“It’s not that simple.” I stare down at her, admiring her heart-shaped face and the curve of her throat.
“You’re a king, right?” She gestures toward me. “You can do whatever you want.”
“A king who must follow the law laid down between the realms.”
“You mean the consort thing?”
“Yes.” I nod.
“But didn’t you already break that by taking one instead of ten?” She puts a hand on her hip, the saucy look on her face turning my blood hot again.
“I abided by the spirit of the law.”
“You broke it, you mean.” She comes close to rolling her eyes. “The king of the day realm does what he pleases, I suppose.”
I advance on her, but she doesn’t back down. “I’m your king, too.”
She doesn’t break her gaze, and her lips part just a little as her breathing speeds up. “I’m a nightling.”
I run my fingers along her soft cheek and down the side of her throat. “You’re my consort now, Emma. My subject. Undermycommand.”
Her heartbeat thrums like a hare running for its life. But she’s already caught, and I intend to devour her as soon as I get her back to the Shard of Day.
“I’m not—”
I cut off whatever argument she was going to make by claiming her lips, forcing her mouth open and sliding my tongue against hers. She pushes at my chest, but I wrap one arm around her waist, holding her close as I wrap her hair around my fist like a rope.
Craning her head back, I plunder her sweet mouth, her tongue tasting of silky nights and hints of peach. I didn’t bring her to the orchard for this, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Not when she’s using her smart mouth, not when she looks like a midnight flower in full bloom. So I taste her, making good on her title as my consort.
She doesn’t fight me. Whatever protest she may have had disappeared when our tongues met, and now she grips my tunic in her fists.
I back her to a tree, pinning her against the narrow trunk as I pull her hair harder and leave a trail of kisses down her neck.
Her gasp spurs me lower until my tongue teases the swell of her breasts. Her nipples are hard, and my fangs ache as I kiss lower. I want to bite her again, the desire out-of-place but undeniable. Marking her is forbidden. Only my mate can bear my bite. Even so, I draw my fangs across the top of her breast, teasing her smooth skin with ruin.
She grips my hair, her fingers pulling as I lick to the other breast and delve my tongue beneath the edge of the fabric. When I taste the firm flesh of her nipple, I groan. She shakes in my hold, her mating scent heavy on the air. I want to taste that, too, to bury my face under her skirts and lick her until she’s wild and wanton and begging for my cock. I bend my knees to do just that when a branch cracks nearby.
I whirl and push Emma behind me.
“Apologies, my lord.” Brock doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. “But luncheon is prepared.”
Emma breathes out a heavy pant, and I can hear her smoothing down her dress. I’d hitched it up subconsciously, though what I wanted to do to her was absolutely at the forefront of my mind. It still is even though Brock is glaring at me.
“We’re coming.” I wave him away.
He turns and strides down the row. At least he had the decency to snap a twig on purpose when he crept up on us. Brock may be a great second-in-command, but he’s an excellent chaperone, it would seem.
“Don’t do that again.” Emma stomps around me, though she falters when her foot hits the edge of a tree root.
I take her elbow and steady her. She scowls over at me but doesn’t shake me off.
“You’re my consort.” I shrug.
“That doesn’t mean you can just—” She waves a hand wildly, and I stare at the pink coloring her pale cheeks. She’s a peach in her own right. Ripe and delicious, growing more so under the sun. “You can’t just go mauling me against a tree!” she finishes with a huff.
“My apologies, Emma.” I smirk. “You’re a consort with very particular requirements for fucking. What—”
She smacks my arm.To my utter amazement. “Don’t speak to me like I’m one of your harlots.”
