LonelyBarricade @the-lonelybarricade - Tumblr Blog

Jul 19

My Thoughts Will Echo - Chapter 4

Summary: As far as Elain knew, in all of her ten years of collected knowledge, she was the only person who frequented these woods. She'd never seen footprints before. Not ones this recent, not ones that the forest guided her to. That curious sensation in her chest grew stronger. A stumbling beat. A beckoning. Go, the rustling leaves called to her. Go see. She had never seen him before, but Elain knew at once who he was. What he was. A Vanserra. Or: That time an eerie meet cute in the forest changed their lives

A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 4: Arranged Marriage

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4 years earlier

It was not tradition for a bride's eyes to be covered during a wedding ceremony.

Light shone through the golden thread, glowing from behind her shut eyelids like a waxing dawn. On the other side of that thread, Lucien stood before her, his expression unknown.

She'd told her sisters she wanted the blindfold to hide the carnage of the battlefield where they wed, that she couldn't bare to face the bloodshed soaking the hem of her wedding dress. But in truth, it was Lucien's face she feared seeing the most.

Was she forcing him into this? She wondered, guilt a serpent constricting in her chest. Had his father given him a choice? Would he resent her for doing what was necessary to save her people?

There had been no time to meet in the forest to warn him of her plan. After Nesta forged the documents with the temple's official seal and Feyre rode out disguised as a knight with message of their conditional surrender, the High Priestess had been watching them all very, very carefully.

The path of her wedding procession was laid not with flower petals, but with the ash of fallen soldiers as funeral pyres continued burning in the distance.

Droning words were being spoken over the crowd of the two gathered armies, still positioned at odds. They stood on a hastily erected platform at its epicenter, high enough to be seen from the parapets of the temple where her sisters watched at a safe distance. She wondered if Graysen was watching, too. What did he think of her marrying the man she'd pushed him aside to save?

She shook the errant thought aside. The hands unfastening the knot behind her head belonged to the only person who's opinion truly mattered.

Lucien took his time in lowering the cloth, and so her first look at her husband was broken into fragments. She saw his red hair crowned in the sun, gleaming with every small movement he made. Then she saw the smooth skin of his forehead, shadowed by the way he titled his head forward. His scarlet brows, pinched slightly. She wanted to place her thumb at the divot between them, to smooth away his worries.

But then the cloth lowered enough for their eyes to meet.

In the woods, where the light was dim, the brightness of his eyes had always struck her. As if they carried their own light, turned molten by whatever forge lived inside him. She'd suspected in the full light of the sun, their radiance would be blinding.

She had not expected their color to dull. That his gaze would be just as cutting, but without any warmth to soften its edges. Her breath caught, but not for the reasons she'd once hoped her future husband would steal her breath away.

What have I done?

The moment stretched on and on, suspended by their twin heartbeats as she stared into his eyes and he stared back. Cold, unfeeling. There was no snare to catch her, to leave her enraptured. If she turned her head to the mist shrouding the border of the forest, it would be indistinguishable from the expression he bore.

You are unwelcome here, they both declared.

Elain had always been an exception to those rules. Was she still?

"Lucien," she started, but she was interrupted by the announcement of the man who stood before them.

"Behold! As our son and daughter bind themselves in matrimony, so too will our people be bound."

Without looking, she recognized the man who spoke as Beron Vanserra. Her curiosity was piqued. Was his face as monstrous as his deeds? From voice alone, he did not sound like the sinister beast she'd conjured in her head. His voice was rich, projected with authority, but lacking any malice. Was it the truth? Or had he sanded his intent into disarming smoothness, ensuring it would be palatable to all who listened?

Sometimes the sweetest flowers were the most lethal.

And perhaps she was the sweetest flower of all, because Lucien was still looking at her with those unreadable eyes. Distant, despite the two of them never being closer in proximity. He took her hand in his, his touch gentle, and began weaving the golden cloth around her wrist. Then over to his. Over and under, again and again, until he tied it with a final loop.

He took one end and, with his silent prompting, she took the other.

"Elain Archeron," Lucien murmured. "I bid you to be my wife, and vow to protect you in all ways. Do you accept?"

Elain pulled taut on her side of the cloth. "I do."

With that simple motion, she caught the first spark of something in his eyes. Something that wasn't emptiness. He tipped his chin as if to prompt, your turn.

It was difficult to find her voice again. When she did, it was raspy. "Lucien Vanserra, I bid you to be my husband, and vow to remain at your side. Do you accept?"

These were words they should have exchanged in private, before this ceremony ever took place. She could see it on his face, in the subtle lift of his brow. Oh, so now you're asking?

As if there was any answer he could give besides, "I do."

His side pulled taut, closing the final loop into a knot. Together, they pulled it tight.

Most would look upon their clasped hands and see a mortal cloth encasing them. A vow of words. Elain could see the strands that ran deeper. She'd danced her fingers along their threads all her life, strumming them like a sacred instrument only she could hear.

