JOYCE
As it turned out, the feast was not over. She had thought their speeches and her choices were the ends of the night. But it was only the end of the formal traditions. Once, she had arranged to meet with Talia, Khloe, and Gray the following morning. They had taken their seats at the podium table; she turned back to Sung, still feeling shaky at the response from the people. But he had ignored the tension and taken her mind.
"May I have this dance?" he said, his eyebrows up.
Joyce blinked. "Dance?"
There was music playing, but she had not noticed any dancing until Sung nodded towards the crowd. She saw that the people had moved the tables back to the edges of the centre of the market. Now they all sat or stood around while couples and individuals began to leap and sway in the dirt at the centre.
Joyce loved to dance, but she was not very good at it. And she had never seen dancing quite like this. There was a group of six women at one end of the space, stomping and swaying in a combination of steps they took in unison. They were beautiful and graceful, and they leapt like gazelles at one point, so high that Joyce's breath caught.
There was a couple in the centre of the wolves, she thought, who danced more akin to what she thought looked like Salsa in her world. A sensual and powerful play between two bodies, a chord of tension between them that promises satisfaction at its end. Her shin tingled, watching them.
Then there were groups and couples scattered about, some simply swaying in a way that reminded her of home high school dances. Others engaged in some kind of give and take that seemed to depict a story, perhaps a battle between the people facing each other.
Joyce was enthralled and confused. "I… I do not know how to do that, Sung," she said, her disappointment evident in her tone.
"Let me show you. Please," he said, and his voice was husky, making her turn to look at him.
That loop around her heart snagged tight and pulled her towards him as she nodded and took his hand. He led her down the stairs and into the centre of the dance area. At first, she just watched everyone around her, her mouth open in shock and delight. But then Sung offered a hand and bowed, and she took it and bowed back to him.
Pulling her in so that their hips were almost pressed together, his left hand at her lower back, his right clasping her left, he leaned into her ear. "Just relax and let me lead."
She gave him a look. "I have just been made queen, apparently offended half the people with my choices, and I have never danced in public before… but sure, Sung. I will just relax."
He lifted one eyebrow with a lopsided grin. "Someone's feeling her power already."
She shook her head. "No, but I am feeling something," she said in a low voice, letting the fingers of her right-hand trail down his neck and shoulder. He growled and nipped at her ear.
"Careful, or you will force me to carry you out of here and back to the cave," he whispered.
She tipped her head back, her eyes sparkling. "Promise?"
Sung swung her into the dance rhythm with a snarl of frustrating joy. Joyce found herself giddy because the most challenging part was done, and now she was touching him, and she was in a pretty dress.
After a few circuits of the dance floor, she could just let go. Despite his massive size, Sung was a graceful and precise dancer. His strength made every shift and step seem powerful, despite the care and elegance he gave it. At first, mocking her lack of ability, she had sagged melodramatically back over his arm.
"Do with me as you will, Sire. I am but a peasant to your throne!" she mock-swooned.
But Sung dropped his face to her neck and snarled against it. "Do not bare your neck to me in public! You will bring me to my knees in front of them!" Yet, he tasted her throat as if he shouldn't but couldn't resist.
Joyce was confused and lifted her head to stare at him; his eyes were warm but dark, and his chest rose and fell quickly. She did not think it was because of the dancing.
Which was when she realised they were dancing. He had moved her backwards and forwards, extended her away from his body, and brought her back close. She lacked his grace and finesse but found the rhythm he followed and let herself be led. And lead, he did, spinning and swaying with her, wrapping her waist in his arm, then turning her, so her skirt swirled around her knees. He caught her against his chest, spun her back out and grabbed her again. Around and around, until all she saw was his eyes, always on her, and his shoulders, always there to steady her.
She had no idea how long they danced, but it was as if the cord between them pulled tighter with each step, and her heart swelled more.
Sung's eyes locked on hers, and the world tunnelled around them.
