The Barbarian Book 2

Even at the pace of Winter’s steady plod, it wasn’t long before they left the last village behind. Grinda sucked in a deep breath, her heart thundering.

It was hard not to be excited in the open countryside, especially with the sky so blue and the sun so bright, with so much to explore and experience, and with Mock at her side—or at her back.

Smiling, she nestled back into him, gripping his muscular forearms as he held the reins. She smoothed her hands over them, tracing his ropey veins.

Once, she could have done the same with his scars. Even now, her fingers wandered, expecting to find them. No more. Not after the Mother—or was it her daughter?—had healed him.

His nails were still black with grime, though. She chuckled. No matter how hard he washed and how much she tried to help, he never seemed to get clean enough.

Grinda didn’t mind. She liked him that way.

“Thinking good thoughts, I hope, biala,” he said.

“Just about when we first met.”

She smoothed her hands over his forearms again, remembering how she’d gripped them hard, frightened of falling from his horse as they’d galloped away from her burning village.

His horse.

She slumped a little, the thought of his death bringing a prickle of tears to her eyes.

Gazing ahead at the tallest of the Windy Mountains, she smiled.

She felt Mock stiffen slightly.

“Not such good thoughts. Best to think about ahead, not behind.”

“I have few bad feelings now.”

“Still…”

She rocked from side to side. “My backside is getting sore. Shall we stop?”

While Winter grazed, Mock and Grinda sat together under the shade of a tree, knees touching as they drank from their waterskins and ate the last of the berries they’d scavenged along the way.

Grinda licked at her hands, turned blue from the juice. She could feel Mock watching, smiling.

Brushing the hair away from her neck, he kissed her on the throat, down her neck, then he pushed aside the top of her tunic as he continued along her shoulder.

Chuckling, she mashed her blue hand against his cheek. He jerked back with a grunt. Far from discouraged, he grinned, grabbed her wrist, and began sucking at her fingers one by one.

Laughing, she tried to pull away. “Stop it! That’s disgusting!”

“You asked for it.”

Dipping his tongue into the middle of her palm, he lapped like a dog until she was reduced to a fit of giggling.

Finally, he released her, pulling her into his lap as though she were little more than a child.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against his shoulder as he held her tight, feeling his heart beat and the warmth of his breath against her face.

Her tunic itched. She wanted to remove it so badly, to have his skin pressed against her skin, to have her breasts pressed against his chest.

He wore nothing except his kinta, the pelt skirt all his people wore. He rarely felt the heat. Grinda wasn’t so tough, dressed in her thick tunic and skirts. She yawned. She was too comfortable. Too sleepy.

She felt him kiss her head, her ear. Opening her eyes, she gazed into his deep-brown eyes with that ring of ochre around the irises.

She touched his heavily stubbled cheek, then ran her fingers through his beard. She couldn’t understand how she had once thought it so disgusting.

All men should have beards and long, wavy hair. All men should have big, gentle hands, soft, deep eyes, and dark-brown skin. Even yellow teeth! As long as they smiled a lot.

She wriggled against his pelvis. Not to mention a cock that wouldn’t rest. Burying her face into his chest, she laughed.

It was strange to think how far they’d come in only two months. She, his victim; he, her predator. When she’d hated and feared him.

Recalling that stolen kiss in the chapel so long ago, she could only shake her head in wonder. How ugly he’d been. How filthy and sickening and utterly horrifying.

How enormously things could change.

“Stop thinking, biala. The past is over.”

“Sorry.” She peered up at him impishly. How was it he always knew what she was thinking?

His soft, warm eyes smiled as he pressed his finger to her nose. “I’ll have to make you forget.”

Grabbing his finger, she raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“That’s right.” Gently, he lowered her to the ground.

Careful to keep his weight off her, Mock rested on his hip beside her. He still couldn’t get over how small she was. Always, he had to be careful.

He laid his hand against the mounds of her breasts, almost covering her whole chest with his broad palm.

Her blue eyes shone as she watched him. Her golden hair gleamed in the sunlight. Her kissable pink lips pursed.

She was barely a woman, and yet she’d seen and done so much. Small and delicate she might be, but she’d faced more than many of his warrior brothers could ever hope to claim.

A remarkable woman—and all his.

She raised herself onto her elbows. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Grinning, Mock pushed her down. He shook his head at her clothes. Annoying. Frustrating. Long, heavy skirts. Oversized tunic. So many layers. How could she be so cold when he was always so hot?

The tunic bunched up with a rustle as he slid his hands beneath it. Already, her nipples were hard against the gentle rubbing of his fingers. She lifted her rump as he pulled down her skirts.

He kissed her belly button, her hip, then pulled back, brushing the back of his hand gently along the length of her body, over her breasts, over her ribs, over her hip, and down her thigh.

She shivered. Goosebumps erupted beneath his touch.

Mock could have laughed. A woman didn’t know anything about need, not compared with a man.

She couldn’t know how hard the blood hammered in his veins, how fast his heart beat in his chest, how painfully his cock throbbed and his balls ached.

Grimacing, he adjusted his kinta, then thought better of it and removed it entirely. His new belt of knives swiftly followed.

Grinda’s eyes glinted hungrily at the sight of him. Sitting up, she reached between his legs.

He grabbed her wrist. “Patience, biala.”

Gently, he lowered her back down again. She gave a sigh but smiled. Kneeling in front of her, he parted her thighs, kissing them both on their soft inner sides.

Her opening glistened, already wet. He laid a kiss there too and brushed a light finger along it. Sucking in a breath, Grinda shuddered.

How many times had he loved her? How many times had they held each other in the moonlight, in the sunlight, on crisp mornings and hot afternoons? Mock smiled.

So many months lay before them. So many more moments like this.

“Mock!”

He gave a booming laugh. Sitting up, Grinda wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him down.

They rolled in the autumn leaves as the sun glared above, and the breeze swept through the branches, raining down a new shower of leaves.

Laughter and shouting. She squealed and choked as he poked and prodded and tickled her. She was a blur of golden hair, of gleaming white skin, and laughing eyes as they tumbled and played.

Somehow, he managed to get her tunic off, and, kneeling, he pulled her into his arms so that her back arched, and she dangled limply in his arms.

Kissing her between her breasts, he lowered her to the ground.

Everything slowed as he entered her. She groaned as though it pained her, then groaned again, louder and more quickly as he thrust.

Then, he was groaning along with her. Faster he thrust, until the world was nothing but a blur, and he felt nothing but the fire in his balls and Grinda’s warm, sweet breath against his cheek.

Mock grunted, Grinda cried out, and they wrapped their arms around each other. He rolled onto his side, pulling her along with him as he pressed his nose into the nape of her neck and took a deep breath.

There they stayed as their bodies eased their throbbing, and the heat between them slowly cooled.

Looking up, he met her eyes and kissed her, long and deep, her lips soft against his, his tongue wet against hers.

Still connected. Deep inside. Hearts thudding in time.

So many months ahead.

He couldn’t wait.