“That good?” Griffin asks, a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Better,” I answer, reveling in the warmth.
He puts his own cloak on, takes my hand, and then leads me back across the meadow. His grip is firm, as if a part of him is still afraid of letting me go.
He gathers up my pants, boots, and belt, although he only gives me the latter. I buckle it low on my waist inside my cloak so that the pearls sit right in front of Little Bean again.
“Ianthe knew what that did,” Griffin says, glancing at the pearls. “That’s why she didn’t get the circlet back from you. She wanted you to have it.”
I nod, a pang bumping hard against my ribs. Selfless Ianthe. She gave me her best protection against Mother. I don’t think my heart can take another sister turning herself into a shield for me, or sacrificing her life for mine.
Griffin steers us into the barn. It’s warm from the animals. It smells like them, too. A pungent mix of beast, hay, must, and manure. He takes flint to steel and lights two of the lanterns that are hanging on the wall, handing one to me. I hold out the light, careful of where I’m stepping in my bare feet, but the straw is fresh cut, relatively clean, and not too prickly. Mother must have eliminated the real hermit only shortly before we got here. The farm is in good shape. Dinner was still bubbling over the fire. Without that wrong turn I took, I wonder if we could have saved the witch of Frostfire.
We climb a ladder to a loft filled with sacks of grain, drying hay, and a huge supply of fragrant medicinal herbs that significantly dampens the odor of goat.
“Your mother won’t come back?” Griffin asks, suddenly looking tense again.
I shake my head. “Two Gods showed up, and they weren’t on her side. She’s long gone. She’s adept at many things, and one of them is living to fight another day. She’ll need to get her shoulder healed. Plus, did you see how fast that mare was moving? She’s probably halfway to Castle Fisa by now.”
Griffin nods, but concern lingers in his eyes. Not about Mother coming back today, I think, but about the future, and whatever new nightmare our next encounter with her might bring.
He leaves me upstairs in the barn to warm up and then comes back with our saddlebags after seeing to the horses. As soon as he reappears, he tosses a pair of wooly socks at me.
I catch them but then set them down beside me. “My feet aren’t cold.”
“How is that possible?” he asks, not even trying to repress a shiver. His lips are dark, like they’re tinged with blue.
It’s possible because I’ve been all tucked up under my cloak for a good twenty minutes when I probably should have been helping Griffin with the horses and getting him out of his wet clothes.
“Eternal Fires of the Underworld. Come.” I hold out my hand. “I’ll warm you up.”
Heat flares in his eyes. Smiling, I pat the hay next to me, feeling even warmer myself.
Griffin sits, propping his cloak-covered back against the wide, rough-hewn planks of the deeply shadowed loft. I get in front of him and pull off his boots. It’s hard work, considering they’re soaked through. I set them aside to dry and then peel his pants down his legs—hard work as well, but definitely worth it when I get the visual confirmation that his balls have in no way, shape, or form fallen off.
I lay his pants out to dry next to his boots and then kneel between his legs, making sure my smoldering cloak covers his bare and frozen feet. The garment does little to hide my nakedness, and Griffin’s concentrated gaze heats me up so much that the fiery cloth dims.
Leaning forward, I sweep my hands up his thighs. His skin is damp and cold, his powerful muscles are taut, and his short, dark hair is coarse against my palms. I dip my head and kiss the first hard ridge of his abdomen. His midriff tenses. My breasts sway under me as I move, brushing his growing erection. He groans, the sound hoarse with need, and then curls his hand around the back of my neck. His fingers are like ice.
I slide down, kissing the next ridge and tracing the hills and hollows of his torso with my tongue. My lips never leave his skin, and my breath swirls between us as I lick the indent next to his hip. Humming softly at how good he tastes—like cold, fresh water and crisp mountain air—I brush a slow, hot kiss all the way to his hard length and then take him into my mouth.
Griffin’s head thumps the wall behind him. His hand tightens on my nape.
I suck with my mouth and stroke with my hand. I want to warm him up. I want him to forget his fear.
Griffin gathers my hair into his fist, holding it back. He says my name, his voice rasping and rough. “You’re so Gods damn beautiful. My amazing wife.”
My heart swells with love. I need more of him. Always and urgently. Irrevocably. I sink down on him, taking him deep into my mouth.
His hips flex, his body naturally meeting my rhythm. His breathing shortens to harsh pants. When I sense his muscles tightening, I look up, licking my lips. He groans, his eyes like molten silver. From the hot, intense look on his face, I think he’s going to drag me up to straddle him, get inside me, and then help me to ride him fast and hard.
Instead, he carefully turns me and then lays me on my back. He takes his time, his hands gentle but his expression everything that’s predatory and fierce. His heated look roams over me from my head to my toes—every curve, every dip, every naked inch.
Anticipation mounts in the wake of his scorching gaze. He’s the wolf here, and I’m definitely ready for him to pounce. Gods, I even hope he bites.
“I’m going to savor you. My mouth is watering. There’s not a single part of you that I won’t taste.”
True to his words, Griffin lifts my right calf and starts at my foot, trailing his mouth over my toes, the arch, and then kissing the inside of my ankle. I shiver. Who knew that feet could be so sensitive?
Little bolts of pleasure race up my leg, and I catch my lower lip between my teeth, moving my hips to try to relieve some of the pressure gathering in my core. His hands, his tongue, his lips… They’re everywhere. The back of my knee, my inner thigh, the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist. He’s tender. Focused. Thorough. Slowly devouring me.
By the time Griffin centers his mouth over my throbbing sex, the tension in my body is already explosive. Gripping his hair, I whisper his name, my exhale shaky with desire. I need him to press down on me. I want him to drive me over the edge.
He softly blows, and I stop breathing.
“What you feel right now?” He moves back down and then starts all over again with the other leg. “It’s what I feel every time I look at you.”
I gasp when he flicks his tongue along my instep. “Then I don’t know how you can function.”