Joyce knew they were still in the market, still watched by hundreds of people, but as the people of the Wildwood began to unwind and enjoy themselves, so did Sung and Joyce. Then the music slowed.
Sung stopped spinning her, rolling her in and out of his body. Stopped turning them and crossed the floor.
He dropped his chin, so his cheek brushed hers and brought her hand up, curling his around it and pressing it to his chest, and they swayed. Joyce's heart and body were at odds, her body acutely aware of his warmth of him, his strength of him, his beauty. Her heart wanted to race, and her body wanted to move. Her skin wanted to ripple against his.
But her heart… she was touched by his gentleness, the tenderness with which he brushed her temple with his lips, or the way he pulled her close to his side when there was an unidentified noise on the dancefloor. He watched to ensure she was safe before returning to her and bringing her close to sway again.
Every move he made seemed to centre on her, and she was awed by it, by the heart of him. This man, this king!
What was it in him that held her like she was something precious?
"You smell confused," he murmured in her ear. He took the hand from her back and stroked it through her hair. "What is wrong?"
This scent thing was very inconvenient! Joyce almost told him not to worry about it, but she knew he would only watch her more closely in the end, probably misreading the problem. So, she made a little face as she tipped her head back to meet his eyes.
"I am just not sure why you treat me like I'm… special." It was the plain truth. She tried not to back away from it.
His brows pressed in. "Because you are special, Joyce, so special. The most special."
***
JOYCE
She sighed.
"You know that makes no sense, right?" she said. When he opened his mouth to argue, she shook her head. "No, I'm serious, Sung. I'm not looking for reassurance here. I believe you, and I love it. I love that you act like I'm… precious. But you must know, from my perspective, it makes no sense. You have more strength and power, and you have more knowledge. You are older than me and more beautiful. We are… unequally matched, but I don't doubt you care. I just do not understand why."
He stared down at her, using one finger to press a thin strand of hair back behind her ear as he spoke, his voice little more than a whisper.
"When I was a cub – a child, I was very sure of myself," he said carefully. "I had always been treated as if I was more valuable than everyone else. When that happens, and you are young, you just believe it. It is simply the way the world is." She nodded and didn't say those children usually became complete brats. "But when I was taken to your world," he said tightly. "I was suddenly nothing. Not in my home. My guardians knew who I was and how I should be cared for. But the world… the world did not see a normal person. They saw a troubled child, and… they had no time for him. I only lasted at school for six weeks before my guardians pulled me out since human education had only been part of our cover anyway."
"I don't remember you at school!"
He shook his head. "I was miserable, and I stayed miserable until I met you," he said, holding her gaze again, his brown eyes warm yet troubled. "I was so angry and so scared, though I would not admit it. I had never in my life felt like I was… less than others. Being away from my family and pride was terrifying, being in a world that was so different and unforgiving. And being friendless… I was desperately unhappy. Then you walked over to me that day as if I were someone and started talking to me about tigers. Do you remember that?"
She smiled. "Barely; I just remember seeing you standing in the driveway of your house, looking angry."
"I was trying to learn to ride a bicycle. It was not going well," he muttered, and she grinned at his obvious discomfort in admitting that. "When you started talking to me, I almost snapped at you. As soon as I spoke, I assumed you would decide I was scary or weird, as everyone else had. I would be alone again, and I was already feeling bad about myself."
"I always found you fascinating," she said, shrugging. "Back then, I could never figure out why other people were so wary of you."
He nodded. "You see… your heart. You never judged me as others did. Even back then and later, when we were friends and I did strange things, you always just acted like they were normal or laughed like they did not matter."
"They didn't."
"That is what makes you special, Joyce," he said, and his voice had a tightness that matched the intensity in his eyes. "I thought the others here, my people, weren't seeing you as I do. But I see. You do not see yourself that way. You have no idea how precious you are," she shook her head and looked away, but he returned her chin and made her face him. "Joyce, do you think I chose you in the right, that I married you in the ceremony that brought you here to my people out of what…?"
