“Lean back,” he commanded. “I want to see you squirm while I bury my cock inside you.”
Another wave of pleasure washed over me at the dirtiness of his words. Heart pounding, I lowered myself to the table, feeling the scrape of wood against my back. I stared up at him and put both feet on the table, spreading my thighs even wider. I’d never been so bold in front of anyone, but something about the way he looked at me made me want to show him every inch of my body, show him exactly how much I craved his touch.
I could give him every part of me, and he would not use my emotions against me or wield them as a weapon. He would merely give himself over to me as readily as I did to him. I trusted him, I suddenly realized, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
I trusted this elven blacksmith with every single ounce of my heart and soul.
He gazed down at my soaking wetness with feral need pouring across face. Gripping my hips, he thrust inside me so hard the table rocked beneath me. The bowl of flour tumbled over the side and dusted the floor. I moaned, holding the table as it shook. At the sound of my pleasure, a wicked glint lit Rivelin’s eyes, and he thrust faster and harder until I was nothing but a panting mess, desperate for more.
Suddenly, he lifted me from the table and carried me to the wall, keeping our bodies locked tightly together. Steam hissed between us, the heat of it matching the fiery need in my core. More gently than I expected, Rivelin trapped me between the hard planes of his chest and the timber beams of the house, but it was his eyes that captured me. They were a bright, burning gold.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, dropping his forehead to mine. “Everything about you is perfection.”
He rocked his hips against me, gently this time, as if he were savoring every second he could spend inside me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and met his intense gaze with one of my own, one I hoped he understood. I wanted him. No, I needed him, here and now and every night to come. A slight smile tipped up the corners of my lips, conjuring a deep groan from Rivelin.
“Stay with me, Daella.” My name rolled across his tongue like a prayer as he continued to thrust inside me. “We’ll find a way to keep you in Wyndale. I want you here, in my forge and in my bed.”
My heart throbbed, my fingers tightening around the silken strands of his hair. “For how long?”
“I can’t imagine I’d ever want this to end.”
Desperate desire pounded in my head. Truth was, I felt every single word as if I’d spoken them myself. Being here with him like this was the best thing I’d ever known.
“I don’t want this to end, either,” I whispered back.
His thrusts grew deeper, and I slid my hands across his broad shoulders, relishing every inch of his powerful body, every flex of muscle as he savored how I felt wrapped around his cock. Our heavy breaths mingled between us, steam fogging the air.
Heat burning through me, my core tightened. As if sensing my building orgasm, Rivelin groaned and plunged inside me, again and again until—
White hot spots stormed through my eyes, and a powerful rush of fire swept through me. I cried out, shuddering between his chest and the rough wall, the powerful quakes of my climax pounding through every inch of my body. Rivelin released a primal groan as he came only seconds after, his throbbing cock emptying inside me.
I sagged against him, my heart pounding so fast I swore it might shake out of my chest. And with my head against his shoulder, I could hear the same frantic heartbeat from him.
He pressed his lips against my forehead.
“I want to be yours, at least until day breaks,” he murmured against my hot skin. “I don’t want to stop kissing you and touching you and tasting you.”
I met his eyes, smiled, and whispered, “Then don’t.”
That night, Rivelin finally joined me in the bed.
28
DAELLA
I had a bounce in my step as I wandered through the maze of stalls set up along the perimeter of the festival, absentmindedly twisting the handmade bracelet on my wrist. Rivelin and I had not gotten much sleep, but I’d never felt more awake. No, that wasn’t quite right. I’d never felt more alive. Humming cheerfully—I went with the tune about Isveig I’d heard from the bard that first week—I stopped by Elma’s booth, where she had a platter of various cheeses set out for the occasion.
“Morning, Elma,” I said with a smile. “Thought you’d be at the Inn.”
She eyed me carefully as the shadows whispered across her skin, and for a moment, I worried she’d decided she didn’t like me very much after all. “Pointless being there with the trial ceremony looming. No one will be in town right now.”
“Well, lucky me, I guess. I’d love some of that cheese.”
She grinned. “You know the drill. No coin, no cheese.”
I dropped a pile of gold onto the counter that Rivelin had given me and exchanged it for a block of crumbly cheese. As I popped the delicacy into my mouth, Elma smiled and wished me luck. Right now, I didn’t really feel we needed much of that. I’d already spotted the other contestants, and while our cupcakes wouldn’t quite be the runaway hit like fireworks were, I had a good hunch we’d still win.
It felt like everything was starting to fall into place, even though we hadn’t yet found my cure. So as I headed to the stage, I should have expected what happened next. Gregor appeared from nowhere, grabbed me by the waist, and hauled me into the bushes again.
I elbowed him in the gut and twisted away from him.
“What in fate’s name do you think you’re doing?” I hissed.
He looked even worse than the last time I’d seen him, and that was saying something. His golden hair hung in tangled clumps around his gaunt, dirt-stained face. Had he been eating?
“I need to talk to you,” he said wearily. “About Rivelin. Again.”
I heaved out a sigh. “I see what this is. You’re holding his swords hostage. What do you want in exchange for them? Something to do with the Games?”
“What?” Confusion rippled across his face. “Rivelin has swords?”
“Don’t play the fool. What do you want for them?”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I don’t have them. I didn’t even know he had swords. Do Odel and Haldor know? It’s against the laws of this island.”
I eyed him, taking in his puffy eyes and—shockingly—his bare feet. His shirt was in tatters, and he hunched over, like he was in pain. “Someone broke into Rivelin’s house, knocked him out, and stole some swords. Are you really saying it wasn’t you?”
“That kind of thing doesn’t happen in Wyndale.”
“Except it did happen, and you’re the most likely culprit.”
He frowned. “And you saw this yourself?”
“Yes. I mean, I saw the aftermath. I found Rivelin unconscious, wounded, and bleeding on the floor. Then we realized the swords were missing.”
“That’s clever of him.” Gregor paced, his bare feet thumping against the ground. “Where was this wound? On the front of his head or on the back?”
I narrowed my eyes. “His front. What are you trying to suggest?”
“Rivelin is the mastermind. Think about it, Daella. He wants to win this thing more than anyone, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes. I was his biggest competition, and he got me kicked out by framing me.”