“But…will it hurt you? To be hard for so long, I mean?”
Braze shook his head again.
“I should be fine.”
It was mostly true. Kindred physiology was built for endurance, but ‘fine’ didn’t cover the aching, desperate need coiling in his gut. He couldn’t help looking down at her—at the breathtaking picture she made—sitting before him, her gorgeous breasts spilling from the cut-outs of her gown and her delicate hands cradling the most intimate part of him.
The contrast of her softness against his brutal hardness—her gentle care against his raw need—was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced.
Then she did something that stopped his heart.
Leaning forward, her eyes locked with his, she placed a soft, open-mouthed kiss right over the broad crown of his cock.
The sensation was electric—a white-hot brand of pure pleasure. Her lips were so soft, so warm. He felt his shaft surge violently against the constricting ring, a fresh bead of pre-cum welling up where her lips were pressed. A ragged groan was torn from his chest.
“Gods, Mistress! What are you doing? That would have made me come if I didn’t have this fuckin’ ring on!” he growled desperately.
She leaned back, giving him a mysterious, knowing smile that sent another jolt straight to his balls.
“Maybe that’s the idea. And anyway, can’t a wife kiss her husband?”
Feeling dazed—his world narrowed to the throbbing point where her lips had touched—Braze could only nod. The logic of the performance and the truth of his own desire fused into one undeniable command.
“You can kiss me anywhere you fucking want to,” he told her.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said lightly, as if they were discussing the weather. She rose from the bed in a swirl of dark blue fabric and glittering stars and—before he could quite process what was happening—her hand closed around him. Not on the shaft, but around the base—her fingers curling firmly around the ring itself, claiming it—claiming him.
Then she turned and began to walk, leading him by his cock out of the bedroom.
Braze stumbled after her, a low growl or pure need rumbling in his chest. Every step was a cascade of sensation—the gentle, inexorable tug on the most sensitive part of his body…the sway of her full hips and lush behind ahead of him…the scent of her arousal mingling with his own in the air.
His whole body felt like it had been dipped in molten flame—every nerve ending begging for release. The leather of his trousers creaked with his movements and the cool air of the sitting room washing over his exposed flesh, doing nothing to cool the inferno.
She let go only as they reached the main door of the suite, releasing her grip on the metal and leather ring. The sudden absence of her guiding touch left him feeling untethered…and dizzy with unmet need.
Goddess of All Life, he thought, staring at the obsidian door as Kaitlyn smoothed her gown and took a steadying breath. How in the Seven Hells am I possibly going to get through this feast?
He had no fucking idea.
11
KAITLYN
The servant in the gold livery led them down another seemingly endless corridor. This one was different from the others—the walls were not black marble, but a deep, iridescent bronze that shimmered like oil on water, reflecting the torchlight in dizzying, liquid patterns.
The ceiling arched high above, lost in shadow, but from that darkness hung thousands of delicate, crystalline filaments, each one vibrating with a faint, sub-audible hum that made the air itself feel charged. It was both beautiful and deeply unnerving, Kaitlyn thought.
At the end of this humming, shimmering hall stood another set of doors. They were not merely golden—they appeared to be forged from a single, colossal slab of amber, within which were trapped millions of tiny, fossilized insects with iridescent wings.
The creatures were caught in eternal, frantic flight—their captured motion creating a mesmerizing, chaotic mosaic. As the two silent guards—their armor made of the same fossil-amber—pushed the doors inward, the light from the hall beyond made the entire tableau seem to writhe with ghostly life.
The sight that greeted Kaitlyn made her eyes go wide.
The Dining Hall was a cavernous space—easily the size of a cathedral—with a vaulted ceiling supported by ribs of glowing, milky crystal that pulsed with a soft, internal light. Long tables, hewn from dark, polished wood, were arranged in a vast U-shape around a central oval space of empty floor—a kind of stage, she realized. At the head of the room, on a raised dais of black stone veined with gold, was the Empress’s own table.
But Kaitlyn wasn’t looking at any of that—it was the arrangement of the guests that truly caught and held her attention.
Because everywhere, wives were seated upon their husbands.
