Filed to story: My Kidnapper Is the Wolf King
The backs of my eyes burn. I sniffle, trying to suppress the feelings that threaten to come. “Some of the things you said were bad.”
“Goddess, I’m sorry, Princess, I-“
“Usually, people say I’m pretty.” My voice is thick.
Callum’s eyebrows raise. “Oh. . . you are. I didn’t mean to offend you by not mentioning-“
“No.” I blink a couple of times. “You don’t understand. That’s usually all they say. And it’s not even me they’re complimenting. It’s a version of me. It’s not real. It’s make-up and dresses and them wanting to get into my father’s good graces.”
I take a deep breath, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand. I feel Callum watching me.
“No one. . . no one has ever tried to know me before.” I take a shuddery breath, tasting the woodsmoke that twists in the darkness. His gaze is so fierce that it is hard to hold it. “Not until you.”
His jaw is hard, his posture still. He says nothing for a moment, then removes his arms from his thighs, and sits back.
“Come here,” he says.
My pulse is fast as I get up and walk toward him. His body heat and scent wash over me as he parts his thighs for me to stand between them.
He takes my hand in both of his. “I do want to know you. I want to know everything about you.”
“I want that, too.”
He runs his thumb over my skin and his touch is gentle. He swallows, hard. “You’re not my prisoner anymore.”
“No.” I do not bother to add that I don’t believe I ever really was. I am ensnared, unable to think properly, unable to speak.
There is need in his eyes. Hunger. His chest moves up and down deeply, his breathing as ragged as mine. I feel as if we are on the edge of a storm that is about to break.
He drags his teeth over his bottom lip.
He stands up, his large frame looming over me.
“Come,” he says, his voice gruff. “I want to show you something.”
Chapter Fifty-One
My heart is in my throat as Callum leads me across the shore. Pebbles crunch underfoot.
His hand is firm and warm around mine. I am reminded of the first time I took his hand, back in Sebastian’s castle. Like now, I was nervous. Uncertain of what was to come. I took his hand anyway.
I think I will always take his hand, if he offers it to me.
My mother once told me that we always have a choice.
I chose Callum that day-when I turned my back on my people and travelled with him to the kingdom of my enemies.
Sometimes it does not feel like a choice at all. It feels inevitable. Like the setting of the sun, and the rising of the moon.
What other choice could there be? It feels as if it has always been him. This. Everything has led to this moment.
Nerves tangle in my stomach, because I think I know what is going to happen next-what Callum might expect from me. I want to give him it, yet I cannot deny that I fear it a little too.
When Callum gently squeezes my hand, he must be able to hear the pounding of my pulse.
He leads me through the copse of trees he disappeared into earlier, nudging aside an overhanging branch with his free arm. The scent of wet pine is released into the cool night air, and a few raindrops-collected among the needles-fall on me as I follow him.
I stop, my eyes widening with surprise.
I nudge past him.
“What’s this?” I ask.
We’re on the shore of the loch, but we’re partially sheltered from the Northlands winds by the trees on one side, and steep rocky land on the other. In the center of the intimate clearing, there’s a tent.
“I remembered the last time I tried to get you to sleep on the ground.” Every sense in my body is attuned to him as he steps closer. “Do you. . . do you like it?”
Warmth spreads through me at the slight note of uncertainty in his tone. He seems almost nervous.
The tent is triangular in shape and it’s small. It is high enough to sit or kneel inside, but certainly not to stand. The fabric is off-white and it has seen better days.
It reminds me of a miniature, worn-out version of the tents that my father and brother stayed in when they went hunting. Teams of servants would ride ahead of the hunting party to erect them before the noblemen and women arrived. The structures would be dressed in silks and banners, some with interiors as nice as rooms in the palace itself.
This tent is nothing like that.
And yet, it is so much better. Because Callum did this. He did this for me.
An unfamiliar rush of emotion surges through my body.
“Yes,” I say softly. “I like it very much.”
“Do you. . . do you want to go inside?” Again, that slight note of uncertainty in his tone. As if part of him expects me to say no.
My pulse hammers against my chest. I nod, crouch down, and crawl through the opening.
Red tartan rugs, furs, and cushions cover the ground-giving it a cozy feel, despite the cool air and the breath that plumes in front of my face. A candle Callum must have lit earlier flickers at one side, filling the space with warm orange light.
I kneel upright, and smile.
I’m about to turn around when the fabric rustles. Callum’s thighs brush my hips as he kneels behind me and places a hand flat on my stomach. A lick of heat flares in the pit of my stomach as my back touches his chest.
“I wanted to do more.” He runs his thumb along my torso, and I wish my shirt wasn’t in the way of his touch. “We could only carry so much on horseback.”
“It’s perfect.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
He dips his mouth, and kisses the sensitive spot behind my ear, then peppers a trail of kisses on the back of my neck. I suppress a moan.
“Goddess,” he says. “I’ve wanted to be alone with you like this for so long.”
Gently, he tugs the hem of my shirt out of my breeches, and slides his hand beneath. His palm is rough and warm as it skims my torso. My gaze snaps down, transfixed, as he moves his hand lower and unfastens the button of my breeches.
My heart is hammering against my chest. It is almost deafening in my ears.
I want his hand there. I ache for it. There is heat between my legs, throbbing and wet, and it is almost unbearable.
And it is not as if he hasn’t touched me there before.
Yet it feels different this time. Perhaps because it means something. It symbolizes that I am truly leaving the past behind. It solidifies the truth, and the choice I made so many nights ago.
I choose him.
Or perhaps it is because before, when we were in his bed, he was only willing to give to me. This time, he will take from me, too.
I have not done this before. What if I disappoint him?