The Beginning of Everything (The Rising Book 1)

by Kristen Ashley

  “I was glad to see Sofia amongst her own,” I told him.

  “Indeed,” he replied, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it aside. “Particularly since they’re a powerful clan. Outside my direct line, the most powerful in the realm.”

  His hands then went to his trousers.

  Oh my faith.

  I turned away.

  “Why was the…um, announcement you’d be giving the offerings to your country such a surprise?” I asked.

  “Such has never been done.”

  This I didn’t find surprising, for if Wilmer was younger and just wedding Mercy, I knew he would not hesitate to put such in his own chest.

  “They must surely be glad for the advancements,” I noted, staring at his bed, which probably was not a good place to set my eyes.

  Therefore, I moved them to the short, mirrored dresser by his bed.

  Better.

  “The nomads don’t care. They roam. Educate their own. Worship on their rugs under the sun. Practice their own healing techniques. Fight their own fights. When there is war for Firenze, it is rare they send their men.”

  “Ah,” I mumbled loudly when he didn’t continue speaking.

  “The clans, they vacillate depending on where I decide to focus currency. If it’s the betterment of their schools and hospitals, building temples and monuments in their towns and cities, which means their people are laboring and receiving the crowns’ coin, they are happy. They do not understand the creation of straight, easily traversed roads or irrigation of rivers, which is something my father started, and I continue. But if it is their people remunerated for it, they do not complain. But if it is that of others…”

  He did not finish, but I understood.

  “They keep a close eye and protest favoritism frequently,” Mars concluded.

  “Do you play favorites?” I asked, only for something to say because I couldn’t imagine he did.

  His voice was getting closer when he replied as I expected, “No.”

  I turned to his voice.

  He was in his silky panel pants, this pair a deep burgundy.

  Chest bare.

  Piercings shining in the much more lit (but still less lit than the time I’d been there before) room.

  All right, maybe I wasn’t ready to learn more of what marriage would mean between Mars and me.

  It would seem I didn’t have a choice.

  For he came direct to me, took my hand, and walking slowly, he led me to the bed.

  I gulped down saliva from a suddenly full mouth.

  At the top of the steps, he turned, sat on the edge of his bed, opened his long legs and guided me to standing in between.

  He then took up my other hand, and holding both, tipped his head back to look up at me.

  “You are nervous,” he whispered.

  I stared into dark eyes that were soft with tenderness and empathy.

  And I felt the tension ease from my shoulders.

  “A little,” I whispered in return.

  “We will kiss more, my bride. And that is all if that is all you’re ready for.” He pulled me the tiniest bit closer. “And know this, Silence, for I refer to tonight and tomorrow and for as long as you need to get used to this intimacy we will share. I am ready. I desire you. I want to know your taste. Your mysteries. But if you are not, that means we are not. Is this something you understand?”

  It was.

  It was something I understood.

  And something I found incredibly generous.

  And beautiful.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “Then kiss me, Silence, and guide our way tonight.”

  Could I kiss him?

  He let my hands go and sat there, his eyes steady on me, our time together brief, just a snatch in what I hoped would be a lifetime of knowing each other.

  But he had shown me nothing but interest, respect, kindness, protectiveness, gentleness and desire.

  Thus, I bent forward, resting my hands on his broad shoulders, feeling the heat of his body, the power of his muscles, and dropped my lips to his.

  Mars allowed this.

  But he did not take hold on my body.

  He did not press anything from me.

  That was when I touched the tip of my tongue to his lips.

  They opened.

  I slid inside.

  He tasted warm and musky and delicious.

  He also made a low noise I felt in regions south of my belly.

  So I pressed my lips harder to his, tilting my head, sliding my hand up into his hair at the back.

  He put both hands to my hips.

  I liked their weight. Their warmth. The steadying feel of them.

  I didn’t know how, but nevertheless, I made an attempt to coax his tongue into my mouth.

  Mars didn’t make me work at it.

  He gave it to me.

  I sucked it deeper.

  And gods, but I loved that stud in his tongue.

  A lower, rougher noise rumbled into my mouth as his tongue played with mine.

  I gave him more of my weight in my hand at his shoulder, this resulting in his hands sliding to the small of my back, one gliding up my spine.

  I liked his touch.

  So much, I trembled. And it was a trembling that felt marvelous to me.

  I bent my elbow and gave him more weight.

  Mars fell back, wrapping his arms around me, so I fell with him, to land on his chest.

  Oh.

  All that hard man beneath me.

  So, so…

  Lovely.

  I lifted my lips from his and whispered, “Mars.”

  He rolled me so I was on my back and he was partially on me.

  Oh.

  My.

  So lovely, that hard man on me.

  “Mars,” I breathed.

  And he kissed me.

  It was deeper, sweeter, his hands roaming my sides, my hips, my ribs.

  I pressed up into him, trying to share I wanted more.

  He in turn pressed into me and I felt it. Something I might fear, but in that moment, with him as he was, us as we were, I did not.

