Lark sucked in a breath, the dream-worthy suppleness and shapeliness of Azaleen’s exposed body acting on her like a drug. She might havesaidfor Lark to take command, but it was abundantly clear who was in charge of this venture—and it wasn’t Lark.
With a saucy taunt, Azaleen asked, “What next?”
Finding her voice, Lark suggested, “You should lie down on the bed.” Heat flooded her cheeks at the realization she was actually telling Queen Azaleen Frost what to do. While she complied, Lark unbuttoned her blouse and wiggled out, followed by her trousers. In a sports bra and boxers, she climbed onto the bed with a panther’s slow prowl, her pulse racing in anticipation.
Azaleen rolled to meet her, reaching out with a tender stroke. “This is hardly fair.” Her protest had little impetus behind it as she puffed out her bottom lip. “You still have clothes on.”
Lark arched a brow as she settled her hip next to Azaleen’s. “You said I was in charge.” She lowered herself until her head rested on the same pillow, traced her fingers across warm, smooth skin, and took Azaleen’s mouth. Azaleen’s fingers brushed through her short hair, as she had done weeks ago to Lark’s delight. Now she reveled in her touch.
The moment was magical beyond belief, yet something felt wrong. The queen was right. Here Azaleen was, vulnerable, laid bare before her, as she hadn’t been in a decade. What Azaleen gifted her was precious, yet Lark held back. Was it fear or shame? After all, Azaleen had seen her wounds before, treated them with salve and bandages. Somehow, this felt different. Self-consciousness prickled through her. Wasn’t it enough that her face was plain, her hair chopped off like a man’s, that she had grown up far beneath the queen’s station? Must she display her hideous scars while she made love to Azaleen?
If she were truly brave, Lark wouldn’t care. She’d gladly toss caution to the wind and dare the world to defy her. But this wasn’t the world. It was a woman she’d admired and grown to care for deeply. She wanted this night to be perfect.Perfection is an illusion, she reminded herself. Desire was not. It was raw, primal, and powerfully vital.
As Azaleen waited, continuing to stroke her body tenderly, Lark pushed up, pulled off her undershorts, and then—in a spirit of surrender—removed her bra. “You’re right,” she said. “Fair is fair. I just feel a little like Beauty and the Beast, and I’m the beast.” She settled back down beside Azaleen with a sigh and rolled her eyes.
Azaleen languidly traced the hollow in Lark’s breast, the mark she’d now carry the rest of her life. The surgeon had done a good job, and she knew that in months to come it would heal more, but the disfiguring depression would always mar her breast.
“Does it hurt?” Azaleen raised a compassionate gaze to hers.
“Not often,” Lark answered. “To be honest, the bullet hole in my butt hurts a lot more.” She chuckled, trying to make light of it.
“I would imagine so,” Azaleen responded. “It’s a large muscle that you use all the time. And then there’s sitting on it.”
Lark made a dismissive gesture and smoothed back Azaleen’s remarkable hair. To Lark’s surprise, Azaleen dipped her head and kissed the wound. She traced tender kisses all around the injured breast, licking, lapping, teasing with her tongue, sending a captivating tickle through her.
“I find you immensely attractive, Lark Sutter,” Azaleen said, “even if you yourself do not. But this”—she swirled her finger around the stitched-up hole—“is your most beautiful feature. It will ever remind me of your steadfast devotion. I fear that had the bullet pierced my chest, I wouldn’t have fared as well.”
Lark melted at her words, shifting her body onto Azaleen’s, sliding a leg between her thighs, claiming her mouth. Her hands crept across curves, desperately seeking a spot to take purchase, her mind succumbing to emotion. If only this night could last forever.
Azaleen’s passion had been reawakened by Lark’s amorous attentions—the heat in her touch, the lush savor of her lips and tongue. For the first time in forever, she felt free, as if she floated in the void, untethered from earthly restraints. She rocked to Lark’s rhythm, arched to her sensual measures, and called out her name when her climax came. It had been twenty years since she’d known such ecstasy, not since the girlfriend of her youth. While sex with her husband had given her some pleasure, it had always been a trickling stream. Lark, like a raging river, carried her away and made stars explode behind her eyes.
Likewise, the sweet moans she had drawn from Lark, the tremor she evoked in the powerful younger woman, were like drops of honey sucked from a flower—delicious and habit-forming. She had a devilish way of pushing Azaleen to the brink, then easing off the throttle, leaving her begging for release. But she was also kind—every caress infused with a mix of eroticism and tenderness. Lark gave more than she took and was ever attentive to Azaleen’s needs.
No matter how foolish and unsustainable, Azaleen knew she was falling. She’d come to love everything about Lark, and, now, with this consummation of their relationship, she couldn’t imagine not doing it again. She wanted Lark to be part of her life, part of her family. But would that even be possible? And would her lover want the same?
In several peak moments, Azaleen had to bite her lip or launch into a kiss to keep from letting those three words escape. Their situation was too precarious. What if Lark was killed in the fighting? What if the invaders broke throughVerdancia’s defenses and she was slain, or, worse, taken prisoner? This was no time for declarations of love or dreaming of personal desires. Azaleen would cherish this night, hold it close to her heart, and draw on it for comfort when days were hard.
“Was I commanding enough?” Lark asked, a huskiness to her voice. She lay beside Azaleen, covered in a sheen of dewy sweat, a dopey smile on her face, and affection glowing in her eyes.
Azaleen replied with a teasing smirk. “Not bad, seeing it was your first time at the wheel. With more practice, you’ll get there.”
“Hey, who says this was my first time at the wheel?” she shot back in mock offense. “I’m experienced enough, if you couldn’t tell.”
Laughing, Azaleen brought Lark’s knuckles to her lips. “You’ve got moves and you know it, you cocky little swamp rat. I lo—” She caught herself—again. The swell in her heart deflated. She must be satisfied with this one night, at least for a while. Until the war ended, or some reprieve allowed them an opportunity. Lark’s expression shifted to a curious longing, as if she were dying to hear the rest of the phrase.
Azaleen steadied herself, still holding Lark’s hand. “I’ll miss you.”
Lark’s eyes softened, and a sad smile crossed her lips. “You don’t have to. I’m not leaving you, Azaleen, even if my body is far away. I’ll be right here.” She pressed a hand over Azaleen’s heart and kissed her. “You will not face Luther Irons or his army alone. When I’m off doing my part, let my courage and strength be entwined with your own, steadying you through lonely nights. And if you ever feel nobody’s got your back or is on your side, remember this promise—I will not leave you. At least not emotionally or spiritually speaking.”
“Thank you, Lark,” Azaleen said, tears misting in her eyes. “The same goes. Don’t think I’ll cast you aside. If you find yourself in imminent danger, remember to fight all the harder to come back to me. Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, I’ll be thinking of you.”
Lark’s lips pressed to hers, and her arm pulled around her. “Azaleen, if I don’t make it back, I just want you to know that tonight has been the pinnacle of myquarter century on this earth. You’ve sent me flying like an eagle, and you are my wings.”
Azaleen knuckled away the single tear she’d failed to wrangle. “You were always an eagle.”
The kiss was languid and deep, filled with sorrow and hope and promise. Outside the window, an owl hooted. Lark said, “You know, there’s a few more hours before folks start waking up.” She grinned and winked, already having caught her second wind. Azaleen refused to be outdone.
“Then I suggest we waste no more time.” Entwined in each other’s arms, Azaleen and Lark rode the swells of their unbridled passion until dawn.