"Pity," she said immediately. "I know you like me, Sung; I know you are attracted to me. But are you choosing me for this? To be a queen? That has to be because you felt bad that they brought me here."
He snarled, and his hand curled at her back.
"I would not let others speak of you that way, so I will not allow you to do it either," he snapped. "I told you that pity does not drive me -"
"I know, I know -"
"You do not."
"I just… if you were in my world, Sung… the words they would use are out of my league. That is what people would say about you; they would say that you were too good for me. And in my world, they would be right."
"Just further evidence that you were meant to be here," he growled, fire in his eyes. "I see why the creator brought you."
Joyce smiled softly. "Do me a favour," she said after a moment.
"Anything."
"Don't ever change, Sung. Don't ever stop thinking the way you think. These people adore you, and so do I because you are good."
He blinked, and his chest swelled. He looked for a moment as if he might argue with her, but instead, he took her face in his hands and kissed her slowly, softly.
"It takes one to know one," he whispered, pulling her against his chest with a happy sigh.
They clung to each other and continued to sway. They kissed and continued to sway. Sung pulled away, staring into her eyes, and Joyce's heart beat faster. As the moment's emotion weighed on her, so did the growing heat in his eyes.
His iron strength under her hands made Joyce's mouth go dry, and wish they were alone. The lights in the market dimmed. The sound of the crowd around them faded. And Joyce's heart began to race when his breathing deepened, and his hand slid low on her back. Then his chest brushed her breasts softly, teasing, bringing her nipples to peaks under the light fabric of the dress. His eyes widened, and he manfully dragged them back up to meet hers.
The music slowed even more, and he pulled her in closer, pulling her hands up around his neck and urging her to clasp them behind him. He let his hands slide down her sides to hold her at the hips as the music changed and began to pulse. The beat of the drums became the new rhythm for her body, breathing, the rolling of her hips and the feel of his cheek against hers, the shuffle of their feet.
Everything became tied together, and their bodies met in the middle. Her skin prickled in anticipation as one of his hands lifted to find hers behind his neck, then trailed down her arm to her side, his thumb finding the side of her breast as he followed his thumb down to her ribs, her waist, and lower. Joyce was beginning to pant. Sung's eyes never left hers.
SUNG
His skin prickled with desire as he stared into her wide eyes, and she stared back. He let the music move him, move them, sliding step, sliding step, to a pause. She got the rhythm quickly, but he could tell her mind was not on it. He wondered if she felt what he felt in the slide of her dress against the chest of his shirt. The whip of her skirt against his legs. The brush of their legs when they moved thigh against thigh. Warmth and pressure where they pressed, and cool prickling desire where his skin ached for hers.
He returned one hand to her wrist and moved it to where his shoulder met his neck. He trailed his fingers down her arm, raising goosebumps under his touch as he slid down to her side, along the outside of her breast, then around her ribs to put the flat to his hand across her lower back. Her jaw had slackened, but she did not say a word, just held onto his neck and let herself move into him, be led, be swayed, be pressed.
She did not blink, but her breath got louder as he rolled his hips into each step, her eyes glazed.
Then he dropped his chin so his cheek was almost touching hers. He felt her hair tickle his neck and jaw, but his skin prickled and tingled instead of laying his cheek to hers, waiting for the contact that never came. He felt the electric crackle at her closeness, the flutter of her breath on his collarbone where his shirt was open. Unable to resist, he gave in with a groan, nuzzled her ear, and nipped at the side of her neck. She went limp in his arms, and her breath quickened, but he kept leading, swinging her slowly around the floor.
Their eyes locked again when he straightened.
He was in awe. Slack-jawed and speechless at the beauty of her, the beauty she could not see in herself, the beauty that lit his world.
For a moment, his mind fell back to those dark days of his childhood when the only sun he saw was her smile. The way she had looked at him like he was the amazing one and followed him anywhere he would go. When the only rush in his world was to hear her calling his name. To the warmth and gratitude he had felt whenever she had defended his strange ways.
"You always came with me," he whispered.