They were fastened by tethers that no mortal hand could weave. This was fate. Perhaps one she had forced, but it no longer mattered how the thread was weaved. The knot was formed, and there would be no untangling it. No unbinding Lucien from her soul.

Despite what she'd told her sisters, Elain understood there would be no escape from the path she chose.

Lucien must have understood it, too, because there was pain growing in the crease of his brow.

"Was this truly what you wanted?" He asked, as the armies around them cheered. "Now you belong to House Vanserra."

Elain shook her head. "I belong to you."

Only time would tell if the distinction mattered.

It was half a day's journey to the Forest House, where the Vanserra family resided.

Elain spent it on horseback, arms wound around her husband's abdomen. Feeling every tense and bunch of muscle beneath her fingers as he rode at an unforgiving pace, leaving his father's army in the dust. No words were exchanged between them.

Not until their horse stilled outside the manor's front steps, and Lucien stared at the parting doors.

"I should have kept riding," he said. "We could have made it as far as the Day Court before they realized."

"If you had, your father would burn down the temple in spite."

"This can hardly be considered peace if it's maintained by you as a hostage."

She didn't answer, too busy trying to parse through his meaning, to understand if he was angry with her, or just their situation. They said nothing else to each other as they were escorted through the house. It was not surprising when they were led to a bedroom—Nesta had talked with her at length on the expectations of a married woman—but she did falter when the servants remained in the room. They occupied themselves along the sides of the four-poster bed, lowering their gazes as if they were waiting for something.

"What's going on?" She asked, directing the question towards Lucien, though his back was to her.

It was a servant who answered, an elderly woman who spoke with an air of authority that marked her as head housekeeper. "We are here to witness the consummation, my lady."

Elain's eyes widened. She swept her gaze across the room, horrified at the number of people who would be standing witness, some of them males. No one had ever seen her naked beside her lady's maid. She thought Lucien would be the first. In all the nerves that wriggled through her at the idea, never once had she conjured the fear that he might share the honor with witnesses.

She took a slow step back, despite knowing it was too late to flee. She needed to buy the priestesses time to evacuate the temple. If she resisted, what was to stop Beron Vanserra from turning his army around and marching on her home once again?

"Lucien?" She whispered, unable to keep the betrayal from her voice.

He turned slowly, as tense as if a rod had been stitched to his spine. Meeting her eyes seemed to require a great muster of courage. And once he did, as soon as he witnessed the fear and the horror she was taking no steps to hide, all the color drained from his face.

"Leave us," he ordered.

The housekeeper scurried forward. "My Lord, I must protest—"

"Leave."

His tone brokered no argument. The servants hurried from the room with no further protest, though the housekeeper was the last to leave, hesitating as if she expected Lucien might change his mind. Then she huffed, closing both doors behind her.

"Elain." His voice was nearly as soft as the palm he pressed to her cheek. "I could have saved you from this. If you had just followed my plan—"

"I needed to save my family," she interrupted, steadfast in her decision. Even if she feared the consequences of what came next.

Lucien sighed. "I suppose there's no going back now. I vow to do what I can, but you've chosen this path, and there will be things I cannot protect you from. Having a witness to our consummation is one of them."

Her lower lip trembled. She did not wish for strangers to be present for this new and vulnerable experience. Her voice was so small as she asked, pleaded, "Does it have to be so many? Must there be males present?"

"No," he soothed, running his thumb along her lip. A palm on her lower back drew closer into the protection of his arms. "I will be the only male to see you. As your husband, that's the way it should be. This was my father's attempt to cower you, but I will only permit one female to witness."

She wanted no one to witness. It should be something shared between only herself and Lucien. But if her choice was one or many, she knew which she preferred. With reluctance, Elain nodded.

"Bear with me," Lucien said, departing from their comforting touch so he could relay his orders beyond the bedroom doors.

No one entered on his return. Elain refused to let herself have hope over its meaning.

"The witness?" She dared ask.

Flame smoldered in his eyes, burning the distance between them as he lowered his face to hers. Their foreheads touched. His breath fanned her lips as he answered, "I will call her when it's time. Our marriage will have been consummated regardless of whether they're witnessing our first or second union. I want the first to be mine alone."

"Truly?"

A wicked smile curved the corner of his lip. "Perhaps the second, too."

Her relief was so strong she felt it sting the backs of her eyes. His smile faded as she blinked back her tears. There was an unwritten question on his face as he raised his fingers to catch one.

"I thought you were angry with me," she admitted. "For forcing your hand in all of this."

"Forcing me?" A laugh rasped out of him. "I've fantasized about marring you since the day we met. I always hoped we would run away to do it, though."

"Will it be so bad? Living here?"

"I don't want to scare you, Elain." His warm fingers stroked her cheek. "It will not be easy. I don't know why my father needs a seer, but I cannot imagine it's for anything good. I'll do my best to shield you from his cruelty in all ways that I can. I hope it won't lessen your regard to learn that I hold very little power in this house."

