Something wild takes over. Something untamed. Something driven by the need to please him. I crash down on him again, losing myself in the pleasure, in the feeling of him.
He moves his hands from my hips and up to my breasts, massaging them, teasing my nipples and sending waves of delight through me.
“Hector,” I cry, as the pleasure builds and builds, and my body tightens around him.
“Shatter for me,” he orders.
I do as I’m told.
My body shakes, my breathing turns ragged, as if I cannot gather enough air.
At this moment, I don’t even need it.
I only need him.
ChapterThirty-Four
“Sol.” Moonlight strays into the tent as Hector steps in carrying a broadsword.
I turn from my spot on the bed, where I have sat numbly since Hector rose and left to prepare for our attack on Sharhavva.
My legs shake as I rise to my feet, and he moves closer, holding the sword toward me.
“I made this for you.”
The blade boasts a striking pattern of wavy lines, almost like flowing water, which not only adds to its visual appeal but also suggests a refined forging process. These patterns shimmer subtly, hinting at the careful tempering of the steel. The grip of the sword is equally impressive, wrapped in a sturdy, textured material that promises a secure and comfortable hold. It’s clear that every aspect of this sword has been thoughtfully designed, combining aesthetic elegance with practical functionality.
“Hector,” I whisper, awed that he had the time to make this for me. “It’s amazing.”
He grabs a leather sheath from the desk and slides the steel into it. “I owed you a weapon that wasn’t shrouded in lies and secrecy.” The wind joins the moon, creeping through the open tent flap and playing with his midnight hair as he turns back to me. “And I wanted you to have a sword worthy of you.”
“It’s perfect.” I take the sword from him, pull it from its sheath, and stare down at the steel he forged for me. It’s a fine weapon. A weapon fit for a queen.
“Not nearly as perfect as you are.”
I look up at him, finding admiration behind his stare. “If I were perfect,” I tease, “I wouldn’t be obsessed with you.”
Mirth twinkles in his blue eyes. “What you fail to realize, my dear wife—that is what makes you perfect.”
With a quick flick of my wrist, I shove the sword back into its leather binding, place it on the table, and turn to my husband with a smile planted on my lips. “I see that time hasn’t made you any less arrogant.”
“Nor has it made you any less beautiful.” He snags my waist and pulls me against his hard body. “You grow increasingly beautiful, Sol.”
I place my palms against his chest and stare up at him. “Why are you being so generous?”
“I thought you knew.” He leans in and speaks in a low, husky voice. “I’m going to pull up your nightdress and make you scream my name.”
He releases me, moves to the tent flap, and snaps it into place.
“Oh?” I close the space between us and run my hand up his surcoat and to his throat. “What if I want to touch you instead?” Before the last word leaves my mouth, I lower myself to my knees in front of him.
He lets out a ragged exhale as I remove his weapon belt, then boldly skim my fingertips over him—touching him through the fabric of his surcoat and pants. His body still hardens, and I relish it, knowingIdrove him to this point.
He assists me in taking off his surcoat and pants, and I shrug out of my nightdress, wanting no barriers between us. No clothes. No secrecy. No past.
Nothing.
Then, I take him into my hands, touching him, stroking him. He groans as I lower my mouth, wrapping my lips around his hard length and moving up and down. His fingers tighten in my hair as he guides me quicker and quicker, encouraging me to take him—all of him. So, I do, taking him to the hilt and rolling my tongue around him, tasting him.
