by T. A. Grey
His own expression changed to match hers. Apparently she had him at a loss for words. He made a gruff, noncommittal noise in response.
They were so close all she had to do was lean forward and they touched—so she did. Chest to chest, his heat warmed her, made her wish she could snuggle completely against him. Maybe she could. Tonight. Because she had a plan.
“So, does that mean you’re going to lie every time you want something?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Not at all. This appears to be an unusual case, don’t you agree? You refused to let me out of my bedroom, after all. I was going stir crazy. I think you could be a touch more understanding, Ryon. No offense, but I think you’d do a rather poor job of staying in bed for a whole three days too.”
His eyebrow twitched. “I would listen to the doctor’s orders.”
She scoffed in laughter. “Perhaps you’d try, but would you succeed? You’re so active now, I can’t help but think you’d find yourself out here in my shoes too.”
Her eyes sparkled with victory in sight.
But then he added, “I wouldn’t lie about it.”
Her mouth opened to protest, but he cut her off.
“And I wouldn’t come outside where I know my defenses are weaker.”
“I’m sorry. You’re absolutely correct. I shouldn’t be out here alone. But…” Her mouth slammed shut, eyes dipped into a glare. “I want you.”
Ryon blinked. She’d taken him by surprise—again. “Excuse me…what?”
Chest to chest, she stood up on her toes until she could kiss his chin. His delectable, square chin with a speckling of crisp beard growing in. “I said, I want you.” Her voice was husky and warm. Their eyes locked, then roamed each other’s faces studying every nuance.
“You took your bandage off,” he remarked. The statement sent her off-kilter.
“Y-yes, I did. I wanted you to see for yourself that it’s nothing but a row of stitches. We can be careful and…make love.” It came out nearly as a whisper.
He cupped her cheek and his head lowered. Her eyes closed, chin tipped up to await his kiss. And when it came, his mouth pressing against hers, she sighed into him. He caught her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.
Soon, it wasn’t enough. She wanted to taste him, to fuse their mouth together and feel his naked strength pressed against her body. But, then he ended the kiss, far too early for her liking.
“What is it?” she asked.
She could see it in his eyes—he was going to tell her no. Panicking, she pressed her hips into his and found his erection: strong and hard. Stifling a groan, he grabbed hold of her hips, whether to pull her closer or not she didn’t know. He bit his lip and fought for calm.
“The doctor said not to do anything remotely vigorous until after three days. That’s not until after tomorrow, Pen. I’m sorry. You don’t know how badly I want to make love to you, but we have to wait until your neck is healed.”
Penelope straightened, thoroughly flustered at his denial and a touch upset at his refusal. “You’re telling me no?”
Sensing he was entering dangerous territory, he paused to consider. “I suppose what I’m saying is…not yet.”
A wild noise bent out of frustration tore from her throat as she pushed away from him and marched inside, head poised high. She turned at the last minute to tell him in a calm, even voice. “You can sleep on the couch.”
“Pen, you don’t—”
She slammed the door before he could finish. At the sound of his vicious curse, she grinned from ear to ear.
“I’m still marrying you, Pen!” he shouted.
“And I’m still accepting,” she whispered back.
Chapter 17
Five Days Later
“…forever.”
As the last word rang from Penelope Ward’s joyous face, a feeling of deep contentedness filled her. True happiness was at last in her life, and his name was Ryon. The only man who could challenge her to be a better person. He held her cheek cupped in his palm as he gazed deep into her eyes before the crowd at their wedding.
A smile crinkled the corner of his eyes. “I’ll love you forever,” he repeated.
Lyle Hargrowe, King of Tarlè, nodded approvingly from his throne, and the crowd cheered wildly at the final pronouncement of marriage between Ryon Amadeus Ward and Penelope Farris Ward—husband and wife. They didn’t get there through the Claiming Law as expected, but they did it themselves the olden way.
White flecks of paper confetti danced in the air, tossed up by the crowd, swirling with the wind gusts in beautiful patterns. A piece landed on Ryon’s head, one pale dot on his dark head of hair. Standing on her toes, Penelope pressed her lips to the heat of her husband’s mouth—yes, her husband—and plucked the paper from his hair.
“There, that’s better.”
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look?” His expression was serious. A blush stole over her at his compliment.
“Ryon—” she hedged, biting her lip. She didn’t know what to do when he said such things. It made her feel silly and wonderful all at the same time.
He studied her reaction, then seemed to come to some conclusion. “Let’s get out of here.”
Her stomach dipped. She knew that look. He wanted her. This was hardly time.
“But…right now? We can’t. We have to stay for the party. It’s a celebration for us!”
They looked around at the arena packed with those who’d come to witness the ceremony. Their Claiming Ceremony had caused quite the stir after the Avagarians’ attack. Many had come to see them married properly since he hadn’t gotten the chance to claim her.
His shoulder lifted in a shrug. He did that often, she noticed. Just one of the many small details she loved learning about him.
“We’ll come back after we’ve finished.” He was already tugging on her hand, slipping her through the crowd of peering onlookers.
“Everyone will know.” Surely, they wouldn’t have enough time to perform to their equal potential if they went running off now.