She blinked then but did not stop staring at him. "What? When?" she whispered back.
"When we were little. You never even used to ask. I would just show up at your door, and you would come out and follow me."
She smiled. "Because I knew I was safe with you," she said, cupping his neck with her hand. "And I knew wherever you were going was where I wanted to be."
He lifted one hand to draw her hair back from her face. "Do you still feel that way?" he asked.
"Even more than back then," she breathed. "Sung… I… thank you. I know it's hard sometimes, but… I feel like you have given me a new life. As well as your heart, and I'm just… I'm stunned. I do not know what I did to deserve you, but I am so glad you are here."
A wave of love rolled over him, stealing his breath. How was it possible that she was here and his? And… grateful? He was the grateful one. He did not have words, so he put his hand to her jaw and drew her up into a kiss that started softly but quickly flared into a feast of lips, tongues, and rushing breath.
He had to force himself to remember where they were, break it, and not paw her in front of the children and mothers. And men, for that matter, but he yearned. He did not want to be here anymore. He loved his people but not as much as he loved her.
"Joyce…"
How to even tell her?
"I know," she breathed and pulled him down into another kiss that was little more than her open mouth on his, lips barely moving, tongues only teasing. "I know," she whispered again into his mouth.
He sucked in and pulled her into his chest, and she rippled under his hands, her head dropping forward to rest on his collarbone as if it was all just a little bit too much.
He knew the feeling; he did. Unable to show her how he felt, he began dancing with her like he would an Anima, a slow but demanding roll and slide that mimicked the kind of roll and slide he wanted. She gasped when his hips rolled into hers again, and then she just… gave up. Their eyes were bright with desire, and her pupils so big her eyes looked black in the half-light. And even though she did not know the dance, she was so loose in his arms that she fell into it. They moved as if she were an extension of his body. And her breath quickened, her skin pebbled, and she swallowed. And she never took her eyes off his.
"Sung?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yes?" he croaked
"When can we go home?"
"When… what?"
"When can we go home?" she said quickly, lightly. He was pierced; she had no idea she had called his home her own. That she had accepted him, adopted his world. Taken over his heart.
His childhood dream had walked into his world and owned him.
He answered her by stepping her backwards, walking her in time to the rhythm and weaving through the couples and groups around them to those who had gathered to watch from the sides of the market. When they reached the crowd's edge, he dropped all pretence of dancing, took her hand, and pulled her through. He acknowledged the greetings and calls of the people with a wave or a short smile but never stopped in his path towards the trail home and never let his grip on her hand slip even an inch.
SUNG
As they left the feast to return home, Sung pushed away thoughts of the next day. It would bring challenges, he knew. But she was so fragile, needing much reassurance… they would meet those questions when they came. For now, he wanted to show her how much she meant, and he wanted her.
When they stepped out of the market and walked the city trail, he looked down at her and realised her beauty shone in the lantern light. Her dress flowed around her like water, clinging to her curves and rippling on her skin, reminding him of their time together in the pools the previous night. But she was devastatingly beautiful in the moonlight.
But through the market and out into the tree city, and through the square, there were people everywhere! And they all wanted to call to their king and queen, stop and chat, or bow and wave. Sung's teeth were gritted before they even reached the city square. He almost snarled when he thought they were finally free to start down the darkened path to their cave, and someone else called out.
Amused by his growing tension, Joyce put a hand to his arm and met his eyes as he turned too quickly, with a too-obvious frown, to greet the man jogging up behind them. So, his wife graciously accepted the man's congratulations, smiled, and thanked him. His wife squeezed his arm to remind him to say something. And his wife very expertly excused them from the conversation in a way that left the man smiling but with no temptation to follow them into the forest.
And then, finally, thank the creator, they were alone. She clung to his arm, a small smile on her face that made him want to ask her what she was thinking, but he was too busy strategising. If he waited five minutes, they would be back at the cave. With the guard no doubt shadowing them through the trees right now, Joyce would be more comfortable.
