by Bec McMaster
For a moment, a conflicting twist of sympathy curled through him.
You're imagining it. She didn't struggle to hand over the ring at all. She practically threw it at the ancient dreki.
"Tomorrow we should arrive at Dúrnir's. You'll have the bracelet off, and you'll be free to leave," Haakon said. There was a fire already laid out, thank goodness, and it flared to light with the swift strike of one of his matches. "You should get some rest while you can."
Árdís flinched. "What are you saying?"
He flipped the bedroll open, grateful for the oiled sealskin that kept it all dry, and rolled it out, while flames licked hungrily at the small pile of wood in the grate. "I'll give you a couple of hours sleep before we need to rejoin the road. Hopefully the rain will have died down by then."
"You're angry with me."
He paused, leaning forward on his knuckles. It wasn't as if the ring meant anything anymore, but... he'd still had hope. "You gave it away, like it didn't even matter."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know it was your grandmother's. I know I promised you I'd give it back to you—"
"I don't want the fucking ring back, Árdís." He shoved to his feet, his temper spilling through him. He'd been holding on to it for days, and today had only pushed him further over the edge. "I want it on your finger, where it damned well belongs."
She ignored that.
"I had no choice," she cried. "What would you have had me do? He wasn't going to allow us to leave without it."
"I had gold!"
"He didn't want gold!" Her face lit with beautiful fury. "He didn't even truly want the ring. He wanted to repay my father for overthrowing him, and I was the only option he had of restoring his pride."
Haakon drew up shortly.
"He was trying to get in my head, damn it." She turned and took three sharp steps, her fingers curling into claws. "Searching for a way to get at me. And there you were, just desperate to give him an excuse to hurt you! I had to get you out of there before you gave him any sign you might challenge him."
"So it's my fault?" He stepped in her path.
"No!" She raked her fingers through her hair. "What do you want me to say? Why does it even matter? I made a choice between the ring and you, and I chose you. Do you think it didn't hurt me to give it away?" One hand splayed over her chest, pressing the fabric tight across her breasts, as if she felt for it.
Those glorious breasts.
He refused to look down.
No, she was not going to tempt her way out of this one.
"I don't know," he shouted back. "I don't know if you give a damn about me, or my ring, or any of this. I don't know why you left me. I don't know what you—"
"I told you—"
"You've told me nothing," he snapped.
Her eyes turned wide with hurt. "Why are you yelling?"
"Because I missed you so fucking much it hurt to breathe." It came out choked. "You left me; you gave my ring away; you push me and pull me, and tear me in two. Do you even care? Do I even mean anything to you?"
"Of course you do." Her mouth worked. "I loved you. I-I...."
Loved.
Like an arrow straight to the chest. "Do you even know what that word means?"
Árdís glared at him. "I'm not going to continue to argue, if you're not going to listen to a word I say." She began to strip her wet cloak off, and draped it over the chair. No, tossed it. The movement made the wet wool of her tunic press tightly against her breasts. "Or denigrate me for it."
Oh, yes. He wasn't the only one feeling the bite of anger. And seeing her like this stirred his blood in ways only she ever could.
"You're just saying that because you're losing the argument."
Her glare was a potent thing, but then her expression suddenly shifted. Turned devious. Árdís bit her lip. "Was I?"
"Don't you dare," he warned, as she took a step toward him.
"Why not? You're thinking about it. I'm thinking about it."
He refused to step back, every muscle in his body locking tight as she stopped in front of him, those catlike eyes tilting as she glanced up at him from beneath her wretchedly long lashes.
Árdís placed both hands on his chest, flexing her palms against him. Her fingers curled in the open collar of his shirt, as if threatening to tear it open.
He wanted her to.
His cock flexed. Damn his flagging self-control. His sense of preservation was shaky, but he knew if he gave in—just once—then he'd never be able to get her out of his mind.
Are you ever going to be able to get her out of your mind anyway?
"Do it," she dared him. "Kiss me. You know you want to. You know that's what's truly gotten your back up."
Of all the damned ways she could torture him....
"It won't change a thing," he warned.
Her fingers flexed on the heavy muscle of his chest. "No. It won't. But it will make both of us feel better. This doesn't have to be complicated."
"When the bloody hell is it not complicated?"
He breathed heavily through his nostrils, and glanced down.
A mistake.
Her breasts heaved with the force of her breath, smooth globes that thrust forth from her bodice. The neckline was modest, but at this great height, he could see straight down it. And wet wool clung to her figure, making his fingers itch.
Her voice softened. "Punish me, Haakon. You know you want to."
Jesus. He met her eyes.
"No," he said, and enjoyed the sensation.
Shock flared there, as if she simply couldn't believe he was denying his base self.
One thumb caressed her waist. He couldn't help himself. Acting on instinct, his hand slid over the curve of her hip, calluses snagging in the wet wool.
"Your mouth is saying no," she said, "but everything else is saying yes. Make up your mind."
"I'm not going to punish you," he said softly.
It was never about punishment.
But perhaps a little sweet torture....
It all came together in his mind. Why the hell was he arguing?
He began to strip his coat off. Árdís pushed away from him, a scalded sound in her throat.
