” I reassured him. “It’s all right. I’m all right.” Because, incredibly, I was. I laughed a little from the sheer joy of it; I arched up into him, wrapped my arms around him. His beard prickled my cheek, and I relished the feeling, rubbing against the soft bristle of it as a cat might.

And then he kissed me, so sweet and soft that I couldn’t contain my happiness. I cried out against his mouth, a sob sticking in my throat. He began to move, his hips pressing slowly into mine,filling me, pushing with unhurried insistence against the glorious ache between my legs, and it was that—the care with which he claimed me, the incongruous gentleness of all that hard muscle—that began to unravel me. He slid one of his hands down my body to cup my backside and lift me slightly higher, an angle that brought him deeper inside me, and I cried out, overwhelmed, delighted, and when inspiration came, I didn’t shy away from it. I tugged on his belt, which hung loosely at his hips, and whispered, “Tie my hands, Ryder. Tie them to the bed.”

I made myself look up at him through the heat of my embarrassment, refusing to hide my face. I wanted to be completely under his control: my hands pinned, my hips cupped in his palms. Trapped beneath him, held immobile by his belt and by the force of him, the rhythm of him. I wanted this with a sudden clarity that left me giddy.

He blew out a sharp curse, then said my name—“Farrin,gods”—and went to work. He slid the belt free of his trousers with a swift snap, then used it—gently, such unbearable gentleness—to bind my wrists to the headboard. I tested its strength, tried to tug free, and couldn’t. He was hard as steel against my thigh, hot and wet from our union, and I shuddered, feeling delicious, feeling delirious.

“Is it all right?” Ryder asked, his hands still hovering near mine. “I’ll undo it in an instant, if you wish. Just say the word—”

“No, leave it,” I breathed. The sensation of abandon, of giving myself up to him, left me dizzy, triumphant. This—yes,thisis what I wanted. I didn’t know what would come next, and it didn’t matter; Ryder would choose for me, for us, and while in his arms I would always be safe.

I arched up a little, begging him silently to come back to me, and when he did—a swift, smooth thrust that made us both cry out—it was like coming home to a haven I’d never known. His breath came in hard bursts against my neck as we moved together; his voice broke onmy name, and the sound of him so overcome, the feeling of my arms held in place, of his broad, muscled weight pressing me against the bed, shielding me from everything that could hurt me, left me undone.

A great wave of pleasure was building inside me, drawing me up into myself, into him—the sure grip of his hands, my name hoarse on his lips. I knew he was being gentle for me; I could feel the restraint in his body, how desperately he wanted more—more of this, more of me. Harder, faster. I ached to imagine it, my mind wild with a hundred fantasies all blurring together.

Our rhythm grew erratic and frantic, a thrilling respite for my metered, musical mind, and when we fell over the edge at last—one right after the other—I wasn’t afraid. There was nothing to be afraid of, because he was with me. As I came apart beneath him, my vision went soft and dark, tinged with gold. Almost at once he reached up to tug the belt loose, freed my hands, whispered hoarsely to me, “Hold on to me, Farrin. Please, hold on to me,” and I did, clinging to him as he shuddered in my arms.

“You’re safe,” I told him, without thinking. I knew only that it felt like the right thing to say. I threaded my fingers in his hair, kissed his rough cheek. “I’ve got you.”

And as I held him, determined that he should feel in the fierce press of my arms all the kindness he’d been denied as a child, I decided that next time—next time!—I would like to try loving him with my tights all the way off. With my naked legs so freed, I could wrap them around him, pull him even closer to me, urge him deeper.

The obvious revelation made my cheeks burn, but I was too happy to be embarrassed for long. I laughed into Ryder’s hair, flushed and damp beneath my rumpled dress. I turned my face up to his, felt him smile against my cheek—easy, open, his own laughter rumbling happy and deep between us—and let him kiss me.

Chapter 18

In the morning, I awoke sore and happy, and when I turned to find Ryder sleeping beside me, I had to stare at him, watching him breathe in and out, to convince myself that the night we’d passed together was real.

After a moment, he startled awake, but as soon as he saw me and remembered himself, he relaxed. He held out his arms, and I was glad to go to him, to burrow against the mountain of his body. I pressed my face to his chest and breathed in his scent: sweat and warm skin, a hint of wine, the sharp, sweet scent of our passion.

“Was I snoring?” he asked. I shivered to hear his voice, hoarse with sleep.

“You were not,” I told him, “but your mouth was hanging open a bit.”

He laughed. “What a sight to wake up to.”

“In fact, if I’ve ever in my life woken up feeling so at peace in the world, I don’t remember it.”

I spoke the honest words into his shirt, part of me hoping the fabric would muffle my voice and he wouldn’t hear me. But of course he did hear me and shifted us both so he could look at me, his blue eyes soft under that fierce dark brow.

“You honor me by saying such a thing,” he said quietly. His gaze traveled over my face, and he shook his head in wonder. “What a vision you are in this bed.”

I felt bashful at his attention, tried to dismiss it. “With my hair a mess, like a lion’s mane, and my dress bunched up everywhere?”

“Yes, all of that,” he replied, and when he drew me to him for a kiss, I felt lissome in his arms, a precious creature who deserved such affection and wouldn’t ever be foolish enough to run from it. Such a new feeling—to know I was desired, to feel worthy of it. Lion-haired, trembling in my gray silk, I pulled Ryder close, and we moved together, quiet and slow, everything golden in the morning light.

***

Later, after we bathed and changed our clothes, we went downstairs to the queen’s dining hall. A messenger had delivered a note: Yvaine requested our company at a private luncheon.

I approached the dining hall with trepidation. What would we find there? Had Yvaine come back to the party from her errand and been hurt to find us gone? Giddy as I was, the taste of Ryder’s kisses lingering on my tongue, I still entered the room with a flutter of nerves in my throat, readying all kinds of excuses. We were tired, we’d had too much wine, the raucous noise of her guests had given me a headache.

Yvaine, however, wasn’t there. Instead, Gemma and Gareth sat at the table, Gareth in a tie and a gray morning suit, Gemma wearing a pretty gown of sea-foam green with a slight sheen of copper to every fold.

I startled to see them and paused in the doorway. “Where’s Yvaine?” I blurted out.

“We aren’t sure,” Gemma said, looking at me and then at Ryder with a pleased, assessing gaze that made me bristle. “We received a message at the university this morning telling us we were missed atlast night’s party and inviting us to luncheon, and came at once. That’s all we know.”

I nodded and said nothing, taking a seat across from Gareth. I didn’t dare look at him. A servant in a violet tunic came over and offered me a bowl of cut fruit. I took it and began to eat at once.