Page 57 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

Wren’s eyes widened as Arden leaned back, his gaze lingering on her face as though he were trying to memorise it, to capture her in a moment outside of time.

‘That,’ he whispered.

‘Kissing me?’ she asked, brows drawn together in sudden confusion. ‘Yer afraid of kissing me?’

He laughed. A sound so rich and golden it wrapped around her like sunlight. She couldn’t quite fathom how she’d lived her life without it until now.

‘I’m afraid I’ll never get the chance to do it again,’ he said, voice soft with something that clung close to sorrow.

‘Why not?’

His eyes fell to his hands, large and calloused, a contrast to her own. Without hesitation, she placed hers atop his. The warmth of him seeped into her skin, and a small smile ghosted her lips before she could stop it.

‘I’m not who you think I am,’ he said at last, the confession hanging between them like mist on a winter’s morning.

But Wren only smiled wider, a knowing smile that reached her bright eyes and crinkled the corners. It startled him.

‘I know, Arden Briar. I’ve always known. But I’m not who you think I am either.’

His brow creased, and she laughed, the sound light and breathless.

‘Can we just pretend it doesn’t matter?’ she asked, voice hushed with hope. ‘Just for tonight?’

Before he could answer, Wren leaned in and kissed him. She didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. She silenced every voice of doubt that whispered she was not enough, every echo of fear that lived in the hollows of her heart. Tonight, she would not worry. Tonight, she would simply be.

Tomorrow, they would return to their secrets. They would wear their masks again and speak in half-truths. But for one night, they would just be. Nothing more and nothing less. A wolverian woman and a Fae man, tucked into each other’s arms and safe from the world.

She left every shard of fear behind when they climbed down from the rooftop and slipped back into the quiet room.

Her chest swelled with something warm and golden, so vast it felt like it might crack her open.

Her hands were steady as she undressed him; her breath did not tremble as he bared her soul with every slow, reverent touch.

‘I’ve neva…’

‘Never what?’ he asked, voice barely above a whisper as they stood before each other, bare and unguarded, stripped not only of clothes but of every carefully built wall.

‘I’ve neva been with anyone before.’

Arden’s smile came slow and soft—tender, reassuring. It was the kind of smile that soothed wounds long buried and offered promises without words. With infinite care, he guided her onto the bed, his body above hers but never pressing down, his gaze locked on hers with quiet reverence.

‘Are you certain you want it to be me?’ he whispered, an unexpected shyness threading through the depth of his voice.

Wren answered not with words, but with a kiss, her lips brushing his with all the certainty he needed. When his tongue found hers, something inside her cracked open like the earth before a storm.

She arched against him, pulling him closer, fingers tangled in the cropped strands of his hair, their bodies pressing together until it became impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

With flushed cheeks and breathless anticipation, Wren reversed their positions, pushing Arden gently onto his back. She straddled him, eyes drinking in the sight of him, his desire growing between them.

‘Teach me,’ she whispered, her voice a silken plea. ‘Teach me how to bring ya pleasure.’

His emerald eyes narrowed, darkening into something perilous, something laced with raw longing.

He took her hand with reverence, pressing a kiss to each fingertip as though worshipping them, before guiding it to wrap around the rigid length of him.

With slow precision, he taught her the cadence he craved, the rhythm that made his breath catch, until at last he relinquished control, letting her take over.

His eyes fluttered shut, breath unraveling in uneven gasps.

‘You must stop now,’ he said, his voice frayed with restraint.

‘Why?’ she asked, bewildered.

‘Because if you go on, I’m going to come.’

‘I want that.’

He shook his head gently. ‘No, not like this. Not yet.’ With tender insistence, he placed his hand atop hers, halting her movements. ‘I want to feel you.’

Emboldened by a newfound courage, Wren didn’t wait for permission, didn’t ask what he desired. Instead, she leaned in, guiding the hard length of him to rest at her entrance.

‘Not yet,’ he whispered, almost in desperation.

His hand moved instinctively, fingers slipping between her thighs. The moment he touched her, his eyes widened, stunned by the slick heat that coated him. When he withdrew, his fingers glistening, he brought them to his mouth and tasted her, and the sight alone drew a soft moan from Wren’s lips .

That sound undid him. With a suddenness that stole her breath, his hands seized her waist and he pressed her back onto the bed.

The tenderness in his expression dissolved like mist, replaced by something primal and ravenous.

In that instant, he was no longer the man she knew. He was the hunter, and she his prey.

‘Your heart’s racing,’ he breathed against her ear, his voice a velvet murmur that sent shivers skittering down her spine. His lips found her neck, kissing with reverence before his teeth grazed her skin, a teasing bite as he positioned himself once more at her entrance.

‘If it hurts too much, I’ll stop,’ he whispered.

‘Don’t ya dare, Arden Briar.’

Wren gasped the moment he thrust into her, the sound sharp and involuntary. Her hands flew to his arms, fingers digging into his flesh, nails marking him with each pulse of pain.

‘Don’t gasp like that,’ he groaned against her neck. ‘You’ll make me finish too soon.’

She bit down on her lower lip, her eyes fluttering shut against the ache that bloomed deep within.

