37. Paris

Brett was right—a trip that might've taken us days had taken us only hours by flight, but that didn't mean, when we landed near the meeting place, that my whole body didn't ache with the effort of it. People were there with fur-lined robes ready to bundle us up, and even I shivered against the cold as I pulled mine tight around myself.

Flying was new, and over distance—well, perhaps I should have told Brett that I couldn't manage it. I knew he'd be patient, but I hadn't wanted to be the one to delay our arrival, particularly when it kept Brett away from his people during a vulnerable time.

Flying home? That was even worse, and by the time we arrived back outside Brett's country house, I was ready to sleep for a week.

Rosaline was there with robes for us both, and Orestes too, and Brett's hand settled on my back once we were all safe and warm inside. "Are you all right?"

I smiled at him. "Just fine."

No sense in me complaining.

"A messenger came while you were away," Rosaline said, and her gaze settled on me first. "There was only one for you. I wasn't sure you'd be back today, but I left it in your room."

"Thank you."

As I dragged myself upstairs, I had a sinking feeling that finally, I was going to get a letter from Prince Tybalt, just as I was settling into the idea of having lost him.

But once again, it wasn't his hand that'd penned this missive. It was Helena, and it was the shortest letter she'd ever written me, almost like she'd had scarcely a moment to write it and sneak it away.

Paris,

Something's wrong with Hector. Something's wrong in Urial.

Come home.

Love always,

Helena

That was all it said,and before I had a chance to remove my robe and dress for dinner, before I'd even thought about it, I was pulling my smallest trunk off the pile of empty ones and going for the necessities.

Brett wandered to my door a few minutes later, and when he saw me packing, a heavy scowl crossed his face.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to go home," I snapped, fear making me shorter with him than I had to be. "I—I can't stay. Not anymore. Helena?—"

"No," Brett growled.

"No?" That brought me up short. Nothing in Brett's behavior so far had indicated he was a controlling or domineering man. Even when he ruled a whole clan, he saw to others' needs first.

But then, how much did I really know about him? Worse, how much did I trust my own judgment?

Not a lot, honestly.

"No," he repeated, stalking toward me until my hip hit the post of the canopy bed.

Breathless, I stared up at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

"Only a couple days ago, I thought you were dying. You're in no state to travel. Not all the way back to Urial?—"

"We just travelled," I whispered as he bore down on me. Angrily, his jaw flexed. His eyes flashed.

"That is not the same," he hissed back. "You were with me."

My eyelids fluttered. What?

I realized then that, while he was frustrated, I wasn't afraid. He didn't seem angry, at least not with me. If anyone was scared, it was Brett.

"Just take a couple days," he pleaded. "Recover from today. Eat well. Catch up on rest. Just—a little wh?—"

He never finished, because I wrapped my hands around the back of his neck and dragged him into me. Without even a moment's hesitation, he tipped his head enough to slot his mouth to mine perfectly, and then he opened. His lips were so soft, the sound he made as I plunged my tongue between them was rough and broken.

Behind me, his hand flexed on the wooden bedpost. It creaked as he pulled it in, like he wished he could drag at me instead.

Both my hands cupped either side of his neck. My thumbs brushed the edge of his jaw. When I pulled away from the kiss, gasping for air, my breath shook.

"Something's wrong," I whispered into the tiny space between us. "My brother's sick. My sister's scared. I can't—I can't just ignore it."

Brett's nose flared as he drew in a deep breath, his eyes closed. He nodded, and then he leaned forward, kissing me again.

This time, he allowed his hand to slip off the wooden post, pressing his fingers into the small of my back and pulling my body against his. He was all—all big and lean and strong, his chest hard against my own, his cock—his cock hard too, pressing against my hip as he rolled against me.

Did he understand why I needed to go? Right then, I wasn't sure I cared to discuss it further.

He was right—I couldn't just turn around after a full day of flying and take off north. Even if I took a carriage, the sleigh, it'd be exhausting.

One night. I'd give myself one more night, and I'd answer my family's call when my head was clearer. In the meanwhile, there was Brett, and I wanted him to understand. I didn't want him to think I was just disappearing, not a single thought spared to his comfort, care, or feelings.