“They are going to know anyway.”
Maybe she didn’t feel that reluctant.
She was married to Ryon Amadeus Ward, the General of the Tarlèan Army and hero to the people. And, more importantly, to the man she loved.
Since the attack on her by Lysse, she’d become a bit of a celebrity herself. People waved and smiled at her wherever she went; they talked about how brave she was. Penelope didn’t think she was brave. She saved that term for heroes like Ryon who did real work. Penelope had found herself in an uncomfortable position, and she’d had to battle to get out of it. Luckily, she had the help of Ryon, King Lyle, and the guards. Without them, she’d be dead.
“I think I can sneak us out the back through the balcony, then maybe find someplace quiet,” Ryon was saying, distracted.
She tried to get his attention, to stop him from pulling her away. But he was too lost in his own thoughts to hear her. Penelope wasn’t distracted and noticed when the king stood, obviously seeing them trying to make an escape.
King Lyle stopped before them, halting their escape.
Ryon did not look pleased. “Do you mind?”
“It’s your wedding celebration. You can’t leave, no matter how eager you are to consummate, friend. First we eat, then we dance, then we toast and drink. We eat some more, dance some more, and then, finally, when the night is late and everyone tipsy, you may take your leave. That is the tradition. After the attack, everyone could use a little celebration. Besides, we have to make up for the fact that Penelope never got to be properly claimed. Everyone was really hoping to see your fisticuffs with the duke.”
Penelope squeezed Ryon’s hand. “I think that sounds like an amazing time. I would love to stay and celebrate.”
Ryon looked down at her. Maybe it was seeing that she meant what she said but he nodded, even though it looked like it pained him to do so. “Fine, let’s eat.”
“And dance,�
� she piped in.
He grimaced.
Penelope learned as the day progressed that her wedding day was easily the best day of her whole life. She and Ryon were seated at the king’s table—something she’d never experienced in all her days. She and her sisters came from common stock. They knew it, and had no qualms about it. Their parents had instilled in them at a young age not to want after those with the most—that it was a dead-end cause in which you’d forever crave more and forever be left feeling empty. It had been a dark lesson, but one she’d taken to heart.
To sit at the king’s table was an honor unto itself. Only special guests were invited. Their goblets of wine and cups of water were kept full as the night raged on and the people of Tarlè danced to the lively music and swayed to the slow songs.
Her belly was full of delicious cuts of meat, fruit and vegetables. Ryon had selected the choicest pieces and put them on her plate for her, as was tradition. Only one little problem caused Penelope to wish the day would end sooner rather than later.
The longer she sat next to her husband, an excruciating problem developed. His thigh would brush against hers, and she could feel the strength in his legs. Every so often his hand would stroke the middle of her back, or touch her waist as he leaned in to say something. When they danced, he would pull her close—to the raucous cheers of the drunks—and sneak in kisses to her neck.
It was wickedly flirtatious and delightfully arousing. With all the merriment going around, she could not keep from smiling until her cheeks hurt. Ryon had never smiled so much either.
It was late into the night when the band began to tire and stop playing to eat and get rest. Worn-out party-goers made their well-wishes known to the bride and groom, then shuffled out of the arena.
Ryon leaned over again to whisper in her ear, the scrape of his jaw against her skin sending a shiver over her. “I believe it’s safe to leave, love.”
Lyle, who’d spent much of the celebration looking barely above stoic, lifted his gaze from the glass he’d been staring a hole into. “Ah, yes, I suppose it’s time to see the bride and groom off. My congratulations to the both of you. You’ll make a fine pair. I can already see it—two children,” he predicted.
Penelope’s eyes about bulged from her face. Two! She’d never even thought of one. For Ryon, well, maybe she could see herself having his child.
Ryon pulled her to her feet. When she wobbled, giggling, he hugged her close. “Thank you, my friend. This couldn’t have been a better wedding celebration. We’re honored to have been a part.”
Lyle stood and shook Ryon’s hand. “See, it wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Ryon laughed in agreement. “Not so bad at all.” He squeezed Penelope’s waist in meaning. She sucked in a breath—that meant—soon they would be together.
“Until the trial,” Lyle said, referring to Lysse’s trial which would continue tomorrow with the king’s testimony.
“Go on now and have a good time. Make her happy.” Lyle turned and left, leaving the rest of the table to stare at his exit.
Chapter 18
Ryon led Penelope to his black stallion which the stable hand untethered for them.
“Let me help you up,” he said and gave her a push. Up and over she went, followed soon by Ryon’s larger body behind her. The horse shook its head and whinnied.
Ryon snickered a command at the horse and off they went into the night. The occasional peel of laughter floated from the arena, the sounds of merriment too contagious to be ignored.
The strength of the horse pressed against her legs. Penelope dropped her head onto Ryon’s shoulder and, sighing dreamily, stared at the midnight black expanse of space speckled with glittering stars.
“It’s beautiful.”
“What is?” Ryon asked.
“The stars.”
He leaned down and spoke in her ear. “Not as beautiful as you.”