"Well, I cannot continue like this!" she hissed at him, her eyes turning molten as the pupils shifted, becoming cat-slits as her dreki roused beneath her skin. "With you looking at me with eyes that want to eat me alive. Or your arms wrapped around me last night, driving me insane with want, before you simply walk away. I know you want me. I can feel it every time you look at me. And I want you. Just one last time."
One last time. Haakon tossed his coat aside.
She'd thought his "no" was a denial.
He began to roll up his sleeves. Just a change of plans. There was one way he could take what they both wanted, and emerge unscathed.
"Strip," he said, the word loaded with heat.
The word fell into the quiet of the room.
"What?" Her eyes blinked in surprise.
"You heard me. Take it all off." A ghost of a smile curled over his mouth. "But do it slowly."
Árdís looked him in the eye, and then her hands went to the buttons on her tunic. It buttoned up the front. She got halfway down and then her fingers paused. They fell away. "No."
Heat flared between them. She'd realized what he was about.
"If you want my clothes off, then you may remove them yourself," she said, defying him.
Despite his intentions, he felt a flare of heat. Stubborn dreki princess.
Haakon kept a good few inches between them. He reached for the lowest undone button. And did it back up, not looking away from her.
Árdís sucked in a sharp breath. Haakon's thumbs stroked up her rib cage. Tugged the next button closed.
A shiver slid through her.
"Is this plan working out the way you thought it would?" he murmured, and slipped the next button shut. And the next. All the time, he stole small touches of her, the rasp of his fingers dart
ing over her pointed nipple before she captured his wrist.
"It... worked better in my head."
Haakon stepped back. "Then take it off. Do as you're told."
"Fine."
She began again, bending to strip her leather trousers down her legs. "What are you proposing?" The thought had her breathless, as she returned to the buttons on her tunic.
"I thought you were the one setting the terms." His hands itched to touch her as each inch of skin was revealed. Button by button, the mysterious curves of her body were revealed. "One night, wasn't it?"
One last night to see if there was anything left between them at all.
Firelight gilded her hair and skin as she gave a determined little wriggle, and the tunic slid all the way down her legs, pooling around her ankles. His mouth went dry; his cock hard.
His best intentions fled.
"One night, Haakon," she agreed, starting to slide the straps of her chemise over her shoulders.
Haakon's eyes locked on her, and suddenly heated with an intensity she hadn't expected. "Leave it on."
She didn't know who reached for who, but suddenly he was in front of her, and she reached up to kiss him, but he turned his head at the last moment, his lips skating over her jaw instead.
She knew how to drive him wild, but as she slid her hand down his abdomen, he caught her wrist, shaking his head.
"No."
For a second she thought he was denying her, but he simply turned her around, pressing both of her hands against the wall, and holding them there for a long moment, as if to show her what he wanted.
That hard body molded around hers, the press of his erection butting against her bottom. Árdís sucked in a sharp breath, anticipation shivering through her. Her body knew every inch of him. Welcomed the glide of his hands down her sides, where they rested on her hips with firm intention.
So many years since she felt his touch. Too many years.
It wasn't just his body that had changed. There was a thrill of dominance in his voice that ignited within her like brandy poured on pure flame.
"If we do this," Haakon rasped, his breath whispering over the sensitive skin of her ear, "then you will not be in control. Not this time, Princess."
She thought she understood. He was trying to protect himself. To hold himself back.
Challenge lit through her. One kiss, and she'd have him. She knew it. She'd always known it. But that seemed too easy. He demanded her surrender, and some part of her wanted to give it.
A means to say sorry.
Árdís bent her head forward, resting her forehead against the wall. "One night. Do what you want with me."
Soft lips skimmed the sensitive skin at her nape. "Don't tempt me."
A fist curled in the hem of her chemise, dragging it up until her thigh was bared. Her mouth went dry, and she must have moved, for his other hand was suddenly in her hair, pinning her there.
"No," he breathed. "I didn't give you permission."
She found herself splayed against the wall, her full breasts aching and her palms pressed flat. Árdís turned her head to the side, her cheek flush against the timbers. She didn't know why she liked it so much, but her breath came in sharp ragged pants, and she wanted so desperately to spread her legs. To invite his touch.
"Oh, gods." She couldn't move. Could do nothing but submit. "Haakon."
"What's wrong, Árdís?"
A mocking little whisper, as if he knew all too well what afflicted her.
Lips traced her hairline, his body pressed firmly against hers. "You know I'm a patient man," he murmured, his tongue tracing the shell of her ear and his breath hot. "I've spent days imagining what I'd do to you when I finally got my hands upon you."
"A bit presumptuous, wasn't it?" she teased.
A tongue darted out and stroked the lobe of her ear, and then he suckled it into his mouth.
It wasn't as though his mouth was between her legs, but her thighs clenched, arousal making her wet and needy.
A callused hand curved down over her breast, kneading it. Árdís's hips ground back against him, her breath coming with a short hitch.
"I don't know," he murmured, his stubble grazing her jaw as his straining erection pushed against her bottom. "You tell me."
