by Angel Payne
My smile lifted again. “You went for the girls.”
“Persuaded them to come ‘walk’ with us in the gardens, yes.” He returned to the chair though barely perched on the seat, bracing elbows to his knees, lacing his fingers again. “Tryst and I broke away from the others, hoping the sisters we had been courting would follow.”
I grabbed the chance for some levity. “‘Courting’?” I giggled. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Passing notes in class. Saving seats at breaks. Calling A-Rock and making anonymous dedications. The usual.” He cocked a fresh frown. “Right?”
Contemplative hum. “Trade the walk through the garden for a loop around the mall, and you have the same thing in America. So…” I spread my hands. “Yeah. Right.”
It took him a second to return to his memory. As soon as he did, his gaze doubled down on darkness. I almost told him to abort, that we could do this later, but the urgency in his posture pushed me into silence. I sensed the story like a living thing inside him, clamoring to be spoken—and I wondered if he’d even told it to anyone before. If not, he’d been hauling this burden around for nine years now. All by himself.
Whether that was the case or not, he sure as hell wasn’t alone now—and even a few feet seemed too great a distance to tell him so.
I pushed off the bed then lowered to my knees, scooting directly between his. A heavy sigh rushed from him. I separated his meshed hands, circling them with my own before pressing them over my heart…silently urging him to go on.
“We headed for a darker part of the garden,” he finally grated. “A hidden grotto…behind some big stones.” His whole form clenched. “But Father had beaten us there.”
The rattle of his voice gave me enough information to go on. I clutched him tighter before filling in, “And he was with someone.”
He didn’t bother nodding. Instead he uttered, “One of the High Council members. A woman who’d been serving him for years…clearly, in a number of ways.”
Envisioning the past wasn’t so effortless now. My throat closed with emotion as my mind flickered with the scene. Samsyn and Tryst standing there, gaping at more of Ardent than either of them wanted to know about—
Ew.
That was more of Ardent than I wanted to think about.
“Did he know you were there?”
Unbelievably, Syn colored. “Indeed,” he said grimly. “He knew.”
Tiny flinch. I’d seen Syn’s ire when he witnessed people merely trying to bend mat training rules. His fury at the Residence Rigale’s magistrate, when catching the man trying to snow me with his arrogance, was still a vivid recall. My husband’s loathing of deceit and dishonor, backed by his adherence to the Arcadian warrior’s code, was one of the compasses of his character. Had it been molded that way after the fateful night in the garden with his father? Wouldn’t have hit me as a surprise—though I doubted it. Syn’s moral code seemed sewn into his DNA, as much a part of him as the stunning color of his eyes. There were lines in his world that simply didn’t get crossed—and when his own father had stepped over one of the biggest, the torment of his soul had begun. For nine years, he’d lived with a Gordian Knot in his gut. Call his father out and forever stain the Cimarron family name, not to mention the emotional blow to his siblings, or help Ardent keep the dirty laundry deep in the basement?
Though somewhere along the line, Xaria had added to that pile too.
I followed the logical line from that thought. “So when did you tell your mom? Did you go to her that night?”
“She already knew.” His eyes, though fixed on me still, were distant and sad. “As soon as I saw her the next day, I just knew it. For a while, it bonded us a little. She seemed comforted that at least one person saw the truth. But then she turned no better than him, forming her little harem…”
“And you’ve carried both their secrets ever since.”
I stated it without pity. That would have destroyed him. Nor with any sadness. That wasn’t mine to share with him. I said it to him as I knew he needed it, simply as fact.
But my touch was a different story.
I could still caress his taut hands with the tenderness of my own. Could still press my lips to his knuckles, lingering their softness over his roughness. Could still hold him, comfort him, be a small piece of strength for him. I couldn’t take away the pain of his parents’ infidelities, but I could help him with carrying its weight. I just prayed like hell he’d let me.
The furrows across his face, persisting even now, didn’t give me a lot of hope about that chance.
