Page 19

Chapter

Sixteen

Grahame

A dara’s limbs became as stiff as tree branches as soon as he climbed on top of her.

He was a bastard. She had been treated terribly by her late husband—something he didn’t dare think about because the mere mention of her past experience in the bedchamber made his blood froth—and he didn’t want to scare her.

However, the only way for his plan to work was to make it appear as if they were christening the marriage bed.

Beneath him, Adara was splayed out, her arms around his neck, breasts straining against her dress. They made him salivate. He wanted those breasts in his mouth, wanted his cock between them.

He should have taken her quickly. It would have been just as easy to shove into her, to stroke them both to completion.

With the way her body cradled his, he knew he wouldn’t be forcing her.

But, at the wedding, her eyes had gone soft when he’d referenced his parents.

The little smile that adorned her mouth caused affection to unfurl in his chest. And, as tempting as she was in that dress, when Adara wandered into the bedchamber alone, expectant and worried, something in him cracked.

She needed someone to protect her for once.

So, Grahame planned to honor her propriety.

The men didn’t need to know. He figured he could get Adara under the blanket and move in a way to make it look as if they’d completed the marital joining.

Even if her kisses and wandering hands made him as hard as stone.

“Indeed, we shall,” Adara said into his ear. Her tone was different. Back to being sharp, well-spoken. Not like a woman in the heat of making love, her voice husky with need.

Grahame pulled back.

Her kiss-swollen lips had firmed into a line, the cant of her head like that of a snake’s preparing to strike.

It shook him.

But then Adara undulated her hips, pulling his mouth to hers, and Grahame was lost. He kissed her like he’d wanted to for years. With his entire body. Adara gave it back to him, opening her mouth, tonguing him until he was breathless.

“Can you move back?” he managed to ask as he grabbed a glorious handful of her backside and squeezed, all the while grinding himself against her. It was sincerely regretful that he was still wearing pants.

Adara emitted a strangled little sigh. Grahame wanted nothing more than to make her make those sounds for the rest of the evening.

Hate for himself threatened to fester—he dared betray his friends by enjoying her too much.

But then she raked her nails down his back, a gentle tease, and he damned himself to hell by resolving not to bring Hyrstow into their bed.

Adara was his, even if just for a time. And he’d spent most of his life swearing to the Creator he would do anything for one more moment with her. He would live up to that promise.

Grahame dipped his lips to her ear to say, “God damn me, Adara. I promise I won’t take you, but I cannot promise I won’t spill all over you. I need that dress rucked up, my trousers down, and there will be no question from the men as to whether we consummated this.”

Grahame rose off her enough for her to bury herself beneath the coverlet. Removing his hands from her body was every bit as torturous as having his hands burnt. Now that he’d touched her again…the need to keep doing so was overwhelming.

As if unable to help herself, Adara’s eyes wandered to the men at the door. A small frown marred those perfect lips. He couldn’t lose her, couldn’t let her fall back into that cloud of despair.

“Do you like them staring?” Grahame asked, his cock throbbing.

He ran an impatient hand down his length, squeezing on the upward stroke to ward off the pressure that itched along his lower spine.

Grahame’s pride puffed his chest as her gaze flared.

Adara ran tongue over that full bottom lip of hers as he re-settled between her legs, bracing himself on one arm.

He was too eager to settle his starving hand back on her ample hip.

“No. And yes. It is…different this time,” she said, her voice low.

“It had better be,” he growled, dipping to nip at the bare skin where her neck met her shoulder. Unable to help himself, he kissed her lower, then sucked the delicate skin. “Ruck those skirts up. I’m taking this off.”

Adara’s eyes widened with appreciation as he untangled the laces of his trousers. His cock’s head popped out, thankful for the air.

“Impatient bugger, isn’t he?” he asked with a raised brow.

Adara grinned, her eyes locked on his crown. Hunger simmered in their depths.

Shuffling started at the door. Grahame ignored it. Thankfully, Adara did not seem to hear. Instead she reached forward, her fingers curling around the material at his waist.

“Can I?” she asked. A flush stained her cheeks a rosy pink.

“Fuck, yes,” Grahame replied, hoarsely.

“You have a dirty mouth,” she said.

Some of the ice seemed to ease from her limbs as her knuckles met with the skin above his trousers. He bit back a curse at the contact.

“Oh, Adara, you have no idea how dirty my mouth can be. I yearn to dirty it up with you.”

It was permission enough for her to tug his trousers down, revealing the length of him. Grahame grabbed the blanket at his side and flung it over his bare ass. Decently covered, he could hide their lack of joining beneath the blankets.

Safe within the confines of his arms, Adara’s eyes were locked on his swollen cock, her hands bracketed on his hips. Almost absently, her thumbs stroked the V-like indentations near his waistline. The rasp of her skin against his was delectable torture.

“Grahame,” she murmured before her hand wove ‘round the root of his cock, “you’re…so well endowed. How…how am I to take all of this?”

He grunted as she stroked upward, fingers loose. She circled the head, her hand a tantalizing mixture of soft firmness before it slid back down. Grahame had to lock his limbs in place to stop himself from thrusting into her grasp.

