Although, I wish I had known the effect sucking his horn would have. I should have asked. I had no idea fey had ruts like mothmen and some other paranormal creatures, but it is quite clear I have thrown Selwyn into one.
My husband is in rut, and there is nothing that can be done about it until he fucks it out of his system. He needs to fuck me until he is spent. The delight I am feeling about this is unholy.
Selwyn grunts.
“I’m ready,” I assure him.
And I really am. If he had been like this on our wedding night, I would have been terrified. But I know him now. I know he is not a monster. I know he treats me far kinder than anyone ever has.
I also know I love sex when it is not shame and silence. And when it is with him.
His hips move, and I keen as pleasure morphs into bliss and rapture. Selwyn pistons in and out of me. Fucking me hard and holding me down with his teeth in my neck.
I scream my way through another orgasm. Selwyn doesn’t slow.
Oh my sweet goddess.
It is going to be quite the night.
Chapter thirty
Iwake up with a start. The curtains are still drawn, but it is morning. I am alone in bed, surrounded by pillows, with the covers tucked up under my chin.
Every muscle I possess is sore, and my ass feels hollowed out. My neck stings, as do bits of my back and arms. I think I’m covered in bite marks.
Wow. What a night. Selwyn’s behaviour was very unexpected. Almost as unexpected as how much I enjoyed it.
“There is water on the side table.”
I yelp. Selwyn is sitting in an armchair by the drawn curtains, dressed in a green satin dressing gown. Staring at me.
Gingerly, I heave myself up into a sitting position. My muscles protest, and things leak out of places.
I reach for the tall glass of water and gulp it down. It is cold and refreshing. I didn’t realise I was thirsty, but I feel much better now. I drink it all, and place the glass back carefully.
Selwyn is still staring at me. He is half in shadow, making his expression hard to read. Is he still in rut? He seems calm. Terribly calm. Eerily still.
I watch as he slowly rises from the chair and walks towards me with a cautious grace. He reaches the side of the bed. He is out of the shadows now, and I can see him clearly.
There is a look of profound sadness and grief in his gold-flecked eyes. My heart thumps against my rib cage. What is wrong?
He gracefully sinks to his knees and bows his head.
What the hell is he doing? Princes do not kneel. Mages do not bow their heads. Especially not to their vessels.
“I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he says quietly. “However, I wish for you to know that I am remorseful enough to beg for it.”
Oh. Oh my sweet goddess and all the stars. He thinks his rut was too much for me. And why wouldn’t he think that? I fell apart after our wedding night. I have been scared of him. He knows I fear everything. I am in every way the little lamb he calls me.
A long, curved dagger appears in his hand. My body recoils in alarm. Where did that come from?
“If you will accept the offering, I will cut off my horns and lay them at your feet.”
“No!” I gasp.
If he had gone into rut even a week ago, it would have been too intense for me. Absolutely. But it didn’t happen a week ago, it happened last night. After I took his horn into my mouth.
“Losing you forever is the penance I will suffer. Giving you my horns is but a token of my shame.”