  It made me feel powerful and beautiful and womanly.

  So I met the hardness at his hips with my body, arching into it.

  “Silence,” he growled against my lips.

  “Mars,” I whispered against his.

  We were looking into each other’s eyes.

  I noticed some unusual red in his that had to be a reflection from a lantern before whatever question he was asking was answered and I took more of his weight.

  I also got his mouth back.

  His tongue.

  And this was no longer a gentle, exploratory dance.

  There was hunger.

  I knew what it was instantly.

  And it was utterly enchanting.

  I met it with mouth and touch, our tongues dueling, my hands wandering the skin of his back, tracking the slopes, riding the dips, not discovering, claiming.

  He rolled off, pulling me up, righting us in bed, falling to his back and drawing me over him.

  And there was so much of him.

  I’d had his mouth.

  I wanted more.

  I dipped my head and took his flat, brown nipple.

  “Fuck,” he grunted.

  Oh no.

  I’d done something wrong.

  My head shot up.

  His hands came under my arms and yanked me up before he took my mouth again, his fingers diving into my hair. I could feel the pins loosen, the curls falling, the ribbon sliding out, but only vaguely.

  My betrothed was not hungry.

  Now he was starving.

  And feeling that from him, knowing I made him that way, he took me there with him.

  I explored his neck.

  He explored mine.

  My hands were urgent on him.

  His hands were urgent on the buttons on the back of my gown.

  His lips at my ear, he groused,
“How many of these bloody things are there?”

  “Too many,” I breathed.

  And there were.

  Way too many.

  My skin felt hot, burning.

  The dress had to go.

  He sat up and I came up with him, straddling his hips, my knees fighting material.

  He tugged at my skirts.

  I did too.

  “Fucking acres,” he grumbled.

  I almost giggled.

  I didn’t giggle.

  My skin was far too hot.

  I needed that dress off me.

  And Mars on me.

  Immediately.

  Eventually I pulled it away at the neckline and lifted it up.

  Mars helped me, pulling it higher.

  I raised my arms and he gathered the folds, freed me of it, tossed it aside…

  And I sat astride him in nothing but my white lace corset and panties.

  Suddenly, I needed my dress back.

  Until Mars’s eyes fell to my body.

  That red came back, and I felt my brows titch together at the sight before I was thinking nothing.

  I was on my back and Mars was at my side, drawing my panties down my legs.

  “Mars,” I called tremblingly.

  He looked from my legs to my face.

  And his eyes were afire.

  “I promise,” he stated gutturally.

  I didn’t know what he promised.

  I just knew he meant it.

  I nodded.

  He shifted down, rolled over one of my legs, moving the other aside, then he…he…

  Gently pressed them apart, dropped his head…

  And he fed from me.

  The touch of his mouth was such beauty, the stroke of that studded tongue sheer bliss, my back bowed, my toes curled, I cried out, unable to contain the pleasure I was experiencing.

  Mars tossed my legs over his shoulders, spanned my hips in his big hands, and bore down on me.

  “Oh, by the gods,” I breathed, raking my nails through his hair against his scalp, holding the gloriousness of what he was doing to me, “Oh gods, Mars. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

  But then, it happened.

  I dug my heels into his back as I fought the greatness of the sensations that seemed both awesome and threatening.

  “Please. You need to…” I began, but before I could complete that with stop, it overtook me.

  Engulfed me.

  I bucked under him as fire consumed me, my body, my sex, my vision, my mind. I was writhing in an inferno of pleasure and ecstasy.

  No.

  Not consumed.

  I was feeding from the flames.

  I did not know such existed. I did not know this was something to be had.

  What I knew then was that I adored it with every part of me, now that I’d had it.

  Vaguely, when I started simply drifting in their heat, I felt Mars lapping at me gently.

  This before he moved up my body, kissing my belly. My midriff. My chest. The base of my throat.

  And then his weight was on me, warming, heavy, but not overwhelming, and his beard tickled my neck as his mouth moved there.

  Should I be embarrassed about what just happened?

  If I should, at that moment, I did not have it in me.

  Mars kissed below my ear where his hoop at the lobe pierced me.

  And his voice was lovely and gruff when he said, “I think we’ll stop there for tonight.”

  I was glad of this because I was not certain I could move.

  I was wrong.

  When he ordered, “Put your arms around me, Silence,” I did as told. And when he continued, “Wrap your legs around mine,” I did that too.

  He was wise.

  This was better.

  So much better.

  His mouth moved on my neck, his fingers coasted on my bare hip, and I could tell he was holding some of his weight in his other forearm. I knew that because, with the way he was touching me, the way he wanted me wrapped around him, if he could use that hand to touch me more, he would do it.

  I felt little under him.

  Tiny.

  But knowing how much he enjoyed the feel of me, I also felt precious.

  “No,” he whispered to my throat on his way around to the other side of my neck. “It does not matter if the clans and tribes like you.”

  He lifted his head and I gazed up at his handsome face dazedly.

