Graham swallowed, the column of his throat working while his jaw remained tight. The dagger was still gripped in his callused hand, fingers tightening around the hilt of the blade. He brought the flat edge of the blade under her chin and tilted her face up until her eyes met his.
Dark. Defiant. Drenched in want. Eager to do anything he asked. Ready to give him anything he asked for.
“I want the land you promised.”
Her lips curved, wicked and pleased. “It’s yours. I settled it this afternoon. The scrolls are in process. You’ll have the deed within the week.”
Surprise flickered through him, sharp and swift. He hadn’t expected her to follow through. That was odd. She always did exactly what he told her to. After being a brat for a bit because they both enjoyed it.
“Can I have you now?” Her tongue escaped from her mouth, and she licked the flat side of the blade. “It’s been so long since I’ve tasted anything like you. My husband balked the one time I tried.”
Graham snatched the dagger away. “Do not speak of other men in your bed, Ray.”
“Charming, on the other hand, was very quick on the draw once I got into his pants.”
Graham's growl turned feral. “You keep talking, and I swear I’ll commit regicide tonight.”
Raveena leaned into the crotch of his pants and inhaled that woodsy musk of his. “I only ever found pleasure with you. It’s your taste I crave. Always has been. No one else will do.”
With those words, the dagger fell from his grip as his hands came to cup both sides of her face. "Free me from my britches, my queen. No, no—don't use your hands."
Raveena's grin was wicked as she flashed her teeth. Then those teeth went to work undoing the ties that barely held Graham's manhood in check. She buried her nose in his crotch for another deep pull of his scent. Then she got to work undoing the laces, pull by pull.
It was slow work, and Graham did not lift a finger to help her. When she finally got him free, mostly from his eager cock pushing through the fabric, she took her first lick. They both moaned.
Raveena didn't bother with a slow preamble. No, she was too starved for this. She swallowed Graham whole, taking him all the way to the back of her throat in the first go. Her huntsman was a big boy, but he'd let her practice deep-throating him a lot. Enough that she no longer had a gag reflex.
With a fistful of her hair, Graham held her to him. He was no gentleman. He was everything that was rough and rugged. He didn't spend like an untried youth as she swirled her tongue around his tip. He didn't pull away when she used her teeth on the underside of the delicate head of his penis. He wasn't a quick draw as she lapped at his balls. He stood firm and let her lick her fill of him, backing off when he got close and then letting her take him to the back of her throat when he'd caught his breath.
On and on it went like that until he could hold back no longer. He did press her to him then as he let go and spilled into her mouth. Raveena lapped up every drop of him, then licked at the dregs that escaped her mouth and spilled down his still hard cock. When she was done, she sat back on her heels and looked up at her lover with a satisfied grin.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Graham was fucked. Well and truly fucked.
He lay stretched across the width of Raveena’s bed, his skin still slick with heat and the aftershocks of her mouth. His eyes were half-closed, his breath slowing. The scent of her clung to his skin—snow lilies and salt and something darker that always rose after she’d had her fill of him.
Raveena was sprawled across his back. Her body was a silken weight, all supple limbs and contented sighs. Her cheek rested against his shoulder blade. Her fingertips moved over the broad plane of his back, tracing idle patterns as if she were trying to write her name on his skin.
The long stem of the R had her nail dragging from the back of his shoulder downward. There was a bite to it, just enough to make his muscles clench. Then the curve of the R, drawn with the soft pad of her finger, looping outward and then back in again across the top of his shoulder blade. A caress with a whisper of possession.
Her fingertip lifted, then pressed down just below to start an A. The angled line bit into his skin with twin strokes—nail again—sharp enough to stir a low growl in his throat. She finished itwith a horizontal line across his lower back, this one softer. A soothing stroke after the sting, like balm after a brand.
By the time she curved an E just above his hip, Graham was trembling with want. He wanted to belong to her. He did belong to her.
He'd come into this room to take her crown. With just the tip of her tongue, the tip of her finger, she was rewriting him. Letter by letter. Line by line.
He didn’t stop her. He lay still and let her brand him.
Most couples would lie like this in reverse—the woman curled against the man, his body curled around hers, his eyes trained on the door. The protector. The watcher. That was how he and Raveena used to sleep, when everything between them was new and uncertain and touch had to be earned.
Over time, it had changed. This was his favorite—her weight blanketing him, her breath at his neck. It was the only time he ever truly relaxed. Not because he thought she’d defend him from attack. Because when she was on top of him like this, he knew exactly where she was. He had her.
Her fingers paused, then resumed, drawing slow circles over the scar on his shoulder. “Tell me about the war.”
He stiffened. His mouth closed, not wanting to offer her any words. That didn't stop the images in his head.
Flashes crowded his mind—fangs and fire. The thunder of troll feet charging across ice, the screams that echoed too long in dark ravines sounding in his ears. He smelled the iron in the snow. Saw the red of the blood. Remembered the names of friends who didn’t rise from the frost.