Fueled by his small touches, Elain pressed forward, finding his solid chest beneath her searching hands. There, she could feel the heartbeat that echoed in her soul.

"I have no desire for power. Only kindness. Swear you'll give that to me, and I will happily be your wife in all ways."

She did not think of her promise to her sisters, that this should only be temporary. Not as Lucien hooked her chin with his fingers, tilting her face to his devouring gaze.

"I swear it," he said, fiercely. "You will have nothing to fear from me. Ever."

"Even with what comes next?"

"Especially with what comes next." Lucien's face drew nearer, his lips so close she could feel their heat tingle her skin. "Have you known any males, Elain?"

"If you kiss me, you will be the first. Does that answer your question?"

At the mention of a kiss, Lucien's eyes flicked to her mouth. She couldn't help doing this same. His lips were full and plush. They looked impossibly soft. Would it feel nice to have them pressed against hers?

"It does," he answered, eyes growing heavy-lidded. "And what an honor it will be to teach my wife the pleasures of flesh. But where should I start?" His thumb drifted across her lower lip, tugging it open just slightly. "Here?"

Lucien ducked his head, bypassing her mouth entirely as he dragged his nose along the column of her throat. She didn't realize her skin was so sensitive there until she felt the sensation of his feather-light touch ripple down her spine, and every fine hair stood on end. For some reason, she was compelled to arch herself forward, offering him better access for his teasing.

"Or here?" He mused with a nip at her collarbone. One of his arms anchored around her waist, keeping her upright when her knees threatened to tremble. With his other, he toyed at the neckline of her wedding gown, pulling to see how much of her skin he could reveal. "I think an artist works best with a blank canvas, don't you?"

Elain's brows furrowed, not following his meaning. "What do you—"

She broke off with a gasp as he yanked his hand down, tearing through her bodice.

"Lucien!"

There was no trace of remorse in his grin. "Your dress was lovely, Elain. But you are far lovelier. And I wish to admire you in full."

"Then untie my stays like a rational man!" She said, slapping at the offending arm.

"No part of me feels rational when I look at you."

The heat in his eyes was wholly unrepentant. She feared if she held their focus too long, she might burst into flames where she stood. As it were, every part of her was turning molten. She felt it pooling down her stomach, collecting in a strange, throbbing ache at the apex of her thighs.

"That's not to say I can't still be reasoned with," Lucien added, stepping away. "How's this—I'll give you five seconds to undress the rational way."

"Five seconds?" Elain sputtered. "To undress myself?"

"Four," Lucien intoned, counting down.

Her heartbeat stuttered with the childlike notion that she would be punished if she didn't obey before the countdown ended. But that couldn't be the case, could it? Lucien's smile was playful—challenging, even. There was no menace in the way he watched her scramble to reach the fastenings at her back, but there was a promise of something that made her fingers shake.

"W-what happens if I don't succeed?"

Her only answer was, "Two."

It was no use. She couldn't possibly accomplish this task in the time he'd given her, and the futility of it prodded at her temper. It tangled with the strange flutter of apprehension in her chest, nervous at what awaited her for failing, and curious despite herself.

"One," Lucien crooned, taking a step forward.

The threat underlying that single motion overrode some primal sense in Elain. She scrambled backward with a yelp, and then he was chasing her across the room. There was no thought for where she was going, only that she couldn't let him catch her. Couldn't let him win.

Her escape was thwarted when she found herself cornered between the wall and the bed. Seeing no other choice, she tried to vault herself over the mattress to flee to the other side, but Lucien anticipated the move and was there to intercept her. Another yelp on her part saw her twisted in the air, then landing on her back atop the soft mattress, sprawled beneath her imposing husband.

"Well, we tried doing it the rational way," he said, sounding out of breath from their tumble.

Elain's chest was heaving, but she thought that had more to do with the strong hips pinning her in place. Something hard pressed into her thigh, and she squirmed against it, trying to determine if it matched Nesta's description of a man's desire. The low, gravelly sound she elicited from Lucien's throat certainly sounded promising.

"Now what?"

Lucien smirked. "We do it my way."

"This feels quite the roundabout way of kissing," she remarked, using her elbows to sit up as Lucien eased back, kneeling between her feet at the edge of the bed.

"On the contrary, I'll see it done that my wife is thoroughly kissed."

She didn't know what to think when he grabbed her ankle and raised it to his shoulder. Nesta's explanation of what happened in a marital bed was quite clinical, and it did not involve anything to do with ankles. But seeing as Lucien was more knowledgeable in these matters, Elain allowed him to maneuver her as he wished, even if it felt strange to rest her legs on either side of his head.

Lucien seemed delighted by his position. And when he turned his head to press the most delicate kiss to her ankle, exuding a tenderness she'd only dreamed a boy might one day touch her with, Elain saw no reason to complain.