“Secrets.” He repeated the word like asking me to pass the poison. “Are they not just another word for lies?”
I grabbed his hands tighter. Lifted them to my cheeks. Framed his face in the same way, though stroked my thumbs from the corners of his nose to the edges of his mouth, still adoring him with my touch. “I know it’s not easy, big guy. As a matter of fact, it’s hell. But you’re not alone anymore. For as long as I’m here…let me help.” I spread my fingers to his forehead, tracing the thick slashes of his eyebrows. “Samsyn…let me in.”
The words sank into him that time—like the poison he’d just been asking for. “How do I know what is real anymore?”
“You know.” I slid my hands to the center of his chest. “You know, Syn. In here.”
He dropped his hands too. Then his head. As his hands flowed over mine, our foreheads touched and held. He was silent for so long, no sound but the whooshes of his breath, but I felt all his words anyway. So many of them, alive and incredible on the air between us, consonants and vowels not mattering, a language needing no interpreter…because it was born from our hearts.
“Brooke?” It finally soughed out, a guttural whisper.
“Yeah?”
“You feel…real.”
Throat constricting.
Heart exploding.
Love growing.
I nudged my face up at him. Breathed in as he breathed out. Sighed as he shuddered. Smiled softly as he growled lowly. “Because I am, big guy. For as long as you need me.”
His chest rumbled with another low, gruff sound. He raised his fingers, splaying them to the side of my throat. Stretched them back to my nape, where he dug in to jerk my head up with a sharp tug. I gasped. Bite of fear. Wash of arousal. Then even more as he leaned over, aligning our gazes once more.
“What if I need you right now?”
I looked up, into the cut blue glass of his gaze, and silently begged him to slice me open. “What if I can’t think of anything I need more?”
His stare thickened. Swept down my face until delving over my mouth…giving a heated preview of what his was about to do.
And did.
Holy. Shit.
I thought I knew every category of kiss from this man now. From tender brushes to plunging tongue invasions, he used his mouth with as much mastery as his sword. But this was something new. Something he’d never exposed me to. A conquering I’d never experienced from him. A passion not just reserved for my body. He wanted—commanded—everything now. The thoughts in my head. The desires of my heart. All the keys to my soul.
And God help me…I was helpless to refuse.
As soon as the lock fell free, releasing it all in a sensual tumble, I sighed again—though by then, Syn had already slid back in the chair, pulling me with him.
Straddling my hips around his.
Yanking the ties of my robe open.
Exposing my nude body to the blue flames of his stare.
“Creator’s infinite grace,” he rasped. “What a gift you are, my astremé.”
I swallowed hard as his hands cupped my breasts, enticing the tips to full erection with steady tugs. “Does that mean you’re ready to…unwrap me?” Coyly, I shirked the robe off my left shoulder. If the move worked its desired effect, he wouldn’t want to be so careful about releasing the other arm.
It did. He wasn’t.
I girl-growled as he shoved the robe’s
other side down, then ripped the garment completely away. I was bared to him now. Exposed…in every way I could be. Skin. Sex. Spirit. His.
Syn raked his hands downward, imprinting my rib cage, stomach and abdomen with the dark pink trails of his touch. He wasn’t gentle, and I didn’t want him to be. I hissed with that encouragement as he skidded lower, parting my labia, driving both thumbs up into my throbbing channel.
“Damn!” My head fell back as he thrust in deep, digging his other fingers into my mound for purchase. “Syn. That’s…”
“Not enough,” he snarled. “Not nearly enough.”
I tucked in to kiss him while rolling my sex in time with his hands. “Not nearly,” I panted—just before flipping his belt open. Beneath my fingers, his erection surged against his pants, hot and huge already.
We groaned together as his cell phone rang.
Syn swore, releasing his hands from my body in order to fumble for the device. It was resting on the table beneath his book, which had been tossed to the floor in his search. He finally tapped the green button—at the same moment I lowered his slacks zipper.
“Yes?”