“I know you can take it, ’Dara,” he whispered, his mind going blank as she ran her hand up his length a second time.

Grahame closed his eyes and forced himself still. If Adara wanted to explore his body, so be it. If he had to sit there and think of Joseph Builder’s gnarled toes so he wouldn’t come too quickly, he would.

Two leisurely strokes later, Grahame gave up.

“’Dara,” he moaned, flexing his hips to try to alleviate the urge to blow all over that goddamn red dress, “focus on me. I’m going to enter you.”

Adara nodded, eyes turning glassy as he lowered himself to her, nearly covering her with his body entirely. He’d said it for the benefit of the men watching, to get her onboard. To remind himself that he would not take her even though his body was screaming at him to.

With one arm braced to hold most of his weight off her, he grabbed her skirts and pulled upward with the other.

Adara’s undergarments were of fine, light, linen almost matching the color of a pearl.

Beneath, he could see the outline of her lips, the dampness of the material betraying how she hungered for him.

It wasn’t a surprise with the way she kissed him, but pride was an unpredictable thing.

The sight of her want turned him into a salivating fool.

He was so close to heaven. How could he not capture a slice of it while visiting?

As if under a spell, he ran a knuckle over the wet material. Adara shuddered once, then her entire body went still. It snapped him out of his trance, reminding him of his pledge to act as if it were all real when none of it was.

Dipping close, he nosed through her luscious black hair to whisper, “Act however you like to make the men think we’ve joined.”

She stiffened again and regret hit Grahame squarely between the shoulder blades. No part of him wanted to fake it with her. Despite all she’d done, she was still his Adara when they were like this.

With resolve, he yanked her underthings down. She wiggled her hips so the garment hung off one leg. Then he was on her, gliding against her, his flesh on hers, seeking release.

“Ahhh,” Adara shouted, the sound ringing through him as his cock met with the skin of her mound. Her hair was slick, her body hot. There was no getting out of the situation with his pride intact. Merely pretending to reach completion wasn’t an option when his cock slavered with pent up desire.

“God, Adara, there is no way you feel like this,” he rasped, rearing back slightly so he could thrust against her.

Any dream he had of her had been nothing compared to the real thing.

Her heat, her quivering body beneath his, the small sounds she made as he nudged the bud at her apex were going to drive him mad. And he wasn’t even inside her.

Gone with want, Grahame plucked a quick, harsh kiss from her mouth. Without his prompting, her hand snuck between their bodies, fingers dipping into her center to slick them then brought them up to wrap around his length.

If Grahame thought he was mad before, Adara’s understanding of the situation was the last straw.

There was no way for him to last any amount of time with her determined, lust-filled gaze taking him apart from the inside out.

Perhaps that was for the best, because there was something dangerous about this act, this service that they were doing for one another.

She was all of his fantasies combined, yet still out of reach.

He was her means to an end, and like so many other women before her, his body was a tool.

It broke him as a tide of desire burned down his thighs.

Grahame shut his eyes against Adara’s beauty, against the hopelessness that overtook him in the knowledge he was protecting a woman he no longer knew. As if in answer, she tightened her fist around him as he thrust again. The sweet, hot glide of her hand was too good.

Adara. His Adara. Her scent cloaked him. He wanted to bathe in it.

“Grahame,” she said, her tone pleading. Instead of reply, he moved back and forth, fighting the urge to come all over her. He couldn’t look at her.

“Grahame,” she said again, her tone strong, grip twisting. It caused him to thicken, to surrender to the inevitability of his marking her. “Grahame, look at me.”

Adara. Adara. His ’Dara.

He’d dreamt of this moment thousands of times. The fire for her threatened to swallow him whole. She pumped her hand with his rhythm, bringing him to the point of no return.

“Please.”

Grahame’s eyes flew open as he jerked, spilling onto her creamy skin as wave after wave of release shredded through him. It was pain and pleasure like he’d never experienced. A wringing of his worthless soul.

When he’d finished, he collapsed on top of her, burying his nose in her hair so he wouldn’t have to look at her beautiful, tortured face any longer.

After a few heartbeats, he turned his face to the side to see Hagan and Thor adjusting their lower halves.

“Get out,” Grahame growled, hating that they witnessed her in a state of undress. That they were a part of the lies he told himself about his feelings for her. “You’ve seen what you need. Be gone.”

The men turned and fled as if their tunics were on fire.

Exhaustion climbed into Grahame’s bones and nested. He wanted to sink into sleep, to avoid everything that he knew would come. The urge to throw his arms over Adara and lay with her all night was unacceptable. It made him want to run from the room like the others.

Slowly, he peeled himself off his wife. His spend slicked their skin.

Adara would not look at him. He tossed off the blanked and picked up his clothing.

Humiliation at her shame snaked through him as he wiped himself off with his underthings.

Once finished, he offered the material to Adara.

She snatched it, wiping herself down without a word.

Hastily, he threw on his tunic, thrust his wobbly legs into his trousers.

“I’ve done what you required of me. I expect Yrsa to be freed from the dungeon immediately.”

No words were spoken as Grahame accepted his balled up underclothes and left.