Page 68 of Iron & Embers (The Ashes of Thezmarr #1)

CHAPTER 68

Wren

‘Only in the fires of adversity can true greatness be forged’

– Drevenor Academy Handbook

T HE B EAR S LAYER took the volume from the shelf and offered it to her.

‘You’re back,’ she managed, pulse hammering in her throat as she stared up at him. He wore his usual white tunic, black leather vest and shoulder armour, his war hammer strapped behind him.

A lock of silver hair fell across his forehead, and he pushed it from his brow. ‘I told you I would be.’

Wren couldn’t remember what to do with her hands, other than to reach out and touch him. So she drew the book he’d given her tightly to her chest and glanced down the aisle of shelves. ‘Where’s Cal?’

‘Dismissed,’ Torj said simply. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

‘And where have you been?’ she managed.

‘It doesn’t matter...I’m back where I belong now,’ he told her, stepping closer and drinking in the sight of her. ‘Why? Did you miss me, Embers?’

‘I...’

Torj braced himself either side of her, caging her in against the bookshelf, the intoxicating scent of him wrapping around her. ‘Because I missed you...’

‘Did you now?’ she said lightly. Gods, her body came alive in his presence, calling out for his touch, his kiss...

Torj’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her mouth. ‘Shall I show you how much?’

Wren’s breathing hitched. ‘Here?’ The archives were empty, but there was nothing to hide behind. ‘We’ll get caught.’

Torj dipped his head, brushing his lips against hers so lightly she wondered if she’d imagined it. ‘Not if you’re quiet.’

Wren dropped the book she was holding. The thud echoed down the aisle.

A dark laugh bubbled from Torj as one hand encircled her waist, the heat of his palm searing through her clothes. ‘You’ll have to do better than that...’

Wren surged for him, entwining her arms around the back of his neck and dragging his mouth to hers.

Her lips scorched his in a kiss that set fire to all her senses. He tasted like dark promises and desire incarnate, and she was starved for him. She nipped at his lower lip, and his mouth opened for her, allowing her to deepen the kiss, for her tongue to explore him. She pulled him closer and demanded more, heat swelling between her thighs as he answered every stroke of her tongue with his own.

Pressing against him, she marvelled at how he was braced over her – a mighty silver-haired god whose body responded to her like the storms answered her call. She released his hair and let her hands trace the steel of his shoulder armour, then drop to his chest and the rippling abdomen below, feeling the shift of those muscles beneath her fingers. Her hands went lower still, until they brushed the hardness between his legs—

‘Fuck,’ he groaned as she palmed him through his leathers.

‘What happened to being quiet?’ she murmured, white-hot need making her shift, seeking friction. She was wound so tight, every shallow breath reminding her of how she ached to be touched.

‘We’ll see who struggles more,’ Torj growled in her ear.

And then he dropped to his knees.

Her eyes must have gone wide, because he had the audacity to give her a wicked grin, his hands sliding beneath her skirts, dragging the fabric with them.

‘You can’t—’

‘Tell me to stop.’

Cool air kissed the tops of her thighs, and suddenly she was exposed. He pushed her skirt layers into her belt, tucking them there so they didn’t fall back down.

She could feel the whisper of Torj’s breath against her skin, and her knees quaked as his hands explored more of her, gently thumbing the juncture of her hip and thigh before kissing the same spot with reverence. Want was growing slick between her legs, and with him being so close, he’d see it soon enough...His hands mapped the curve of her hips, her backside, her abdomen, as though he meant to memorize the shape of her by touch alone.

No man had ever knelt before her like this. No man had ever trailed soft kisses to her inner thighs and—

He parted her gently and dragged his tongue up her centre.

Wren’s hands shot to the shelves on either side of her, gripping hard, her heart pounding.

A molten line of ecstasy.

An otherworldly sensation.

She bit her lip hard to keep from moaning, her head tipping back, hitting the shelf behind her, as Torj’s tongue swept across her again.

Heat bloomed in her chest and flushed her face.

This was insanity.

A low, rumbling sound of need came from the Warsword between her legs as he lavished her with long, luxurious strokes of his wicked tongue. His stubble grazed her sensitive skin, causing delicious pinpricks of pain as he worked her with a gentle rhythm, as though he were trying to suspend time, as though it didn’t matter that they were out in the open.

The pressure building within her was unbearable, and she wanted nothing more than to arch her hips towards his face and ride his tongue. He seemed to sense her need heightening, for he shifted his thumb to her clit and rubbed light circles around it.

Wren gasped, the added sensation almost too much – or not enough. Her mind was in pieces, pure bliss soaking through her bones.

Torj’s mouth moved over the most intimate part of her, his shoulders trembling in what she could only imagine was restraint. Wren was shaking too as the storm gathered in her body, threatening to break. Her hands gripped his hair now, and he moaned against her heat, all the while focused on her and her alone.

Knees quaking, she clung to him, wanting desperately to come apart on his tongue, and at the same time, wanting to feel him deep inside her.

Sucking on her clit now, Torj slid two fingers inside her, as though reading her mind, understanding that she needed to be filled—

Wren cried out, knocking a book from the shelf as she jerked beneath him, his fingers finding a spot inside her that caused stars to burst across her vision. The pressure within built and built, her orgasm unravelling with full force until all she could do was surrender.

‘Torj...’ she whispered, before it hit.

Books cascaded from the shelves around her as wanton pleasure rushed through her: liquid fire in her veins, lightning in her chest. She could do nothing but give in, nothing but ride the wave of it into oblivion.