Page 36 of The Queen's Line

I managed to skirt around the guards, who seemed mostly to ignore me anyway, and took a garden door out of the palace. The gardens were horribly neglected and overgrown, grasses thigh high, but there were still flowers blooming in the midst of all the chaos—roses overtaking trellises and magic lilies peeking shyly around sapling trees. I found a route, feathered grasses clinging to my skirt and leaving seeds behind as I followed stepping stones over to a break in the hedge. The stables were on the other side, down a gravel path and on a plateau below the outcrop the palace was perched on.

I moved as quietly and quickly as I could, half expecting Guard Stark to appear unexpectedly. I'd never lived much of my life outside of observation. There were always servants on hand in the capital, always someone watching under the guise of being helpful. I'd learned how to slip around corners at a young age, to lose the tail of a watchful guard, but my freedom usually only lasted for a handful of minutes, maybe an hour if I was lucky.

As I approached the stables, it seemed I'd have even less than that. There was a low masculine murmur from inside, likely a groomsmen I hadn't come across. I tiptoed up to the wide open doors and then paused, a slow smile stretching across my lips. Former groomsmen, as it turned out.

"Yes, you are sweet, aren't you?" Owen murmured, brushing down the length of my gray gelding's back inside of its stall. "Just like your princess. She's as lucky to have a horse like you as we are to have a princess like her."

The horse snickered and danced in place, and Owen laughed, cheeks full with his smile.

"I think you do her justice just fine," Owen said with a dip of his head, as if the two were carrying on a conversation. "I'll have to take some notes, won't I? Don't want to disappoint someone as perfect as her."

It was like being struck in the stomach, nearly bowling me over in one great burst of heat and…and aclenchof need. My feet were moving before I knew what was in my head, and Owen looked up from the gelding at my rapid approach.

"Just thought they could use a little company," Owen said, his smile even brighter for me than it had been for the horse. My blood flashed in my veins, a spark to fuel.

The stall door was open and I reached inside, grabbing Owen's free hand and yanking him towards me. The brush in his hand clattered to the floor, and my gelding huffed as Owen came stumbling over, our chests crashing together. I was high on my toes, arms around his neck, when he caught on. He lifted me from the dusty floor and up into his hold as our lips slanted over one another.

I was starving, desperate,aching. I neededOwen. Not touch or kisses or sex in general, butthisman specifically. His flavor on my tongue, his brittle moan caught in our kiss, his dense arms squeezing me tighter. He stumbled, and my back hit the gate of an empty stall, our hips pressing closer together. I dug my fingers through his unruly dark hair, clutching the strands in my fist as I licked my way into his mouth and rolled my hips into his.

"Bryony," he gasped, drawing away with wide eyes.

"I'mverycurious. I need you badly," I answered, leaning in again and scratching my teeth over his jaw as I used his own words from days ago. His skin was smooth now, although I knew by nightfall it'd be scratchy and coarse again, and he tasted like salt on his neck and cloves on his lips.

Owen groaned and shuddered, his nose pressing into the corner of my jaw, breath panting and warming my throat. "Are you—"

"Owen, please," I said, and even though I was begging, I was also pushing on his shoulders, trying to drive him to his knees.

So this was whatknowingfelt like. I didn't care where my hands went, or if anyone else was nearby, I just had to have Owen against me, the weight and strength of him, his sweetness as he gazed at me.

Owen's left arm tightened around me and he pulled the gate open, falling into the stall with me, pushing me into the far corner where no one would see us if they walked into the stable. He was hunched, mouthing down my throat as I scratched and tugged at his loose shirt, pulling the collar back so I could slide my hands beneath to touch his skin.

"Quick then?" Owen asked, voice ragged.

"Like you promised." I'd been thinking about Owen's mouth on my sex since he'd pulled away three mornings ago, and what had seemed awkward and too personal to me at the time was now intensely fascinating to me. I had to know how it would feel.

He had to bend to kiss my collarbone, and he plucked at the buttons of my blouse, opening the collar and pushing it down over my shoulders, the callouses of his hands scratching at my skin. I moaned, my arms slightly trapped against my sides, as he sucked along the top of my corset.

"Can I…?" He tugged at the top of the corset, and I arched for him, pressing my breasts up to the edge.

My breaths were getting high and quick, little whimpering sighs snagging in my throat. Owen's thumb slipped under fabric, pulling one breast free and up to his mouth for him to suck at the tip. My knees shook, and his arm slid down to my hips to hold me in place. The corset was a tight pressure on the underside of my breast, but also stimulating, the ache soothed by the silky swipes of his tongue on my skin and the suction of his lips.

"Owen," I whined, holding his face to me. He drifted to the other side, repeating the gesture and exposing my wet breast to cool air until my nipple pebbled. "No more, I need…"

He pulled away with a pop and lowered himself to his knees in a mess of old hay. "You need my mouth on your perfect cunt like I promised?" he asked, blinking those big dark eyes of his up at me, curls mussed over his forehead.

I swallowed hard and every inch of me was over sensitive, thrumming with a need to be touched everywhere and all at once. My pulse was pounding in my veins, in my nipples, in mycuntas he'd called it. I nodded and sighed as Owen leaned forward, nuzzling into my skirt. He bit into the fabric, catching my mound with a dull and playful pressure, and my legs nearly crumpled beneath me.

"Do you want to lift your skirt so you can watch, or for me to slip under it?" Owen asked, grinning up at me, rolling his chin against my sex. Just that little gesture made me pang and ache and want to cry for more.

I pulled my skirt up in great wads and then frowned when I realized I wouldn't be able to touch Owen. But I would rather be able to see him, to watch as he sat down on his heels and dipped his head to kiss my knees, ignoring my exposed sex as he worked back and forth up my legs.

"You said quick," I breathed, pulling my skirt a little higher so I could touch my own breasts now that they were out.

Owen laughed, and strands of his hair skimmed over my mound as he continued his path of soft kisses up the tops of my thighs. His hand reached up and petted between my legs, his brow furrowing as he touched my lips and found them damp. I moaned and my head fell back, thumping against the walls of the stable, my hips jerking into his touch as he trailed them back and forth, up and down, coating every inch of me in my own arousal.

"Please, Owen. Please. Please. Please, you said—" I broke off with a cry as his hand gripped my right thigh and threw it over his shoulder, his mouth immediately replacing his fingers.

My eyes flashed wide at the first soft lap of his tongue. It was so light but almostfeverishagainst me, and Owen pressed in deeper, humming at my taste and quickly returning for more. The pang and clench of need that had struck me when I'd watched him brushing my gelding didn't abate as he kissed and sucked and feasted on my sex—it only grew stronger, winding me up tight and making me beg for more.