"I think it best to work my way up from here," he said, pressing another slow kiss to her calf. "So I might kiss you from head to toe. Or the reverse, as it were."

He continued working his way from there, each kiss just as sweet and lingering as the last. Elain could feel herself melting into the bed, completely relaxing into her husband's touch while he warmed her from within, slowly making his way up her thigh. Elain worried she'd be a boneless puddle by the time he reached her mouth.

Lips at her mid-thigh, Lucien spread his hands to chart the path ahead, lifting her skirt as they skimmed up, up, up. Cloth pooled at her hips, and her face flushed as those curious fingers crept inwards, brushing over the place where that restless, antsy feeling seemed to emanate.

A gasp shuddered out of her, not expecting the searing sensation that sparked from the barest touch. Lucien's hand retreated, chased by the sound, perhaps afraid he was pushing for too much, too soon. Seconds ago, she might have agreed, but now she was withering in the absence of that touch, grappling with this unnamed urge, this craving, to have something between her legs.

She caught his wrist, pulling him back.

The eyes that met hers were half-lidded and filled with such fire they could set the house alight if he wasn't careful.

"Have you touched yourself before, Elain?"

It was a good thing her face was already flushed. She hoped it disguised how juvenile she felt offering a meek shake of her head. Her body was not a curiosity she'd explored—she'd always found the outside world to be far more fascinating, and the only boy who'd ever snagged her attention away from it had been Graysen. But her affections for him had been innocent, fantasizing beyond nothing more than what it might be like to kiss him.

There was never this crawling heat, this itch beneath her skin, as if she'd ingested some kind of poison of which only Lucien's touch could cure.

"Then the honor is mine," he said, hooking his fingers around her stockings. A dull ripping sound filled her ears, and when she next felt his lips against her inner thigh, he was pressing a kiss to her bare skin. "You smell divine."

Elain would hope so. Mrs. Laurent had made her sit in a purification bath of jasmine and honey for almost two hours that morning, asserting she would need it to ward off the "evil spirits" that lurked in the Vanserra's Forest House. In a way, she'd been right. There was something in the house intent on consuming her, but he wasn't a demon and he certainly wasn't after her soul.

Another teasing touch skimmed the seam of her underclothes, this time bringing awareness to the damp heat between her thighs. Elain's hips bucked forward, bidden entirely on impulse. She was rewarded by a firmer press, a slow circle over the wet fabric that left her suspended in the strangest mix of panic and lust.

Was she meant to be so wet? Had she…

Elain's fingers tightened on Lucien's wrist, mortified now that she'd blundered this chance at intimacy. Would he be repulsed by her? Would he—

"Gods." The word was purely guttural. Even through her rising mortification, her breath still hitched as his thumb stroked between her legs. "You are magnificent, Elain. So wet for me."

The pride in his voice gave her the courage to ask, "I-is that a good thing?"

"Is that a—" Lucien cut himself off with a breathless chuckle. Then he was pulling at the bottom of her underclothes, peeling sticky fabric from wet flesh and casting it aside over his shoulder. Elain winced at the wet sound of it slapping the floor.

"Look at me."

The command was soft spoken. But there was authority to it that Elain obeyed instinctively.

Two smoldering pools of russet met her eyes, holding her gaze level as he dipped his head between the valley of her thighs. She tensed, thinking surely he wouldn't—he wasn't going to kiss her there? Elain started to scramble away, but he caught both her legs, holding them open as he wedged his body between.

She was still held captive by his eyes when he lowered his tongue to her flesh and licked a long stripe upwards, ending at the sensitive bud where he placed a suckling kiss. If she wasn't being held down with her husband's full strength, Elain would have flown off the bed from the tremor of pleasure that bolted through her.

Lucien groaned against her, continuing to lick with abandon as her thighs squeezed and trembled around his head. Her fingers slipped into his hair, seeking a tether to ensure she didn't float away beyond this mortal plane, thinking surely this pleasure coiling within her could only be withstood by the gods of old. Mortal bodies weren't built to endure this much heat, this much static.

"That's it, Elain," Lucien panted, circling his tongue around the apex of her thighs again and again. She couldn't breathe, didn't even know where air would fit in the dizzying heat that filled her. He gave her no chance for reprieve, lashing his tongue with relentless devotion. "Use me."

Fingers tightening, Elain rocked her hips forward, seeking more of his tongue, more of that delicious vibration as he gasped and moaned against her. She half-worried he would drown, but Lucien's sounds of pleasure only increased the harder she pulled. The faster she grinded her hips. His fingers dug craters into her thighs, guiding her rhythm until she wasn't certain who was moving who.

Something was building inside her. Air sawed through her throat, there and gone too quickly. She couldn't keep hold of it long enough for reprieve, and maybe that's why her head was spinning, why the world was going a little fuzzy at the edges. Her chest was heaving, something was rising, threatening to burst—

Elain cried out as pleasure ripped through her body, shuddering through every muscle, turning her vision white as she slumped into the mattress, at last releasing her death-grip on Lucien's hair.