But that meant he had to wait five more minutes, and Sung found his patience at an end, so with a quick scan of the forest, he wrapped an arm around her waist and swung her into the trees alongside the path.
"Sung, what?"
But he had her against the tree trunk, pinning her from knee to chest, and his lips on hers before she could say more. His breath thundered, his heart pounding in his ears. She sighed, and her hands slid up his chest in a way that made him groan and deepen the kiss, then drop to kiss along her jaw, to that little space under her ear that always gave her goosebumps when he nibbled… right there.
With a shuddering breath, she dropped her head back against the tree and whispered his name.
He hummed but could not stop tasting her, dragging his lips and teeth lower as she arched back.
"Gareth?" She whispered, her hands in his hair.
"Yes…" he murmured against her skin, then sucked.
She drew in a sharp breath. "Why…" she seemed to lose her train of thought when he found the spot where her shoulder met her neck; at the same time, his hand slid up to cup her breast through the thin fabric of the dress, but then she swallowed and kept going. "Why did you tell me not to bare my throat… to you in public?" she asked, pulling him in tighter.
He lifted his head to kiss her mouth, the slide of her tongue like fuel to his fire, and he almost forgot the question. But then she groaned and pressed in to kiss his neck with lips, tongue, and teeth.
Sung huffed and did not care how many of the guards heard it. "The throat…" he gasped as she pushed her hands under his vest, her fingers trailing along his sides until the combination of arousal and tickling threatened to undo him. He sucked in hard and caught her hands, pulling them out from under his clothes, then smiling as he raised them over her head, holding her wrists in one of his large hands.
He pulled back enough to watch her face, measure her for displeasure or uncertainty, but she smiled as he pinned her wrists to the tree above her, forcing her chest up and out, her breasts peaking beneath the white fabric. Tingles washed over him in a wave, and he groaned, uncertain which part of her to taste first. He was still staring, open-mouthed, when she spoke, her voice husky.
"Sung? The throat?" she said, her eyes twinkling when he met her gaze. He knew she giggled because his own was so damned blank with lust.
He blinked and let his free hand drag down her side as he dove for her collarbones and explained with his lips and tongue against her skin. "The throat…" he repeated as he dragged his lips along her collarbone, "… is the most vulnerable part on an Anima's body," he inhaled her scent which was musky and dark with her desire, and he huffed again. "To bare your throat to anyone is the ultimate act of trust; Anima does it very rarely, usually only with a true, lifetime mate."
Her breath caught, and he lifted his head to meet her gaze. Had he frightened her? Hurt her? But no, her eyes were and alight… with joy?
"You let me kiss your neck," she breathed. And when he nodded, she closed her eyes and dropped her head back again, offering herself. "I will always give you my throat, Sung," she breathed, arched her back as she was, with her hands above her head and tipped back; her body was an altar, an offering.
And Sung planned to worship it.
His entire body tightened. Sung let a growl putter in his throat as he dropped to taste her throat again, as lightly as he could, open-mouthed, his tongue flat against the divot between her collarbones. And he huffed the mating call, letting it resonate in his chest.
The poor guards were forced to hear and scent this, to try to keep her safe while also not getting close enough to be a threat and anger their king… if he had not been so blinded with lust, he would have laughed at what he was putting them through.
Sung kissed her, his free hand resting on her back, which arched away from the tree. She whimpered when he pulled her in tighter against the broad planes of his stomach. His growing arousal was plain, even through his leather pants. As their tongues tangled, she writhed against him.
Then a twig snapped somewhere not very far away, and Sung froze. As he realised what he was doing, pawing at her, taking her here in the dark where she could not see, but all the guards were forced to, he also realised she would not like it if she knew.
With a frustrated groan, he pulled away, panting. Her head came up, and her eyes opened.
"What? What is wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong," he said, letting her hands go from above her head. "I just want to get you into the cave."
The concern on her face slowly morphed into a smile as he stepped back and offered her his hand.
Five minutes would not kill him… much.
But as if she felt the same way, she set the pace back to the cave much faster than they had been walking before.
