Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (37)

I didn’t care if he wasn’t interested. I still said, “No, I just cannot imagine only ever staying in one place. Never seeing anything else.”

He sensed why that troubled me, but he took a minute to respond. “In Oleander, you’ll often see them baking upon the rocks by the rivers and sea. So yes,” he said, as though I’d forced him to, “they can leave their homes, but not for long.”

Not for long.

Those words hung like icicles within my chest as we wended deeper into the woods.

Bennington seemed all too happy to explore despite the cold. His breaths steamed the air, but he trotted through the brush with what could only be described as merriment. I leaned forward and patted his neck.

“You shouldn’t distract him.”

“He’s not distracted,” I said. “He’s happy.”

Florian’s hold tightened, almost as if he wanted to squeeze me for talking back to him.

I wouldn’t have minded, and I was past the point of caring what my acceptance of his frosty treatment said about me. Attraction, I reminded myself. I was discovering what I liked, and there was nothing wrong with that. I wasn’t worried that I liked to be told what to do.

The only thing that alarmed me was that I liked a lot of him.

Bennington leaped over a log, and I let loose a breathless and near-silent scream. Florian’s chuckle warmed my skin. The sound one of rough and rare beauty.

As if knowing it pleased me, he sobered and cleared his throat. “You wear the same coat.”

“I like it,” was all I could think to say. Rolina had never given me anything that wasn’t once her own, or unclaimed clothing she’d brought home from work.

“And do you like the rest?” he asked some moments later. “The clothing.”

My eyes caught on the crimson ivy of the manor through the trees ahead. We’d almost circled back. “I do,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Ask.”

I refrained from sending him a scowl over my shoulder. “How do you know I wish to ask anything?”

“You tense, and your tongue pokes at your teeth.”

I frowned as we left the trees and crossed the dirt road to the pebbled drive. “You can’t see that.”

“I can see the change in your jaw when you do it.”

Distant voices and wheels trundling over rock and dirt invaded our bubble.

“Perceptive,” I said, admittedly kind of impressed. Also far too pleased that he’d studied me so thoroughly.

My smile waned at what I glimpsed behind us.

Wagons were being hauled uphill toward the manor. Many wagons and many warriors on horseback. I stared over my shoulder as we continued ahead of them all, attempting to see what they were doing.

Florian placed his lips on my cheek and whispered roughly, “Ask, butterfly.”

So focused on whatever the king was having delivered—and in such large quantity—it took a moment to recall what we’d been discussing.

Another kiss to my cheek and I remembered, although his scent and the hand pressing against my stomach made it difficult to form the question. I hoped my insecurity came across as mere curiosity. “Who did all the fine clothing belong to?”

“You,” he responded simply, and rather than continue toward the stables, the king urged Bennington into a canter that stole my breath and every thought from my head.

The breeze whipped and burned my cheeks. My heart seemed to soar through the crisp air in our wake. Florian slowed the horse as we again entered the woods beyond the stables, allowing him to cool down before he brought us to a complete stop deep within the icy foliage.

I turned to look at him, about to ask what he intended by stopping here.

His mouth immediately stole mine, and he swallowed my shocked gasp with a quiet groan.

The hand around my waist crawled higher to skim my breast through my gown. My stomach tightened, and I squirmed forward without thought, my core rubbing against the pommel of the saddle and causing sparks to ignite.

Florian noticed. Nothing seemed to escape him. He dipped his tongue into my mouth, then whispered, “Rock your hips.”

He bit my lip as I did. A low rumble climbed his throat. It left him in a small growl when I clasped his hand and brought it to the low neckline of my gown. He needed no more permission. His hand slipped beneath the material, as well as that of my slip.

I moaned, rocking harder against the saddle when he squeezed my breast.

“So obedient,” he crooned, kissing the corner of my mouth softly as pleasure seeped through every limb to coil and spread throughout my core. “You must really want to come.” Another kiss to my lips, his eyes bright and wild on mine. “You make me so fucking hard, I could come just from watching you.”

His thumb grazed my nipple, his other hand climbing beneath my skirts and slip. I stopped rocking against the saddle. He encountered my slick flesh and groaned again. “You’re awfully wet, sweet creature.” Then he circled my clit. “And so perilously swollen.”

Indeed. I came apart at the second press of his finger against my clit.

Wicked delight shined in his eyes as he watched me shake and pant while gently rubbing me into pieces. My thighs squeezed, and Bennington huffed, shifting slightly.

Florian removed his hand. Gaze firm on mine, he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked each of them clean with relish. Dazed, I stared, limp against him as he fixed my gown, and we slowly left the privacy of the woods.