He raised from her thighs with a smirk, lips and chin glistening with evidence of his act. There was nothing but pure male pride in the way he wiped his thumb across his face, collecting as much of the residue as possible, and sucked it into his mouth.

"I guess it's true," he said, voice deep and scraping, liable to mark her just as surely as the fingertip bruises on her thighs.

"What is?" She rasped between shallow breaths. Her partially-torn bodice cut into her breasts from how heavily her chest heaved, and she fought to get herself back under control. Trying to corral her thoughts back into neat, orderly lines.

"The rumors." Lucien lowered his head again, tongue tracing a line from her hipbone to the curve of her waist. It was as far as he could push up her dress with her bodice still threaded. "That Elain Archeron is sweeter than honey. If only they knew it's true of more than your nature."

Lulled into the safety of his mouth at her stomach, Elain's entire body jerked when she felt his thumb part the warm cradle of her thighs. A low, warbling sound spilled out of her as Lucien aimed for the sensitive spot he'd already tortured with his tongue, tracing it in maddening circles.

He chuckled. "I'm nowhere near done with you, sweet wife."

"The rumors are true about you as well," she gasped. "Merciless and cruel."

His thumb paused. "Cruel?" She twitched as two fingers slicked through her folds, drifting lower. They stopped with their fingertips just barely parting her entrance. "What's cruel is how you tempt me. The things I want are unbecoming of the male you deserve."

Those fingers slid in. Slowly. Her body clenched around the strange intrusion.

Lucien groaned. "I want to be a gentleman, Elain. Take you sweet and slow. You deserve that for your first time knowing pleasure."

As those fingers pushed deeper, stretching her in ways she'd never felt before, Lucien's mouth continued its path up her body, kissing over her bodice until he landed at the swath of skin freed by the tear in the fabric. Dull teeth cut into the swell of her breast at the same moment his fingers curled, pressing down on a cluster of nerves that blurred her vision.

Lucien swore roughly. Her body clenched at the guttural sound. "But I'd be lying if there wasn't a larger part of me that wants to flip you over and fuck you hard into this mattress. That's the kind of man you truly married."

Was that a bad thing? He said it like it was, but the swooping feeling in her chest wasn't one of fear as she pictured what her husband was describing. Not as his fingers continued moving so deliciously against her, and his lips teased her nipples into hard peaks over her dress. Combined with everything else, the image was turning her thoughts into warm, fluffy cotton.

"So do it."

Her husband froze above her.

"What?"

Elain whimpered at the loss of friction. "I've used you for my pleasure." She ground herself against his fingers, both to illustrate her point and because she felt she might drown in her wanting if he didn't continue. "Now I'm permitting you to use me for the same."

"You don't know what you're asking."

Elain licked moisture back into her mouth. "Perhaps I wish to find out."

"I'm a selfish man, Elain." He lifted himself with his free hand, meeting her eyes so he could take her measure. "If you ask me to fuck you hard, I will. I'm not going to spend my time talking you out of it. If you'd prefer a gentle bedding, this is your chance to say so."

It seemed like such a contradiction, to ask him for kindness and then permit him to be rough with her. A voice in her mind, mimicking her sister's warnings of the Vanserras, told her it was a reckless thing to do. Could a male who was not gentle still be kind? Something told her there was a delicate line between those things, but that Lucien lived on its edge. Raised by cruel hands, knowing love and violence to be synonymous. Yet still regarding her with softness on his face.

Not all cruelty was pain. And not all pleasure was bliss.

It excited her, to think of weaving herself between them. Finding the place where they met, another lense of the world that she had not yet peered through, with all its varying shades of complexity.

She curled her fingers into his long hair, testing those boundaries as she wrapped herself in the wavy, silken locks and pulled. His fingers slipped from her in compliance, his full body moving upwards as if she were commanding the strings of a puppet.

And then they were nose to nose, sharing breath in the insufficient gap between their lips.

"Kiss me," she commanded. "And then fuck me as hard as you like."

Lucien looked utterly enchanted as his gaze wandered from her eyes to her lips and back again. "You are the most perplexing thing I've ever encountered. As soon as I think I've figured you out, you do something to surprise me."

He lowered his face, at last pressing their lips together. For all their talk of being rough, his lips moved against hers with unhurried softness. The kiss ended and started again so many times that she thought they might get stuck like this, might forget to consummate their marriage entirely because they became to drunk on the simple sweetness of kissing.

"I hope you never stop surprising me," he whispered.

"I would say the same of you, but I am a very difficult woman to surprise."

Mischief glinted in his eyes. "Is that so?"

She might have known what was coming, but she still yelped when his hands gripped her hips and flipped her onto her stomach. Lucien was on her immediately, wedging his thighs between her own to spread them wide, guiding her hips until they were positioned precisely where he wanted.