She did not see the shadows of the men around them as they walked the path; she looked for them when they finally stepped into the clearing, and he could smell the dip in her when she realised they had been there all along. Cursing himself for an inconsiderate ass, he kissed her hand and kissed her knuckles.
"Come, wife," he whispered, drawing her into the cave. "I have something to show you."
***
JOYCE
As he opened the cave door, she hugged his back and let her hands slide over his shoulders and back to her favourite part of him. Something burned in her chest, not just desire. Something more, a demand for him. But…she also felt driven to touch him. It was just not a want; it was a need. He rippled under her touch. He closed the door behind them and barred it by picking up a thick beam she had not paid attention to, which had been lying up against the wall inside and then dropped it onto two brackets on the door. Joyce grinned; it looked like god himself would not be opening that door.
Sung turned to face her and stood there… staring. The lantern light was warm and made his chest and stomach muscles glow where his vest was open. Joyce swallowed hard and stroked a finger down the centre of his chest, then his muscled stomach sucked in as she went and hooked it into the top of his pants.
He just stared at her. "What's next?" he rasped.
"Take off your jacket," she said, quivering when one side of his mouth slipped up. At the same time, he slowly, very slowly, shrugged the vest off his shoulders, then drew it down one arm, then the other, tossing it onto a side table and taking a step towards her. But she took a step back, and his eyebrow went up, and he waited.
Joyce watched him for a moment, then let her eyes slide down his body to where her finger was still hooked behind his belt in the waistband of his pants. She tilted her head, and Sung huffed again, the sound twangling something low in her belly.
***
SUNG
"I do like it when you make that noise," she said breathlessly. He did it again, and she shivered. "It is like you are calling something out of me."
"It is the mating call," he said, his voice even deeper than usual. "It says you are mine, and I want you and every other man who hears it better to stay the fuck away from you."
She laughed, and her eyes flicked up to meet his. Her pupils were so big that her eyes looked almost black. Sung swore and stepped towards her, but she stepped back again, her smile growing.
He growled. "Playing games so soon?"
She shook her head. "I just want to see you this time, in the light."
Sung shuddered at that and had to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching for her. Creator's Light! She wanted to see him.
"Tell me what to do," he rasped. "Anything, I will do it."
Her mouth dropped slightly, but she closed it, bit her lip, and pulled her hand away, looking at the place where it had been just a moment before. Trembling, Sung stared at her so intently that the world began to narrow.
"Take off your pants," she said breathlessly.
Sung did not need to be asked a second time. With a soft grunt and a couple of sharp tugs, he had the belt slapping free and his pants unbuttoned in seconds, shoving them down and stepping out of them, leaving his hands at his sides. Her eyes had not left his face yet.
He waited.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed twice. He wondered if she knew he could hear her heart and see the shift in her breathing and how it sped up.
"You are so… gorgeous," she breathed, and her eyes widened as they drifted from his face and down, down, down.
Everything in him tightened under her gaze.
***
JOYCE
She had started this game almost as a joke. A way to tempt him, but she was very quickly trapped in her snare. She'd had to swallow twice before speaking when he had bared himself so boldly, shaking off his pants like they were a burden.
His body was a massive and sculpted work of art, every muscle visible and tightly hugged by his skin. His forearms were veined, and the tendons on his hands stood proud as he clenched his fists at his sides because he was working hard not to touch her, she knew, and she wanted him to, so badly. But something about making him wait, making herself wait… it was delicious.
Ignoring his very obvious arousal, because if she focused in that area, there would be no playing, and they would both be finished in seconds, she drank in the sight of his body. His thighs were round and broad; he stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his skin almost glowing in the warm lantern light. She moved her eyes across his broad and heavily-muscled shoulders, washboard stomach, and muscle lines from over his hips down into that perfect V as if it pointed the way to her pleasure.
His shoulders shifted up and down with his breath, and a slightly wild light appeared in his eyes.
He wanted her badly.
She bit her lip and groaned.
***