He finished it with a barely stifled groan—as I freed his cock. I’d never get used to the thrill of seeing him like this. His sex embodied him: powerful, proud, bold, insistent. I longed to just stare at it like this. Now wasn’t that time.
“Of…course. Perfect.” He stumbled through his formalities, as I caressed him from swollen balls to pulsing tip. “Thank you for…letting me…know. I understand. Yes. Just be certain everyone is prepared and…”
Back to the clenched groan…as I swiped a drop of his pre-come off the tip of his stalk. The whole shaft bobbed beneath my touch, straining with his need.
“Yes. I know.” He hissed as I sucked the milk off my finger. “Right away. I am coming.”
As he punched the call to an end, I quirked a saucy smirk. “Hmmm. Not yet, I hope.”
Syn didn’t waste time on a riposte. With his most dangerous dragon’s growl, he seized me by both hips. Positioned my drenched pussy atop his surging penis, then plunged me back down. I cried out in a mix of pain and ecstasy. Never had he penetrated me so deep, so fast. It was terrible and incredible in the same excruciating instant.
“Minx.” He riveted the word to the air while slamming me harder upon him—quelling any impression that my position put me in control of things this time. “You have made me late to the emergency High Council meeting. And you know I hate delaying discipline.”
I winced as his grip tightened, increasing the pace of our thrusts. He’d leave marks on my hips—thank God. I hoped they’d be dark for days, visceral reminders of this exact moment. The quivering zings through my body. The coiled tension of his. And the pressure, squeezing hot and needy in my core, begging his cock for its ultimate explosion.
“D-discipline?” I jibed between heavy breaths. “Nobody’s keeping you here, Majesty. If you must go, then go…”
I squeaked as he reached around, pinching both my ass cheeks. Shit. There’d be marks there too. “I am not going anywhere, wife—until you take every drop of come from my cock.”
His wicked words were my empowerment. I rose up, ensuring he could better see every movement I made. Moved his hands back to my hips, surrendering even deeper to his driving, dominant pace. “As I shall willingly do, husband.”
Samsyn’s lips parted. His teeth gleamed, white and feral in the streams of sun pushing through the windows. Another blast of that light fell over the juncture of our bodies, making the juices on his cock gleam with every new punch into my pussy.
“Brooke!” he groaned.
“Samsyn,” I rasped.
“Take me.”
“Yes.”
“All of me!”
“Yes.”
As his passion became liquid in my core, I became liquid in his arms. My orgasm shuddered through me, tightening my tunnel around his cock, pulling his strength even deeper into me. And though we rode those climaxes until they turned to soft sighs of fulfillment, I fought to keep him clutched inside—part of my body just as he was twined inside my heart, for just another perfect moment.
One more moment.
Just one more moment…please.
His phone rang again.
He spat the Arcadian expletive once more. Jabbed the red button on the phone this time, but gently lifted me off his lap before he rose and headed to the bathroom to clean up. For a long second, I just remained on the chair, knees curled beneath me, wondering why I shivered despite the sun pouring in. Told myself to get the hell over it—and had almost convinced myself I could—when he reentered, looking as gorgeous and polished as before. No. Better. He looked gorgeous, polished, and supremely satisfied—that “look” certain men just had after they’d fucked a woman into outer space. That would certainly explain my chill.
He crossed to me, lifting my chin to linger a kiss over my lips, now deliciously tender from his attentions. “Back to reality.”
His hair fell over my face. I twisted a hand into a bunch of it to keep him in place, retorting, “No, big guy. This is the real part. And don’t you forget it.”
The sensual ribbons of his lips twisted up. His gaze swept across my face, blue and vast as the cloudless sky outside. And bright with just as much hope.
“No forgetting,” he murmured. “I promise.”
“Good.” I pressed my lips to his one more time. My heart thumped into my upstretched throat. “Then I promise too.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
‡
NEARLY EIGHT HOURS later—not that I was counting—I was finally able to get warm again.