She elbowed him playfully. “That’s ridiculous.” Still, his compliment charmed her and he knew it. Joining in on the laughter, he wrapped his arm around her waist pulling her closer to him. The night held a bite of chill to it, but his heat more than made up for it.
“This is the best day of my life,” she told him.
He replied after a moment. “Mine too, Pen.” His thumb stroked against her stomach.
Her body took that touch and went wild—making her nipples pucker and her breath catch. Nerves, it was just nerves. About tonight.
“Ryon?”
“Heh?” he grunted.
“Do you think that woman is evil?”
“What woman?” he asked, distracted.
“Lysse, the traitor.”
“I don’t want to talk about that right now. Not on our wedding night. Do you know how good you smell?” He buried his face in her shoulder and inhaled deeply.
Amused at his sweetness, she gently pushed him away. “You can’t steer the horse and flirt with me, you know.”
“Want to bet on that?” You could hear the challenge in his voice.
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“What are we waging?” Kisses, warm and damp trailed across her neck to her shoulder sending rushes of sensation down her body. She shuddered but not because of the chill.
“I’ll wager we’ll never make it home if you keep on touching me like that,” she said, breathless.
His own voice had grown deeper, huskier, the tone something she’d heard only when she’d had his manhood in hand. Literally.
So much anticipation had her nerves rattled like jumping beans. She was already aroused, her quim ready and needing to be touched. Oh, how she wanted his hands crawling across her body. She didn’t know if she could take any more of his kisses with the way he was holding her tight, pinching her waist and arching her back into his heat.
Penelope shifted slightly and gasped. Ryon groaned.
“Found it,” he muttered.
Sure enough, his cock, hard as a lead pipe, was ready for her. More than prepared. Heart fluttering in the chaos of rising emotions, Penelope tilted her head back and met Ryon’s lips in a bold kiss. Soft moans interspersed as their tongues tasted, thrust to feel, and plunged to mimic passions simmering beneath the surface.
She murmured his name as he ended the kiss. His lips were wet and hers puffy from the kissing. They locked gazes, low-lidded with passion and hunger. His wet lips beckoned her, enticing.
She kissed him again, unable to control herself. His hand on her stomach pushed into her, owning her with possessiveness. Their tongues lashed in a seductive duel as they strained to move even closer.
Breaking away, she panted trying to catch her breath. That’s when she noticed the horse had completely stopped walking.
“I’m getting down now,” she said, not giving Ryon a chance to protest before she slid off the horse.
He watched her with that hungry gaze, tracking her like prey to be pounced upon. She noticed that he examined the surrounding area with careful eyes, making sure they were alone. They’d made it a few miles from the arena. There were some village houses around the area but most people weren’t home from the celebration yet. But otherwise, they were quite alone.
“We should wait until we get home.” He sounded as if he hated the idea.
Well, he may be correct, but that didn’t mean she agreed. Turning around, she spotted a secluded portion of woods that looked dark and private. She headed toward it without a backward glance.
“Penelope!”
Head held high, she marched on. She heard him jump down from the horse, cursing. He quickly tethered Dominic to a tree. Soon, his footsteps fell in line after her. Charging after her more like.
“Love, this isn’t any place to—”
Penelope ducked into the woods, sprinting along like a fool. He crashed through the woods behind her. She turned at the last minute and they nearly collided.
She gazed up at the man she’d just married. At the man she loved. The quiet woods surrounded them like a bubble. Soft gr
ass squished beneath her slippers. The time had never felt more perfect.
In seconds—she didn’t know who acted first—they slammed together, lips mashed in a bruising kiss. She ran her hands over every inch of him she could reach and he reciprocated, cupping her bottom, lifting and squeezing it until her quim quivered.
The kiss grew wetter. Hotter. Every hard inch of his muscles she gloried in touching, in kissing. He kissed his way along her shoulder, pushing her dress over one shoulder as he did. The dress sagged and he kissed his way across her other shoulder, slowly pushing the material out of the way as he did.
He moved purposely, slowly. Taking his time.
The dress sagged and the tops of her breasts caught the material from slipping down further. His breathing was harsh, hands squeezing her roughly, almost impatiently as his control began to slip. Fire lurched in her veins. Unable to control herself, she bit his neck and licked the delicious salt from his skin.
“I want you naked,” he growled. He tugged on her dress and her breasts popped free.
He stared at her like a thirsty man about to have his first drink of cool water. Lips parted, eyelids drooping at half-mast, he lifted his two strong hands to smother her breasts, embracing them. Penelope’s head collapsed back at the pleasure. He palpitated her, manipulating her tits until her nipples beaded into fine, ultra-sensitive points.
A finger brushed each aureole making her breath catch in her throat.
“So beautiful,” he said.
She wanted to laugh, but could only gasp.
She wanted him so badly, ached deep inside her body for him.
Then he finally did touched her how she wanted, finally giving in to the hunger calling them both.
Two fingers snapped her hard-peaked nipples and tugged wickedly. She sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation. Little spikes of erotic pleasure burst through her nipples to someplace deep in her belly. A place that ached to be filled and jerked against him at his ministrations.
“So sensitive, too,” he praised. “I’ll never be able to get enough of you.”
