White Horse Black Nights (The Godkissed Bride, #1)(34)

Finally, I have the taste of violets on my tongue again. But kissing Sabine isn’t like eating candied flower buds. It’s devouring the whole cake. The whole fucking meal.

Kissing Sabine is everything.

I’ve wanted her ever since she fed that hungry mouse, when I so jealously yearned for her to offer me a morsel of the same kindness. Since I first saw her standing in her father’s courtyard in that skimpy silk robe with her scent splashing around, tormenting me.

Her legs wrap around my waist, and she matches the movement by sliding her hands around my neck. With one hand on the small of her back, I press her closer, wanting to feel every inch of her body against my own. My mouth is hot on hers as I kiss and suck and taste. I trail my lips down her jaw, and she lets out a moan that sends blood rushing straight to my groin.

Fuck.

I break the kiss to give myself a chance to breathe. I’m so flooded with desire that I can barely form thoughts. Our eyes lock, and it takes my breath away how beautiful she is. Freshly kissed, ready for more.

And that’s when my brain decides to turn back on.

More? I think. Hell, I’ve already gone too far.

The realization of what I’ve done douses me like a barrel of ice water over my head. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is Lord Rian’s intended, and I’ve got my mouth all over her. A gut punch of guilt hits me hard enough to stun. What’s wrong with me? I’m sick. I’m broken. I huff out a curse, and Sabine’s eyes go wide.

Her pink lips are swollen. Her sweet face mirrors my own shock at what we’ve done.

I lift her by her hips out of my lap, dropping her ass on the ground. Then I shove myself to my feet, dragging a hand down the sweat soaking my face.

“Lady Sabine.” My voice comes between heaving breaths. “Forgive me.” I pace, unsure of what to do with my hands. “That will never happen again, I swear it.”

She touches a stunned hand to her lips like she can still feel the ghost of my mouth. The worst of everything is that I can still smell her desire, and I know that if I kissed her again, I don’t think she’d fight it.

“Basten—”

I can’t hear any more. I can’t be around her scent. I’m not strong enough to listen to her thumping heart and soft little moans. I stalk off far enough into the woods so that I have some space from her, but am still within range to listen for danger. Adrenaline pumps unchecked throughout my body. Guilt marks me like blood that I’ll never be able to wash off. Rian will instantly take one look at me and see my sin.

“Fuck.” I slam my fist into the side of a tree, growling like an animal. But no amount of pain can fix the broken parts inside of me.





Chapter 13





Sabine





In the morning, neither Basten nor I say a word about the kiss. We go about our morning chores of boiling water for tea and cleaning up camp, as though he didn’t have his mouth all over mine, and I didn’t have my thighs straddling his.

Everything with him, since we woke, has been “yes, my lady” and “as you wish, my lady,” as though an overabundance of propriety can make up for breaking his master’s trust. Anyone could see he’s drowning in guilt, but I couldn’t care less about betraying my future husband. I’ve sworn no vows yet. The engagement wasn’t even my choice. Everything about this ride is forced by Lord Rian, and so he’s earned no loyalty from me.

Still, it was foolish. Basten is no friend of mine. He would throw me to the wolves if his master ordered him to. He doesn’t even want to be here, tending to a spoiled lord’s daughter instead of stalking prey through the woods. I trust that he will keep me safe, but not because of any loyalty to me—only because I belong to his master.

I don’t know what came over me last night. Locked up in the convent, I’ve been starved for human touch. So many nights I laid awake, wondering what a man’s body felt like. I would sneak to the chapel to flip through the Book of the Immortals to look at the most wicked illustration, belonging to Immortal Alyssantha, the Goddess of Sex. Those portraits showed Alyssantha and her lovers in all kinds of compromising positions that stirred a heat between my legs.

So wasn’t it inevitable that I’d buckle under the first man’s touch?

Basten stews in his guilt, and I wallow in my anger. Here I’ve been fantasizing about my first kiss for years, and it had to be with a brute who dumped my ass in the dirt after pawing me.

“We should be getting on the road, Lady Sabine,” Basten says without looking at me.

Hatred makes my steps stiff as I tug off his shirt, smash it into his chest, and start to comb my hair over my bare breasts. He keeps his gaze in the opposite direction, like his eyes will burn out of his head if he even side-eyes my naked body.

Myst, I call. The brute says it’s time to go.

She walks over, swinging her head between Basten and me like there is a visible, taut line of tension between us.

She whinnies. Mate?

I gape, utterly horrified. At least only I can hear her voice in my head. No, we didn’t mate! Don’t you dare suggest something like that again!

She snorts again, skeptical.

I mumble curses as I climb onto a stump and swing a leg over her back. Grumpy, I rearrange my loose hair to try to cover every inch of exposed skin. It’s been almost two weeks since Suri helped me wash my hair with scented soap, and now the full, soft waves that her braid made are clumpy and oily.