  “Because I like you,” he finished.

  “I like you too,” I mumbled.

  He grinned. “You demonstrated that.”

  “I’m afraid I’m brazen,” I admitted.

  His big body moved on mine for a time before his chuckle was audible.

  “I’m not afraid, piccolina. This makes me happy.”

  “Well, it would,” I muttered.

  He just smiled down at me affectionately.

  I kept muttering for I had the ability to do no more. “Your weight feels nice.”

  “This is good, you’ll be feeling it a great deal.”

  I shivered.

  His smile got bigger.

  “And you are very warm,” I told him.

  “This is all well for you, my Silence. Our days are hot, our nights are cold.”

  “I’ve noticed that.”

  “Silence?”

  “Yes?”

  He took his hand from my hip so he could use his thumb to brush across my cheekbone.

  And then he said, “Thank you.”

  That was what he said.

  I felt like I would cry.

  His head came toward mine, but when I thought he’d kiss me (and it must be said, I very much wanted him to kiss me), he slid his bristly cheek down my smooth one and continued in my ear, “Your trust means much to me. I treasure it. More than any chest of gold or pouch of jewels. Your pleasure, so freely offered, means much to me too, and I treasure it as well. Not as much as your trust, but it’s important you know it means a great deal to me.”

  Yes, I definitely could cry.

  “Mars,” I whispered.

  “We will choose wisely when we bring others to our bed.”

  I blinked at the dark overhang.

  “But at first, for a time, I will only have you before I take another. And you will only have me before I allow another to have you.”

  Others?

  To have him?

  And me?

  Oh gods.

  The Firenz way of marriage.

  No.

  “Now,” he stated, lifted his head, touched his mouth to mine, then angled up, taking me with him, “it is time to get you to your own bed before I get further ideas.”

  He pulled me off his bed, toward where he tossed my gown.

  And I moved with him.

  Automatically.

  He snatched up my panties and handed them to me.

  I suddenly felt entirely exposed and quickly bent to step into them.

  When I straightened after smoothing them over my hips, I saw he was wrestling with the “acres” of material of my gown.

  “Mars, um…the others,” I began.

  He turned to me with the skirts of my gown bunched in a way he could pull it over my head.

  Which was what he did, forcing me to struggle my arms through the dress to get to the top opening.

  It would seem he had practice doing such as that.

  My belly twisted.

  He performed this task while speaking.

  “I will take arse for you, if that’s what you desire to see. Though it is not normally my choice. I am like Lorenz. If it tantalizes you, it will do the same for me. Though the Trusted, you should know, Silence, are not available to you, except Basil, if he is to your wanting, for he will not take you, only me. But if there is a warrior of mine…”

  He trailed off, turning me after I shoved my hands through the sleeves, and he began to close the buttons at my back.

  I was staring at the lit lamp on the dresser on that
side of his bed, my gaze drifting, noticing in the peach of the walls there was a slightly darker motif that was barely discernible.

  It looked like cherry blossoms.

  Or blossoms of something.

  When done with my buttons, he turned me again and framed my neck in his hands.

  “Do you understand this?” he asked, staring down at me.

  I did not.

  Not any of it.

  “Yes,” I murmured.

  He smiled and noted, “I must remember this stupor you fall into after climaxing. It is very endearing, but should I not finish with you, the wait would be excruciating.”

  Climax.

  So that was what it was called.

  Apropos.

  Truly.

  “I will endeavor to…next time…recover much more quickly,” I stated, sounding stilted and not myself.

  He bent, touched his lips to mine, then to my nose, my forehead, before he moved away a spare inch, again smiling at me.

  “Don’t. If I can move you so deeply that you behave like an undead, I will then go out and slay a dragon.”

  “Slay a dragon?”

  His gaze warmed (or further warmed). “Your pleasure empowers me, piccolina.”

  That was nice.

  Not as nice as it should have been.

  But it was nice.

  “I will walk you to your room, my monkey,” he offered. “I would do it regardless, but you might lose your way in this state.”

  This should have been amusing.

  I did not laugh.

  “Your slippers, Silence,” he remarked.

  I blinked up at him.

  He twisted at the waist and reached into the bed, rescuing my slippers that had fallen off.

  He then dropped to a knee in front of me, and I lifted my skirts and offered my feet one by one as he slipped them on.

  I watched the bigness of him, the power of him, all of it bowed to me and did it again thinking I might weep.

  But once he had my feet shod, he did just as he said he would, straightening, tucking my hand against his chest and starting us across the room.

  “Basil?” I forced out.

  “Yes. He only takes men.”

  “I know, but he’s your lieutenant.”

  “Yes, and they have all had each other. It’s part of the ceremony to become a Trusted. The bonds formed through such intimacy and knowing of the other, it’s crucial to that brotherhood. All my warriors engage this way. Freely. And it’s encouraged they do. But I would not want one of my men to look on you with desire. This would not promote bonding. And Basil would not do that.”

  They have all had each other.