The heat of his body covered her like a blanket as he leaned forward. "You're a work of art," he said in her ear as he ran an appreciative hand down the length of her spine. He stopped at her rear, which he palmed with a heavy squeeze that pulled a groan out of his throat. "Goddess, I can't believe I'm married to you."

He rocked himself forward, grinding into her backside. Desperate for friction, Elain tilted her hips upward to meet him, feeling the hard length bulging in his trousers.

"Is that…?"

"Go ahead," Lucien teased, continuing the slow roll of his hips. He slipped a hand to rub teasing circles between her thighs. "Say what it is."

"Y-your manhood."

He chuckled. "It's my cock," he said, withdrawing his fingers again. She heard the whisper of laces being untied, and then something warm and soft nudged against her entrance. "Now ask me to fuck you with it."

"Please."

He didn't move.

Elain hoped the way she raised her hips was enticing. Her fingers curled into the bedsheet, stomach knotting with anticipation. "Please," she tried again, "f-fuck me with—with your cock."

With a curse under his breath, Lucien fell forward, sheathing himself in one long, slow stroke. Elain made a quiet, hiccuping sound at the pain that pinched from the stretch—he was so much bigger than his fingers, demanding so much more space than her body had ever needed to accommodate.

"F-fuck. I have you, Elain."

He kept going, advancing until their hips were flush, until Elain was gasping into the mattress, clawing at the sheets, feeling like there was no more room in her body for air. Or thoughts. Or anything but him.

"I have you," he repeated, ducking to press a kiss at the top of her spine. Then another, at her shoulder. He paused there, resting his forehead against the crook of her neck, gasping like he was struggling for air, too. "Goddess. Fuck. I knew you would be— your cunt is fucking perfect, Elain. Unlike anything I imagined."

Breath shuddered between her lips. Shallow, the most she could manage was a gasp. "You i-imagined—this?"

She waited for him to pull away. That was the next step, wasn't it? Push and pull. Lucien still felt like he was pushing, grinding his hips in and in. He was scraping against nerves she never knew existed, and her legs were already trembling, already threatening to buckle as he kept grinding into her.

"Before the war." He nipped at her earlobe, and she could feel his smile against her skin when she shivered in response. "I fantasized about meeting you in the woods again. Fucking you in the dirt. Against a tree. Anywhere you would let me."

Anywhere is right, Elain thought blearily. She would have let him.

"Never thought you'd become my—" At last, Lucien stopped seeking to make room inside her and started to pull his hips back. Only to thrust them forward, hard enough to make her teeth clack. "My little wife. Fuck."

With his weight bearing her down, she was effectively pinned to the bed, left with no way to squirm or flee or meet his thrusts in kind. She was held down to take, again and again, impaled magnificently on his cock.

A whimper rose in the back of her throat. Long and keening, like a wounded animal. Lucien rewarded her with another one of those long, halting thrusts, the kind where their hips stayed flush while he grinded his cock as deep as it could go.

"Yeah?" He rasped in her ear. "Does that feel good?"

"M-more."

She jolted at the responding swat on her backside. Not enough to sting, just to cut through some of the fog clouding her mind.

"Greedy little thing," he chided with another punishing thrust. Then he was pushing her shoulders flat to the mattress, raising to his knees behind her so his next thrust was fucking down, simultaneously deepening the angle and muffling the cry it broke from her. "You want me to fuck you rough, Elain?" A fist knotted in her hair. "I'll fuck you rough."

Then Lucien was slamming his hips at full force, slapping their skin together and wobbling the bed frame on impact. "So fucking wet," he grunted when they both heard the slick sucking sound on his withdraw, as if her body was verbally protesting each time he left her.

His hands gripped her hips so hard she knew there would bruises there tomorrow, though she couldn't find herself to notice or care when his cock hit a cluster of nerves that tensed every muscle in her body. Lucien locked in on it immediately, speeding his thrusts to savagely pound against that one spot. Over and over.

Until it became too much. Until Elain started babbling, squirming to get away because if she didn't, the heat coursing through her would surely burn her alive. Lucien held her down with a snarl, ignoring how her breathing turned ragged, how she clawed at the sheets and begged—begged for what? Mercy. Release. Anything.

Her body was tightening beyond what was bearable. Lucien continued fucking her through it, his grunts becoming strangled.

"Cauldron, Elain— You are. Fuck. I can't think straight."

At least he could talk. All Elain could manage anymore was a pitiful wheeze, air swinging in and out of her as mercilessly as her husband. The same fluttering sensation from before was blistering through her, but this one was larger and hotter and she screamed from the way it threatened to burn a hole through her skin.

"That's it," Lucien coaxed from above. "Let go, love. I have you."

The broken, wailing sound that pitched out of her was not something mortal. It was pleasure and agony tangled together, bursting from a vessel that was never meant to contain so much of either. Her entire body spasmed from the release of it, tightening hard around Lucien as he continued plowing into her with brutal force.

