A growl built low in Kassandr’s chest, setting the hairs on her arms on end. “Those people.” He buried a hand in his dark hair, mussing it deliciously. And when his gaze landed back on hers, it was utterly possessive. “I will worship you until you feel like the goddess you are. I will break down every doubt those vile Urkans planted in your head and build you up anew. And Winterwing—” He stepped so near, she could feel the warmth of him on her bare skin. “—I will make you feel very good.”
“Oh—” was all she could manage from her befuddled mind.
Kassandr eased her onto the bed, then crawled over her before kissing her until she gasped for breath.
“Wait,” she protested, breaking the kiss. “You.” Her hands grappled for his kaftan. “I want to see you, too.”
The mischievous smile that had caused her so much trouble settled on his face. And then Kassandr was reaching for his wedding kaftan. Buttons popped and fabric ripped, and in the span of three heartbeats, it lay in a heap on the floor.
“Impatient man,” she teased, but then all humor drained from her as the expanse of his bare chest met her eyes. She’d seen this sun-kissed skin before, but never had she been bold enough to touch it. Now she slid her fingers through the dark dusting of hair on his warm, firm chest, but paused as black tattoos pulsed beneath them. She’d wondered how far his tattoos went, and now Saga had her answer.
“I would not advise that,” warned Kassandr, his eyes fever-bright. “My beast is very eager to claim you.”
“Claim…” Saga thought of the bite, and damn it, but her pulse did flutter at that.
“Not tonight, Winterwing,” soothed Kassandr, his large, capable body sliding over hers. The friction was maddening, driving her need to dizzying heights. “Tonight, you need soft. Tonight, you need to be worshipped.”
The rough tips of his fingers slid along her stomach, lower, lower…Saga gasped.
“You are wet for me already,malen’kaya ptichka,[*1]” he said on a groan.
His fingers made soft circles, and oh gods—they were the best fingers, the most clever fingers in the whole world. Saga saw stars behind her eyelids and was vaguely aware of her back arching off the bed.
“Don’t st—”
Saga inhaled sharply as Kassandr slid first one, then two fingers inside her. Her eyes flew to his, and the sight of him watching her with such hunger made everything tighten inside her. Now she realized that the pleasure she’d felt earlier had been a surface-level thing. With his fingers inside her, everything was deeper and taller and so much stronger. Saga was vaguely aware that he studied her every moan, that he adjusted his fingers and the pressure he applied, until she writhed beneath him, clutching at his arm. Words spilled from her lips as her vision tunneled, and she knew that whatever she was climbing toward was tantalizingly near…
The moan that escaped her was embarrassingly loud, and Saga tried to cover it with her hand. But Kassandr pried it gently away.
“Scream,moya koroleva.[*2]”
It was at that moment that the breath seized in her lungs, the tension coiling inside her body unspooling in a sudden rush. Pleasure shuddered through her, and a low, guttural sound came from her chest. On it went, for a small eternity, where Saga was nothing but a thing of light and sound and complete sensation. It felt much like it had when she’d come into her magic—like for one moment, she understood every working of the world. But then it burned away, leaving in its wake an empty husk. She had no thoughts, no worries, no Urkans to vanquish or seas to cross. She was only Saga.
And he was Kassandr, staring down at her with a look of male satisfaction.
But the arrogance quickly melted to something softer. “I chose you, Saga, the first time you showed to me your fire,” he whispered with unexpected tenderness. “In gallery, when you told to meI am no one’s pet.”
“I’m—not,” she mumbled, trying to catch her breath.
“I would apologize for my behavior that day, but we both know I’m not sorry.”
She slapped him lightly on his chest, and he chuckled. But as hebrushed against her thigh, she became aware that he was left unfulfilled. Saga reached tentatively for him, but his hand encircled her wrist.
“Later.” There was an edge to his voice. A warning she wanted to ignore.
“But—”
He captured her other hand as it reached for the hot length of him. “Trouble,” he murmured, his eyes a little wild.
“It is only fair—”
“It is enough for me to hear your sounds,” he said softly, before pressing a kiss to her lips. “It is enough for me to look into your eyes as you find pleasure. Today you have shown much bravery.” Kassandr rolled onto his side, not taking his eyes from hers for even a second. “We have time, my queen, to savor one another. To play and to learn.”
Saga turned toward him, tucking a hand under her cheek. And then she allowed herself to stare at him.
Her husband.
The title had once felt like a shackle, meant to bind her further. But not this. Not with him. For the first time in her life, Saga was excited to discover the unknowns of the future. Because the gods knew life with this man would never be dull.
