Into His Command (32 page)

It took him a second to return to his memory. As soon as he did, his gaze doubled
down on darkness. I almost told him to abort, that we could do this later, but the
urgency in his posture pushed me into silence. I sensed the story like a living thing
inside him, clamoring to be spoken—and I wondered if he’d even told it to anyone before.
If not, he’d been hauling this burden around for nine years now. All by himself.

Whether that was the case or not, he sure as hell wasn’t alone now—and even a few
feet seemed too great a distance to tell him so.

I pushed off the bed then lowered to my knees, scooting directly between his. A heavy
sigh rushed from him. I separated his meshed hands, circling them with my own before
pressing them over my heart…silently urging him to go on.

“We headed for a darker part of the garden,” he finally grated. “A hidden grotto…behind
some big stones.” His whole form clenched. “But Father had beaten us there.”

The rattle of his voice gave me enough information to go on. I clutched him tighter
before filling in, “And he was with someone.”

He didn’t bother nodding. Instead he uttered, “One of the High Council members. A
woman who’d been serving him for years…clearly, in a number of ways.”

Envisioning the past wasn’t so effortless now. My throat closed with emotion as my
mind flickered with the scene. Samsyn and Tryst standing there, gaping at more of
Ardent than either of them wanted to know about—

Ew.

That was more of Ardent than
I
wanted to think about.

“Did he know you were there?”

Unbelievably, Syn colored. “Indeed,” he said grimly. “He knew.”

Tiny flinch. I’d seen Syn’s ire when he witnessed people merely trying to bend mat
training rules. His fury at the Residence Rigale’s magistrate, when catching the man
trying to snow me with his arrogance, was still a vivid recall. My husband’s loathing
of deceit and dishonor, backed by his adherence to the Arcadian warrior’s code, was
one of the compasses of his character. Had it been molded that way after the fateful
night in the garden with his father? Wouldn’t have hit me as a surprise—though I doubted
it. Syn’s moral code seemed sewn into his DNA, as much a part of him as the stunning
color of his eyes. There were lines in his world that simply didn’t get crossed—and
when his own father had stepped over one of the biggest, the torment of his soul had
begun. For nine years, he’d lived with a Gordian Knot in his gut. Call his father
out and forever stain the Cimarron family name, not to mention the emotional blow
to his siblings, or help Ardent keep the dirty laundry deep in the basement?

Though somewhere along the line, Xaria had added to that pile too.

I followed the logical line from that thought. “So when did you tell your mom? Did
you go to her that night?”

“She already knew.” His eyes, though fixed on me still, were distant and sad. “As
soon as I saw her the next day, I just knew it. For a while, it bonded us a little.
She seemed comforted that at least one person saw the truth. But then she turned no
better than him, forming her little harem…”

“And you’ve carried both their secrets ever since.”

I stated it without pity. That would have destroyed him. Nor with any sadness. That
wasn’t mine to share with him. I said it to him as I knew he needed it, simply as
fact.

But my touch was a different story.

I could still caress his taut hands with the tenderness of my own. Could still press
my lips to his knuckles, lingering their softness over his roughness. Could still
hold him, comfort him, be a small piece of strength for him. I couldn’t take away
the pain of his parents’ infidelities, but I could help him with carrying its weight.
I just prayed like hell he’d let me.

The furrows across his face, persisting even now, didn’t give me a lot of hope about
that chance.

“Secrets.” He repeated the word like asking me to pass the poison. “Are they not just
another word for lies?”

I grabbed his hands tighter. Lifted them to my cheeks. Framed his face in the same
way, though stroked my thumbs from the corners of his nose to the edges of his mouth,
still adoring him with my touch. “I know it’s not easy, big guy. As a matter of fact,
it’s hell. But you’re not alone anymore. For as long as I’m here…let me help.” I spread
my fingers to his forehead, tracing the thick slashes of his eyebrows. “
Samsyn
…let me in.”

The words sank into him that time—like the poison he’d just been asking for. “How
do I know what is real anymore?”

“You know.” I slid my hands to the center of his chest. “You know, Syn. In here.”

He dropped his hands too. Then his head. As his hands flowed over mine, our foreheads
touched and held. He was silent for so long, no sound but the whooshes of his breath,
but I felt all his words anyway. So many of them, alive and incredible on the air
between us, consonants and vowels not mattering, a language needing no interpreter…because
it was born from our hearts.

“Brooke?” It finally soughed out, a guttural whisper.

“Yeah?”

“
You
feel…real.”

Throat constricting.

Heart exploding.

Love growing.

I nudged my face up at him. Breathed in as he breathed out. Sighed as he shuddered.
Smiled softly as he growled lowly. “Because I am, big guy. For as long as you need
me.”

His chest rumbled with another low, gruff sound. He raised his fingers, splaying them
to the side of my throat. Stretched them back to my nape, where he dug in to jerk
my head up with a sharp tug. I gasped. Bite of fear. Wash of arousal. Then even more
as he leaned over, aligning our gazes once more.

“What if I need you right now?”

I looked up, into the cut blue glass of his gaze, and silently begged him to slice
me open. “What if I can’t think of anything I need more?”

His stare thickened. Swept down my face until delving over my mouth…giving a heated
preview of what his was about to do.

And did.

Holy. Shit.

I thought I knew every category of kiss from this man now. From tender brushes to
plunging tongue invasions, he used his mouth with as much mastery as his sword. But
this was something new. Something he’d never exposed me to. A conquering I’d never
experienced from him. A passion not just reserved for my body. He wanted—commanded—everything
now. The thoughts in my head. The desires of my heart. All the keys to my soul.

And God help me…I was helpless to refuse.

