Endure - Sara B. Larson Page 0,90

his bed on the ground was almost enough to start me crying yet again. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept in any semblance of comfort.

“You must be freezing,” he observed as I stood there, staring at his bed. “Here, sit down and start eating.”

I did as he suggested and sat on the edge of the blankets, taking the plate from him and lifting a piece of the meat to my mouth. Damian knelt down beside me and wrapped one of the furs around my shoulders.

I tried to eat quickly, watching him the whole while, as if the very act of staring at Damian would make it seem more plausible that I was sitting in a tent next to him. I noticed his eyes drop to my hands, and he exhaled softly.

“You found it.” Damian reached out and hesitantly ran the tips of his fingers over my knuckles and the ring I wore — his mother’s ring.

That tiny touch sent an explosion of sensation rushing up my arm and straight into my lungs, where my breath caught. His eyes lifted to mine again as his fingertips slid up my arm, gently pulling me toward him, the almost-empty plate forgotten.

“So does this mean you still want to be my queen?” he asked, his eyes on my lips as he rose to his knees and crawled closer to me, sliding his hand over the top of my shoulder to the back of my neck.

“No,” I replied, and he drew back, his eyebrows lifting. “I’ve never wanted to be a queen. But I do want to be your wife. And I suppose being the queen is an unavoidable consequence of that desire.”

Damian laughed, shaking his head as I rose to my knees as well, so that we were only a foot apart. His thumb stroked up and down the tendon behind my ear. When our eyes met again, his smile died.

“I can’t believe you’re truly here,” he whispered, closing the gap so that our bodies nearly touched. He wound his other arm around my waist and drew me in so close to him that I had to pull my head back and lift my chin to look up at him.

I reached up to cup his face in both of my hands, pulling him toward me, until his mouth brushed mine. He paused, as if savoring the moment of anticipation, his breath warming my still-cold lips. I let my eyes close and wrapped my arms around his neck, my heart flying beneath my ribs.

“This isn’t a dream, is it?” he asked softly.

I shook my head, my eyes still closed. “If it is, you need to pick a better location for your next dream.”

He laughed again, a soft, low sound that delved straight through me, deep into my belly. Then suddenly, he was kissing me, any teasing forgotten in the face of an all-consuming need that swooped up and threatened to pull us both under. He clutched at me, pressing his body into mine, and I pushed back just as hard, clinging to him as his lips moved on mine. The hand he still had on my back tightened around my tunic, lifting it so that his fingertips brushed my bare skin. The combination of the cold air and his heated touch sent a delicious shiver down my spine, and I had the sudden, wanton desire to pull his shirt off, to feel his skin against mine.

Almost as if he could sense my need, he bent forward, pressing me down toward the ground, until I was laying on the bed of furs, with him beside me, his kiss growing even more heated, one hand teasing my hips, my spine, the lower edge of my rib cage, while the other cushioned my head.

Our legs tangled together as I reached beneath his shirt to explore the muscles of his back with my fingertips. His mouth left mine so that he could bend his head and kiss my neck, working his way toward the groove behind my collarbone. I was gasping for air when I arched my head back to give him easier access. My eyes opened to see the fabric ceiling above us, and the reality that we were in a tent, in the middle of a massive camp, suddenly hit me like a cold rain that stole the heat of a fire, dousing its flames.

“Stop,” I managed to say, my voice hoarse.

Damian immediately stilled, lifting his head to look at me inquisitively. But before I