Teeth nipped at her throat, and then his thumb was tracing slow torturous circles around her nipple. He pinched her there, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until she could barely see. Barely breathe.
Sweet goddess. Her mind went blank, and her spine arched. More. She wanted more.
An insistent knee pressed between her thighs. Finally. She cried out as the slick feel of his leather-clad thigh pressed against her.
"Beg me." His hips gave a teasing thrust against her, his palm sliding down between her body and the wall to cup her between the thighs, fingers rough against her naked skin. "Do you want this, Árdís? Do you need this?"
Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she moaned, her hips flexing as she sought to drive his hand lower. Those fingers were a merciless tease.
"Beg," he repeated, slipping two fingers between her folds, parting her, but not quite giving her what she wanted.
Defiance flashed within her. She shook her head, feeling his palm come around to capture her mouth, as if to hold a scream within her.
"You're so bloody stubborn," he snarled.
Likewise.
Sinking her teeth into his hand, she felt him laugh against her back, the rumble of it rocking through his chest. "You always did have to challenge me," he whispered, and she could feel his anger turning, becoming somewhat more playful. "Curse you, Árdís. But there are two ways to play this game."
Soft lips brushed against the sensitive area beneath her ear, even as his fingers changed direction. His index lashed up in a light flick, exactly where she wanted it. Her fingers curled into little claws as he wreaked havoc upon her. Oh, gods. Slow, torturous circles. Just enough pressure. She was dying a slow death, shifting against him, silently begging for more.
"Do you like that?" His hot erotic whisper burned in her ear. All the trappings of civilization had vanished from his demeanor, leaving her with a husband who intended to claim her.
The pressure intensified, as if he could feel the edge building within her, threatening to burn her to ashes on the inside.
Árdís whimpered, his palm wet with her muted breath. More. Oh, gods, more. Her hips rocked against him.
A shiver of violence and pleasure threatened to overwhelm her. A storm of his own making. Árdís cried out, her entire body tensing as he worked his fingers within her, delving and spreading the slickness there in small teasing circles. She wanted more. She wanted him to push her over the edge. But he always drew away, just as the knot within her wrenched tighter. Teasing her. Destroying her. Working her body as astutely as a puppet master flexing her strings.
He hadn't forgotten a damned thing about what she liked.
Master of storms.
The hand slid from her mouth, and then he fumbled between them.
Árdís gasped. "What are you—?"
The blunt head of his erection pressed between her thighs. Árdís stopped breathing. And he didn't move.
What was he waiting for?
A desperate shiver worked its way through her.
"Please."
The word stole from her treacherous lips.
A pause, the blunt head of his cock holding at the edge of her opening. She almost thought he hadn't heard her, but a faint hiss of breath escaped him, and then he thrust inside her.
All the way.
Árdís's breasts pressed flush against the wall, her cheek imprinting in the rough timber. She was trapped here. Held at his mercy. The angle meant he couldn't get as deep as he wanted to. She felt his frustration as he bit her earlobe, a harsh growl echoing in his throat even as his hips rocked against her. He held himself there, as if soaking in the sensation of her body around him. A soft groan escaped him.
There. Not as res
trained as he'd have liked.
Árdís bit her lip wickedly, and tightened every muscle around him in a slow curl.
"Fuck." He slammed one hand against the wall beside her head, pushing inside her as if he couldn't get deep enough.
"Two can play these games," she whispered, and squeezed again, taking herself right back to that edge.
One arm slid beneath her breasts, and he hauled her back against him, his cock slipping from inside her.
"No." She caught his arm, but he simply drove her down onto her knees, and then she was on all fours on his bedroll, and his hands were settling on her hips again.
"I don't want you getting splinters. Are you ready for me?"
Lightning flashed outside the hut, highlighting the interior for one brief second. This was exactly what she'd wanted; Haakon undone.
"Yes."
His hips slammed into hers, driving her forward onto her forearms as he buried himself to the hilt. She screamed as the storm finally washed over her, sweeping her along in its wake. She couldn't breathe. Could barely see. Waves of pleasure broke within her.
Again and again, as Haakon fucked his way inside her.
Harder. Deeper. The intensity of it forced her teeth into her lip again, to trap a cry. Árdís curled her fingers into the blanket, holding on for dear life. Every single time he took her to bed, it had felt like a clash of passion between them, burning so fast and furious that they left marks on each other's skin, but she couldn't touch him here. Sweet goddess, but every slow withdrawal left her panting, begging, and every hard invasion only seemed to twist the tension within her tighter. Haakon's hands dug into the flesh of her hips, pinning her exactly where he wanted her. She was completely, utterly at his mercy, her breath turning to rough pants. Every thrust of his cock only spread the slickness between her thighs, as if to prove how much she wanted him.
It wasn't enough.
She wanted to touch him, wanted the connection. Somehow she reached back, her hand covering his. "Haakon."
Fingers slid over her thigh, pushing her knees wider, as if he fought to get right to the heart of her.
His hand curved up her throat, drawing her upright until her breasts were splayed obscenely, and her spine bent. Her back met his chest, as he gave short, hard little thrusts.
"Árdís, oh gods, you torture me so."