As soon as the lock fell free, releasing it all in a sensual tumble, I sighed again—though
by then, Syn had already slid back in the chair, pulling me with him.

Straddling my hips around his.

Yanking the ties of my robe open.

Exposing my nude body to the blue flames of his stare.

“Creator’s infinite grace,” he rasped. “What a gift you are, my
astremé
.”

I swallowed hard as his hands cupped my breasts, enticing the tips to full erection
with steady tugs. “Does that mean you’re ready to…unwrap me?” Coyly, I shirked the
robe off my left shoulder. If the move worked its desired effect, he wouldn’t want
to be so careful about releasing the other arm.

It did. He wasn’t.

I girl-growled as he shoved the robe’s other side down, then ripped the garment completely
away. I was bared to him now. Exposed…in every way I could be. Skin. Sex. Spirit.
His.

Syn raked his hands downward, imprinting my rib cage, stomach and abdomen with the
dark pink trails of his touch. He wasn’t gentle, and I didn’t want him to be. I hissed
with that encouragement as he skidded lower, parting my labia, driving both thumbs
up into my throbbing channel.

“Damn!” My head fell back as he thrust in deep, digging his other fingers into my
mound for purchase. “Syn. That’s…”

“Not enough,” he snarled. “Not nearly enough.”

I tucked in to kiss him while rolling my sex in time with his hands. “Not nearly,”
I panted—just before flipping his belt open. Beneath my fingers, his erection surged
against his pants, hot and huge already.

We groaned together as his cell phone rang.

Syn swore, releasing his hands from my body in order to fumble for the device. It
was resting on the table beneath his book, which had been tossed to the floor in his
search. He finally tapped the green button—at the same moment I lowered his slacks
zipper.

“Yes?”

He finished it with a barely stifled groan—as I freed his cock. I’d never get used
to the thrill of seeing him like this. His sex embodied
him
: powerful, proud, bold, insistent. I longed to just stare at it like this. Now wasn’t
that time.

“Of…course. Perfect.” He stumbled through his formalities, as I caressed him from
swollen balls to pulsing tip. “Thank you for…letting me…know. I understand. Yes. Just
be certain everyone is prepared and…”

Back to the clenched groan…as I swiped a drop of his pre-come off the tip of his stalk.
The whole shaft bobbed beneath my touch, straining with his need.

“Yes. I know.” He hissed as I sucked the milk off my finger. “Right away. I am coming.”

As he punched the call to an end, I quirked a saucy smirk. “Hmmm. Not yet, I hope.”

Syn didn’t waste time on a riposte. With his most dangerous dragon’s growl, he seized
me by both hips. Positioned my drenched pussy atop his surging penis, then plunged
me back down. I cried out in a mix of pain and ecstasy. Never had he penetrated me
so deep, so fast. It was terrible and incredible in the same excruciating instant.

“Minx.” He riveted the word to the air while slamming me harder upon him—quelling
any impression that my position put me in control of things this time. “You have made
me late to the emergency High Council meeting. And you know I hate delaying discipline.”

I winced as his grip tightened, increasing the pace of our thrusts. He’d leave marks
on my hips—thank God. I hoped they’d be dark for days, visceral reminders of this
exact moment. The quivering zings through my body. The coiled tension of his. And
the pressure, squeezing hot and needy in my core, begging his cock for its ultimate
explosion.

“D-discipline?” I jibed between heavy breaths. “Nobody’s keeping you here, Majesty.
If you
must
go, then go…”

I squeaked as he reached around, pinching both my ass cheeks.
Shit.
There’d be marks there too. “I am not going anywhere, wife—until you take every drop
of come from my cock.”

His wicked words were my empowerment. I rose up, ensuring he could better see every
movement I made. Moved his hands back to my hips, surrendering even deeper to his
driving, dominant pace. “As I shall willingly do, husband.”

Samsyn’s lips parted. His teeth gleamed, white and feral in the streams of sun pushing
through the windows. Another blast of that light fell over the juncture of our bodies,
making the juices on his cock gleam with every new punch into my pussy.

“Brooke!” he groaned.

“Samsyn,” I rasped.

“Take me.”

“Yes.”

“All of me!”

“
Yes
.”

As his passion became liquid in my core, I became liquid in his arms. My orgasm shuddered
through me, tightening my tunnel around his cock, pulling his strength even deeper
into me. And though we rode those climaxes until they turned to soft sighs of fulfillment,
I fought to keep him clutched inside—part of my body just as he was twined inside
my heart, for just another perfect moment.

One more moment.

Just one more moment…please.

His phone rang again.

He spat the Arcadian expletive once more. Jabbed the red button on the phone this
time, but gently lifted me off his lap before he rose and headed to the bathroom to
clean up. For a long second, I just remained on the chair, knees curled beneath me,
wondering why I shivered despite the sun pouring in. Told myself to get the hell over
it—and had almost convinced myself I could—when he reentered, looking as gorgeous
and polished as before. No. Better. He looked gorgeous, polished, and supremely satisfied—that
“look” certain men just
had
after they’d fucked a woman into outer space. That would certainly explain my chill.

He crossed to me, lifting my chin to linger a kiss over my lips, now deliciously tender
from his attentions. “Back to reality.”

His hair fell over my face. I twisted a hand into a bunch of it to keep him in place,
retorting, “No, big guy.
This
is the real part. And don’t you forget it.”

The sensual ribbons of his lips twisted up. His gaze swept across my face, blue and
vast as the cloudless sky outside. And bright with just as much hope.

“No forgetting,” he murmured. “I promise.”

“Good.” I pressed my lips to his one more time. My heart thumped into my upstretched
throat. “Then I promise too.”

‡

N
early eight hours
later—not that I was counting—I was finally able to get warm again.