When his fingers twisted in the silk of my robe, I went for the tie at my waist, undoing it as he hissed, backing a step away to take in the column of my exposed skin that went from my neck, down and down and down.

He looked at me like he wanted to devour me, like he was the gorgeous golden hawk I'd seen flying through the air beside me, and I was something small and scampering across the ground.

When he sucked in his cheeks and met my eye, I nodded. This? This was all right. Whatever I offered him, I meant to.

I let one of my hands drag down his chest, feeling the steady, strong pulse of his heart beneath my palm. My other hand combed through his hair, the soft golden waves mixed with the stiff quills of feathers.

With a growl, Brett pushed me back onto the bed, and I hooked a heel behind his thigh. If he meant to push me away from him, I wasn't letting him get very far.

But once he untied his own robe, he crawled up the bed after me, slipping it off his shoulders like it was an afterthought, a liquid thing easily discarded the moment it became inconvenient.

His body settled on top of mine, heavy and hot. I touched him everywhere I could reach—his broad shoulders, down across his strong back, flexing beneath my touch when he rocked his hips against mine. The small of his back formed a delicious curve that was nothing when compared to his ass, the muscles firm beneath my hands.

I let him nest between my legs, and his touch was—was softer. His fingers danced lightly across my cheek, tracing the shape of my lips almost reverently before sweeping lower.

At the first brush of his callused hand over my cock, I gasped, bucking against him, and was rewarded with a soft, adoring chuckle.

Roughly, I swallowed, and his fingers teased lower, testing warm skin and lighting my nerves ablaze.

I don't know where he found the oil, somewhere beside the bed, surely, because he barely pulled away before he was back, tracing the tip of one slick finger around my puckered hole.

With a whine, I dug my feet into the bed. "Please," I whimpered desperately, "I—I need?—"

I couldn't say it. I needed him. I needed to feel wanted, like I really did matter, like there was a place here for me if I cared to claim it.

But, silly as it was, it felt like if I asked, it wouldn't count for anything. He'd just be giving me something out of kindness.

So I couldn't. And even still, he brushed his lips against the corner of his mouth and nodded. "I've got you," he promised, pushing that first finger into me as I keened.

Brett was careful, kissing me as he worked his fingers inside, moving slow while my body adjusted to the intrusion, softening for him as fear and need were swept away by a deeper kind of longing.

Another finger, and I gripped him hard, my teeth tugging at his bottom lip. He had to know how much I wanted this—I wanted him to mean it, not to set me adrift, not to be left feeling like a fool and a plaything again.

With his free hand, he tucked my hair behind my ear, and he held my gaze as he twisted his fingers inside me, rubbing over that spot that curled my toes and ached in my balls.

"Now," I begged. "Do it now."

He drew back, taking just a moment to pour oil liberally over his cock—gods, it was a nice cock, thick and flushed at the head and gleaming in the dim light of my room.

He pressed it into me slowly, feeding my body inch by slow inch while I stayed trapped, held in his pretty green eyes.

When he bottomed out inside me, he gave a punched-out sigh and nodded, checking in, I realized. And though we were both beyond words, I nodded back. This was right. It was exactly what I wanted.

He moved languidly at first, pulling out slowly, dragging heat inside me and thrusting back in, the pressure of his cock, my ass flexing tightly around him, was almost too much. But if I breathed deep, if I kept looking into his eyes, I knew I could take it.

We found a rhythm together, and then his lips were everywhere—my ear, my throat, my collarbone. His breath hitched as he rocked into me, picking up speed, and then—then my name, whispered in my ear like a prayer.

I clutched him hard, arching beneath him, his lower belly pressing against me just so and?—

I came with a shattered moan, only his stomach against my cock, the tip nudging against his bellybutton, sent me over the edge.

I felt the press of Brett's smile against my neck, and he kept moving, unhurried, slow, even as my body shook in the aftermath, my legs squirming against his hips.

When he finally came, his brow puckered. He buried deep, and I felt—I felt beyond lost, beyond pleasure, beyond... just everything. I was loose and heavy and tired but also alive, my muscles sore and singing.

As for what happened next? I couldn't have said. I was hazy, half conscious, and more at home than I'd ever felt.