Minutes passed—slow, breathless minutes during which Arden faltered, pausing.

But each time, she threatened him in low, guttural tones that promised the loss of his eyes if he so much as thought to stop.

And then, as though summoned from the dark, pleasure unfurled inside her. It bloomed warm and wild, rising like a tide. Wren writhed beneath him, a quiet delight escaping her lips as her legs wrapped tighter around his hips, chasing the heat building in her belly.

She slipped two fingers between his lips, and he took them in willingly, his mouth warm and eager as he continued to drive into her. Her moans rose in pitch, raw and unrestrained, as the fire coiled tighter within her, threatening to break .

‘Come for me,’ he growled, his teeth grazing her ear in a wicked nip.

Wren cried out as release claimed her, her legs trembling violently.

Arden didn’t slow—his thrusts relentless—until, with sudden urgency, he withdrew.

In the next breath, his mouth replaced the length of him, his tongue and fingers working in tandem as he plunged into her again, this time with a different kind of hunger.

Her eyes flew open in stunned rapture, the climax drawn out with merciless devotion as he refused to let her descend from the heights just yet. And then she heard him. Those low, guttural sounds of pleasure before his mouth and fingers vanished, replaced once more by the hard heat of him.

He drove into her with a final, desperate thrust, the flood of his release crashing into her, wild and consuming.

He pulled her gently atop him, holding her close as her body melted into his, his manhood still nestled within her warmth. Her cheek came to rest against his broad chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing her, lulling her into a rare, quiet calm.

‘Did you enjoy it?’ he asked, fingers idly combing through the tangle of her hair.

She gave a shy nod, cheeks tinged the softest pink.

‘Can we do it again?’

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. ‘You’ll have to give me at least ten minutes.’

‘Alright.’

A pause. ‘Are you counting them in your head?’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Liar.’

She hesitated, then asked in a voice barely above a whisper, ‘Is it always… like th is?’

Something unreadable appeared in the depths of his green eyes. A shadow of memory, or perhaps regret. ‘No. Not always.’

Wren gave a small nod, sensing the weight behind his words but choosing not to press. Instead, she remained quiet, until he tipped her chin with gentle fingers and pressed a tender kiss to the bridge of her nose.

‘I think I might need less than ten minutes,’ he said with a wicked smile.

Her eyes widened, following his gaze to where he was already stirring once more, hardening with renewed desire.

‘I want to…’ he began, voice catching in his throat, ‘I want to do many things tonight, with you.’

The silence that followed was filled with meaning unspoken, heavy with everything they both knew but would not say.

For tomorrow, this fragile, fleeting intimacy would dissolve.

There would be no more touches, no more kisses, no more whispered names in the dark.

They would return to what they were, mere companions on a shared path.

‘Although,’ he said, brushing a few strands of her silvery-white hair from her brow, ‘we should probably get some sleep.’

Wren laid her hand atop his. ‘No. I don’t want to sleep, Arden Briar. When we reach Fireheart…only da gods know what awaits us. I can sleep when I’m dead. Tonight, do with me as ya will.’

His eyes darkened once more, that feral glint returning, a look of unbridled hunger.

‘You shouldn’t say things like that,’ he said, voice thick with warning and want.

His fingers traced a sinuous path down the length of her body, igniting fire in their wake, before he swiftly guided her upright, settling her astride him.

With aching slowness, he eased her down onto him, and together their moans mingled and grew, rising in tandem as he filled her, drawing her down until there was no space left between them.

Wren began to roll her hips, tentative at first, until she discovered a rhythm that stole the breath from his lungs. A rhythm that made him gasp, made him curse aloud.

She found herself delighting in the way she could draw such crude, desperate sounds from him. Every expletive he uttered felt like a confession, a prayer to the altar of her body. With each thrust, each deliberate movement of her hips, she felt not only powerful, but radiant. Beautiful.

The moment his moans deepened and his grip on her skin tightened, Wren slipped away from him. Surprise flashed in his eyes as she moved lower, her hand guiding his length before she took him into her mouth.

Arden cursed. Raw, broken words tumbling from his lips in time with the movement of hers.

His hand tangled in her hair, holding her gently yet firmly in place, his lip curling as waves of pleasure began to rise, coiling within him like a storm about to break.

‘If you don’t stop, I’m going to come…’

But Wren did not stop. She pressed on, her touch and mouth relentless, until he broke apart with a groan, shattering into her.

Before the tremors had even subsided, he pulled her up into his arms, kissing her with reckless abandon, tasting her, tasting himself, and not caring for a single thing beyond the feel of her lips against his.

‘You’re going to be the death of me,’ he whispered against her ear, his voice rough with affection and desire, as he drew her against his chest. He parted her legs with deliberate care, his fingers slipping down to find the aching heat at her core.

‘Now,’ he whispered darkly, ‘it’s my turn to play.’

As the night unfolded, Wren lost herself utterly.

She forgot the weight of wars, the shadow of prophecies, the world beyond the walls of that room.

All that remained was him, the way he touched her, the way he worshipped and devoured her in turn, until nothing else existed but the endless, fevered rhythm of her name on his lips.