“Hey, big guy.” I fought to keep it light as I damn near sprinted across the Palais’ biggest ballroom—impressive as hell, considering I hadn’t worn high heels like this since Dad’s last campaign—and jumped at Samsyn like a parched beggar at a mirage. Instead of dissolving into dust, he solidified into perfection. His arms banded around me, a protective shelter. His head rested atop mine, sure and steady. The only rickety element was his sigh, weighted as if he, too, had been holding his breath all day long.
“Well hey to you too, raismette.”
Whiplash. Had he really just made it…enjoyable? My gaze, yanked up along with my face, searched the dancing blue depths of his. Holy shit…he had. His eyes were always astounding, a crystalline contrast against his swarthy skin, but now they were more than that. His blatant joy made them outright mesmerizing.
“Wh-what—” I finally stammered, “did you…just…”
“Raismette.” He repeated it without hesitation. “Thought I would…give it a test try.” He palmed the side of my face. “It sounds good, yes?”
“Yes,” I whispered. Bit the inside of my lip, if only to confirm I wasn’t dreaming. “Very good.”
“No.” His lips covered mine, though he kept his five-star tongue dutifully leashed. “Not very good.” With a small step back, he stared down to my toes and back. “The very good belongs to my beautiful wife.”
I laughed, not even trying to hide the nervousness, as he gazed longer at what I’d jokingly pegged “the Brooke 2.0”. The pumps, a pair of sleek mid-heels with a T-strap on top, were just the base blocks of the ensemble: a black pencil skirt and butter-soft cardigan over a silver satin shirt that tied into a floppy bow at the neck, complimented by pearl earrings and, thanks to Mishella, a French-twisty look for my hair.
It had definitely been a step from my comfort zone.
A big step.
Now, thanks to the man’s hot and hungry dragon stare, one I officially flagged as a do-over.
Looping my hand into his only sealed the deal. The man was always warm, everywhere—forming the thousandth reason why I always yearned to be closer to him. I did just that, swinging our hands, sashaying in until our bodies were flush.
“Just thought I’d give it a test try,” I teased.
Syn moaned softly. “It is breathtaking.”
I fitted my li
ps against his neck. “Well, maybe I can think of a few more ways to…take your breath away.”
“Fuck,” he snarled. “Yesssss.”
“After dinner with our families.”
He groaned and growled at once. I winced and squeezed his hand. “Sorrrrrry.” Forced a tight smile. “Didn’t Mishella message Grahm about it?”
The seasoned warrior had been tagged as Syn’s secran for the time being, since Grahm’s thigh wound had been worse than everyone originally thought. I ached for Grahm about the sidelining but thanked God and fate and even the Creator for his service over the last two days. He’d left for Tahreuse practically right after the wedding, tasked with telling my family the crazy story behind this elaborate ruse—including the bombshell they’d finally be freed from playing dead for the world. But because of that, Samsyn had insisted they stay at the Palais for the next few weeks. For the time being, security was heavily fortified throughout Sancti, more so in the Palais complex. If Rune Kavill still had the resources and resolve to even come after Dad now, we’d all be much safer in the capital city.
“Of course.” Samsyn finally grumbled his reply. “Mishella was very diligent. So was Grahm. I simply had other things on my mind.”
“Only a million of them.” I stroked the tension beneath his jaw in empathy. “Playing nice with the High Council, arranging your brother’s memorial, staying on top of the hunt for those missing assholes…”
He took a turn to nuzzle me now. “And resisting thoughts of staying on top of my wife.”
And just like that, stardust again—in my veins, through my limbs, tingling in the hand that twisted against his scalp. “Just as she’s resisted thoughts of the same thing.”
He let out a soft snarl while pressing his lips fully to my neck. “Oh, is that so?”
Soft sigh. Searing need. “That is…very so.”
“Hmmm.” His hands slipped lower, taunting the top of my ass. “Our radios must be in sync, raismette.”
I sighed. That man’s incredible mouth. “Sounds like we’re at a go for the mission, then.”