Page 102 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Even. She thinks we’re even. After she just dropped to her knees and dismantled me entirely, while fingering herself to orgasm. Even doesn’t exist anymore. The absurdity of it pulls a laugh out of me as I flip her onto her back.

She gasps, half-surprise, half-delight, and it’s the most adorable sound I’ve ever heard.

“Even?” I settle between her thighs, pushing the emerald silk up around her waist. “Little fox, we’re not even close to even.”

She tries to sit up. I splay my palm across her lower stomach and press her back down, holding her in place.

“Stay.” Her breath hitches, and I let the command settle between us.

“I told you you’d be getting more than my fingers today, and I always keep my promises.”

And then I show her exactly what I mean. I trail my mouth along her inner thigh, teasing and making her squirm. Then I lower my mouth to her center, still covered by that scrap of fabric, and run my tongue along it.

Her hips try to lift, but I hold her down, licking her through her underwear until she’s writhing, until she’s loud enough that I know I have her. Only then do I hook my fingers under the edge and drag it down, leaving her bare for me.

I bury my face between her thighs and devour her properly. She’s sweet and warm and overwhelming. The taste of her pulls me under until I’m lost. I groan into her, licking and sucking like a man starved. I’ve been starving for her since the moment I met her. I could live here, I could die here, between her thighs with her on my tongue.

“Rye, please—” Her thighs are shaking around my head. “I can’t—it’s too much⁠—”

I stop and look up at her with hooded eyes. She’ll come with my full name on her lips, or not at all.

“Ryewood,” I say as I drive two fingers inside her without warning and devour her clit like my life depends on it.

Her back arches off the floor with her head falling back. And my name, my full name, tears from her throat, so wrecked, so fucking beautiful I nearly come again just from the sound of it. Her moans echo off the walls, and I don’t stop; I don’t slow down. I work her until she’s trembling, until she’s gasping, until her body goes taut beneath me, and she breaks.

Her orgasm crashes through her, and I can feel it pulsing around my fingers, taste it flooding my tongue. She’s shaking, crying out, her hands fist in my hair so hard it hurts, but I still don’t stop. I want all of it, every sound, every shudder, everything she has. I don’t stop until she’s completely and utterly ruined. Only when the last tremor fades do I press a kiss to her inner thigh and look up at her.

“Still not even.”

She can barely lift her head. Her eyes are hazy and unfocused, like she’s forgotten everything except what I just did to her. She tries to speak, but nothing comes out. She just lies there, trembling and wrecked.

This. This is what I want. Her so thoroughly ruined that she can’t form words. Her so thoroughly fucking mine.

Chapter 32

Gemira

The emerald silk whispers against my legs as we ride toward the Willowmere Estate, paired with the fur-lined boots and cloak he insisted on so I wouldn’t get cold. The way this man takes care of me is going to be my downfall.

I steal a glance at Ryewood riding beside me. He’s already watching me, so open and tender it makes my chest ache. My body is still humming. I can still feel his mouth on me, his fingers inside me. And I can’t stop replaying the way he came undone. His head falling back against the wall, his grip tightening in my hair, the sounds he couldn’t hold back. Watching him lose control set my whole body on fire.

But nothing compared to his filthy mouth and the words that fell from it. His voice pulled the orgasm from me like my pleasure belonged to him, like my body was something he could command.

And then the way he looked at me after, like I was his.

How am I ever going to let this man go? He has ruined me for anyone else.

The Willowmere Estate rises in the distance, grand and glittering with torchlight. Ryewood pulls his horse to a stop beside mine when we arrive.

“Ready, little fox?”

Before I can answer, he’s dismounting and coming to my side. Those huge hands wrap around my waist, warm and possessive, and lift me from the saddle and lowers me slowly. He deliberately drags me against every inch of him and the hard planes of his chest. The scent of cedar and moss makes me want to bury my face in his neck and never come up for air.

My feet touch the ground, but he still doesn’t let go. His hands stay on my waist, fingers pressing into my hips, holding me against him.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs. “I’m going to have trouble keeping my hands off you tonight.”

“Who’s asking you to?”