"Fuuck. Fuck!" He slumped forward, gathering her tighter as his thrusts became faster. The rhythm disjointed. "I'm never letting you go, Elain," he gasped. "I'm keeping you forever. My lovely wife. My—fuck."

With a growl, her husband surged forward and locked his teeth into her shoulder at the same moment he slammed himself to the hilt, grinding deep. A warm sensation flooded through her, and she felt all of the tension drain from Lucien's body. His weight grew heavy over her, his chest heaving. The bite turned into a kiss, which turned into a trail of them leading up her neck.

"You were incredible," he breathed. She noticed his touches had gentled. The once iron grip on her hips had become a sweeping, circular rub across the base of her spine. The fist in her hair was now a spread of fingers rubbing slow, soothing strokes along her scalp. "Was that… okay? Did I hurt you?"

Lucien shifted when Elain didn't answer right away. He pulled out of her body, then gently guided her onto her back. It was just as well he helped, because Elain still felt boneless, was still struggling to catch her breath and have the blood stop rushing to her head, making everything hazy and rose-colored.

"Elain?" His knuckles skimmed along her cheek.

She nodded, trying to lick moisture back into her lips. "Can I…" her voice was raspy. Lucien sat up to pour water into a small glass from the pitcher on the bedside table. She took a healthy gulp of it before she continued. "Can I rest a little, before we do that again?"

Lucien blinked at her, and then a brilliant smile split across his lips. "We can take all the time you need, love. Come here."

With steady hands, he helped her out of her dress properly, and then guided her beneath the blankets. She was a bit warm, but the press of his body was inviting. And addictive. And safe. She pressed her face into his bare chest, taking a deep inhale now that she felt she could breathe again.

"You… do want to do it again?" Lucien asked, sounding uncertain. "You enjoyed yourself?"

She giggled, nuzzling closer. "Yes," she answered, her toes curling when he pressed a tender kiss atop the crown of her head. "I enjoyed myself immensely."

"Good." Lucien grabbed hold of her chin to angle her face upwards. Her eyes fluttered shut as his next kiss landed on her brow, then her nose. Her cheeks. The corner of her mouth. "Because I intend to have you to myself at least once more before the witness comes back."

Present Day

Elain knew the ship must have been close to land when she tasted the sleep drought in the waterskin.Her eyes widened, but Lucien's hand tamped across her mouth before she could spit it out.

"Swallow."

She rationalized that it was not the first time she'd heard him utter those words in that dark, gravelly voice. Her reaction was simply a matter of habit, a dormant impulse of the long-ago wife who'd wanted nothing more than to please her husband.

"Good girl."

As much as she wished she could claim immunity to his praise, after their years of distance, the flame licking through her was damning. But perhaps it had nothing to do with him, and the heated way he stared at her to monitor the draught's effectiveness. Perhaps it had simply been too long since she'd last slaked her desire.

His bed had been the last she'd warmed. It wasn't a choice she'd made out of faithfulness to him—at least that's what she told herself. There were handsome faces that had caught her eye over the years, but any attempt at something more with them had always felt… empty.

A small part of her regretted her unintended loyalty, when this was how her husband was choosing to repay it. Even if his body did feel nice, catching her when the leaden weight spread through her limbs, causing her to slump forward. Her head lolled onto his shoulder. Lucien had the audacity to hold her with tenderness, stroking an open palm up and down her spine.

"Sleep tight," he murmured with a chaste kiss to her temple. "We'll be in Prythian by the time you wake."

She fought the heaviness in her eyelids, but the lull of the drought was too warm. Too soft. Smelled too strongly of Lucien Vanserra, tucking her face into the crook of his neck while he cradled her limp body in his arms.

How could she resist surrendering to the dark, when it offered the first sense of home she'd felt in years?

When Elain woke up next, her mouth stuffed with cotton and her head fuzzy from the drought, it felt like mere seconds had passed. She was still laying in a bed, but this one was softer and larger than the one in the captain's quarters.

Restraints had returned to her wrists, tied tight around the gaps in the iron detailing of the headboard. She tugged them once in a half-hearted test and was unsurprised when they didn't give.

If Lucien saw a need to restrain her again, then they must be in a place he felt she could escape if she was free.

As Elain angled her head to survey the room, she noticed her husband was nowhere to be seen. She'd been left in a large bedroom. On one side, chairs and lounges were organized around a blazing hearth. The other sported a writing desk, a breakfast table, and a privacy screen for bathing.

An inn, she thought, holding her breath to hear the voices drifting up through the floorboards. It sounded busy—over a tavern, perhaps? One of the windows of the bedroom was cracked open, and through it she could hear the soft nicker of idle horses, gentlemen speaking in a low murmur. The air drifting in was cool and fragrant.

Spring Court.

