Chapter 55: 'You’re My Favorite Problem'

The door to their chambers closed with a soft click, shutting out the last echoes of the village noise. Music still drifted faintly from the square below, but inside the room the air felt charged, private. Ronan stood near the hearth, firelight catching the hard lines of his face. Naya watched him from a few steps away, the silk of her gown still warm from the press of bodies in the crowd.

He was staring.

She tilted her head, a slow smile curving her mouth. “Are you going to kiss me or just stare?”

Ronan’s gaze flicked up, dry as ever. “I was deciding whether the dress is worth the effort of removing or if I should simply ruin it.”

A startled laugh escaped her. The sound softened something in his expression. He closed the distance, calloused fingers brushing her cheek, thumb tracing the edge of her jaw. Naya didn’t wait. She rose onto her toes and kissed him first, tasting wine and the faint salt of the night air. His mouth opened under hers, the kiss deepening until the earlier lingering one felt like a pale rehearsal.

When they broke apart, both were breathing harder.

Ronan’s hands settled at her waist. He didn’t pull her closer yet. “Naya.” His voice was lower than usual. “If we continue, I won’t stop at kisses. Tell me now if that isn’t what you want.”

She met his eyes without flinching. “I know exactly what I’m choosing. I want you. Not because of the marriage or the village or anything else. Because it’s you.”

Something shifted behind his usual controlled mask. He nodded once, then kissed her again, slower this time, as if memorizing the shape of her mouth.

They moved toward the bed without haste. Ronan unlaced her gown with deliberate care, each tug of the ties revealing more skin. The silk whispered to the floor. Naya’s shift followed. She stood before him in nothing but the soft glow of the fire, perky breasts rising with every breath, nipples already tight. His gaze traveled over her hips, the curve of her waist, the dark thatch between her thighs. She felt no urge to cover herself.

She reached for the fastenings of his tunic. He let her. When the fabric fell away she traced the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of old scars. Lower, she freed his cock, already thick and heavy in her hand. He hissed softly as her fingers closed around him, stroking once, twice, feeling him pulse against her palm.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured.

“You’re worth staring at.”

He guided her back onto the bed, following her down. His mouth found her throat, then the swell of one breast, tongue circling a tight nipple before drawing it in. Naya arched, fingers sliding into his hair. He switched to the other breast, sucking harder, one hand sliding down the soft plane of her stomach to the heat between her legs. When his fingers parted her folds she was already slick. He stroked her slowly, circling the sensitive bud until her hips lifted into his touch.

“Ronan—”

“I’m here.” He kissed lower, open-mouthed along her ribs, her belly, the inner curve of one thigh. Then his tongue replaced his fingers. Naya’s head tipped back against the pillows as he licked her with focused patience, circling, sucking lightly, two fingers easing inside her. She was tight around him. He worked her carefully, curling those fingers until her thighs trembled and a soft, helpless sound left her throat.

He didn’t rush. Only when she was trembling and wet did he rise over her again. Naya reached between them, guiding the blunt head of his cock to her entrance. Their eyes locked.

“Look at me,” he said, voice rough.

She did. He pushed forward in a slow, steady thrust, stretching her, filling her inch by inch until he was buried deep. The sensation stole her breath—fullness, heat, the solid weight of him. Ronan held still, jaw tight, giving her time. His forehead rested against hers.

“You feel…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead he began to move, long controlled strokes that let her feel every thick inch. Naya’s legs wrapped around his hips, heels pressing into the hard muscle of his ass, urging him deeper. The teasing that usually lived between them had quieted into something rawer. She could see the concentration on his face, the way he watched her reactions and adjusted—slower when she gasped, harder when she pulled him closer.

One of his hands slid beneath her, cupping her ass, tilting her hips so each thrust dragged against that sensitive spot inside. Pleasure coiled tighter. Naya’s nails scored lightly down his back. She could feel him holding back, giving her the pace she needed rather than taking what he could have claimed by force of habit.

“Ronan,” she whispered. “Don’t treat me like I’m going to break.”

His eyes darkened. He drove into her harder, the wet sound of their bodies meeting filling the quiet room. She met every thrust, hips rising, breasts bouncing with the force of it. Sweat slicked their skin. The headboard creaked softly against the wall.

In the midst of it he slowed again, almost withdrawing completely before sinking deep once more. “Look at me, Naya.”

She opened eyes she hadn’t realized she’d closed. His gaze was intent, stripped of the usual iron command. For a moment he simply stared at her—not the queen, not the replacement bride, just Naya. Something vulnerable flickered across his face.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, voice unsteady.

He shook his head once, as if the words refused to come. Instead he kissed her, deep and claiming, and resumed the rhythm that was undoing them both. His hand slipped between their bodies, thumb circling her clit in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation pushed her over the edge. Her climax hit hard, inner walls clenching tight around his cock, a broken cry muffled against his shoulder. He followed moments later, burying himself deep as he came, a low groan vibrating against her throat.

They stayed joined, breathing hard. Ronan’s weight settled carefully to the side so he wouldn’t crush her, but he didn’t pull away. His arm slid around her waist, waiting. Naya chose to stay close, tucking her face against his chest, one leg still draped over his hip. His cock softened inside her, the wet heat of their joining still present between her thighs.

After a while she spoke, voice soft with lingering satisfaction. “You said something earlier about ruining the dress.”

A quiet huff of almost-laughter moved through his chest. “It survived. Barely.”

She traced a lazy circle over one of his scars. “Any regrets?”

“No.” The answer came without hesitation. His hand stroked slowly up and down her spine. “You?”

“None.”

Silence settled, comfortable rather than awkward. The fire popped. Outside, the last of the celebration music faded into the night.

Naya shifted enough to look up at him, a spark of her usual mischief returning. “One good evening hasn’t made you less difficult, you know.”

Ronan’s mouth curved. “And yet you’re still here, pressed against me like you plan to stay.”

“I haven’t promised to become agreeable.”

“I’d be disappointed if you did.” He leaned down and kissed her again, slower, softer. When they parted he rested his forehead against hers for a moment longer.

Something had shifted in the space between them—desire no longer resisted, trust no longer provisional, a closeness that belonged only to the two of them in this quiet room. Neither spoke the larger truths still forming. They didn’t need to. For tonight it was enough that Naya had begun the evening as the woman he had married to punish a family, and ended it knowing that, in every deliberate touch and every careful thrust, he had wanted her.

They settled into the warm tangle of limbs and sheets, neither in a hurry to move.