It had to be. But why? There were no shortage of ships journeying to the many ports in Autumn. Had he wanted to prolong their journey? Make some kind of example of her for the rest of Prythian to witness?

"I must be getting back to my wife," she heard a familiar voice say from the hall. "She's still weary from the journey."

Moments later, the door pushed open. Lucien shut it quickly, clearly in no mood to explain to the person he'd been speaking to why his weary wife was tied up in bed. Though Elain was sure he could think of a few reasons, if he needed to.

"You're awake." He carried a tray of food and a jug of what she hoped was water, both of which he placed on the bedside table before leaning over her. She found Lucien always ran warm, but his fingers were surprisingly cool when he pressed the backs of them to her forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone drugged me and dragged me across the sea."

"Better then, if you've enough energy to mouth off."

He helped her sit up as much as the restraints would allow. With one hand supporting her weight beneath her shoulders, he brought the lip of the jug to her lips. Cool, heavenly water tipped from the spout, chasing away the tacky dryness leftover from the drought. Lucien pulled the jug away when the water filling her mouth was just on the cusp of too much.

Elain was proud of herself when she was able to muster a glare, despite the flutter that danced in her stomach when Lucien swept his thumb across her lower lip to clean away any overspill. He held her eyes when he brought it to his mouth, lips pursing to suck the excess water.

"Are you hungry?"

Looking from the tray of food, to the arch in Lucien's brow, Elain assessed her options. She could be difficult. Refuse to eat until he forced her to. She could scream, stake her chances that someone at the inn would hear and be willing to help. The scenario played out in her mind, crafted somewhere in the blur between intuition and clairvoyance. Or perhaps it was her anxiety that conjured the image of a savior bursting through the door and promptly meeting the end of Lucien's sword.

Would he be willing to cut down any person who stood in his way? Would she be willing to risk the life of someone kind of enough to help her?

Of the paths she chose to walk, Elain preferred the ones that were softer paved. Carpeted with primrose and bluebells. Where the only blade was one cradled in her hands, and the only heart it threatened to pierce was her own.

Regarding her husband through lowered lashes, Elain answered, "Not for food."

"Nice try. I'm not untying you."

Elain's neck was still tender from the bite he'd left. It was all the evidence she needed that he still wanted her, still craved her in a way she couldn't help reciprocate, even with her hands tied to the headboard.

"Who said anything about untying me?"

She drew her knees up, allowing her dress to pool around her hips, revealing bare thighs that parted invitingly. If her hands were free, she'd trail one between her legs, rub at the scrap of cloth that was already growing wet. Could he see it? Elain raised her hips into the air, grinding at nothing with a hungry rush of air that wasn't entirely faked.

Another memory flashed behind her eyes. "It wouldn't be the first time you've had me like this." The purr was comprised solely of hot air. "With my hands bound."

Lucien wasn't saying anything. She caught her lip between her teeth, slow to gather her courage to look at him again. What if she was wrong and he didn't want her anymore? What if he'd laid with others since she'd left and now found her lacking?

"Be mindful of what you're suggesting, Elain."

The bed dipped as he rested a single knee at the edge, threatening to climb between her legs. He'd place himself in her line of sight, forcing her to confront the hunger that had always existed between them. In their years apart it had become some tortured, emaciated thing, and now that it was acknowledged, she could feel every spike of its agony. She was again faced with the emptiness she'd felt with others, only now it was cold and aching and cavernous.

Those burning eyes met hers, his heat threatening to fill every place she was hollow. Her mouth was dry despite the water she'd just gulped down.

Lucien was on the bed fully now, making a descent between her legs. Strong hips flattened hers. The hard length of him seared through his trousers, and she knew it was very intentional the way he pressed it exactly where she ached for him the most.

His hot breath tickled her ears before his whisper did. "I won't try to talk you out of it."

A broad hand curled over her knee, pushing it wider. Forcing her body to make room for his larger one. She wrapped her legs around him in response, digging her heels into his backside to urge him deeper into the snare of her thighs. They both grunted at the resulting friction.

She asked, innocently, "Is this the part where you stop talking?"

When his hand slid into her hair and gathered it into a tight fist, she knew she'd succeeded in her provocation. A thrill raced through her, sharp with static. She wasn't prepared for how good it felt. The shrinking of the world, compressed into the safety of his demanding touch. The way her mind wiped blank, refilling with nothing but heat and pleasure and Lucien.

Time became a passive thing, sinking beyond her cusp of notice.

There was only her husband's mouth on her lips, her breasts, between her thighs. For hours and hours. She lost track of how many times he buried himself inside her. Of the different angles and positions. Of when, exactly, he untied her restraints.

At some point, still muddled by the heat of his touch, she'd eaten. And bathed. And curled up to sleep with her head pillowed on his chest.

And once his breathing evened, deep from hours of exertion, Elain slipped out of bed.

On silent footsteps, she pulled on clean clothes, pocketed his coin pouch, and climbed out the window.

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