“You’re a talented chef, Evangeline. I think you can handle a few distractions.” He kisses my neck again, this time his teeth grazing the spots he kissed. “Think of this as a thank you for all you have done for my people so far.”
“You don’t need to thank me.” Why are these stupid words coming out of my mouth? If he wants to thank me, then I’m damn well not going to stop him.
“But I think I do,” he protests. “Keep cooking, Evangeline.” His command is soft, but there’s a warning behind it. Like I won’t like what happens if I stop, which only makes me curious.
So, despite the tempting way he’s kissing my neck and moving my hips back against him, I don’t stop. I cut the vegetables as his hands wander my body, exploring every inch. It’s so damn distracting, and no one should wield a knife of this caliber when being groped and kissed by their husband—mate—whatever he is.
But I’m a damn professional. I can do this. At least until his hand roams under my shirt, sliding up my belly. “You’re beautiful.” His words are breathy, almost a moan. Then my resolve cracks, and the knife slips from my hand, landing with aclankon the wooden cutting tray.
“What’s the next step?” His hand roams higher, stopping just beneath my chest. A little higher, and he would?—
“Evangeline?” he calls again. Maybe not the first time he’s attempted to get my attention.
“Hmm?”
“The next step, sweetheart.”
I melt. Niko isn’t real. Except he is, and I need his hands on my body. Now.
Right after I finish this damn meal. I’ve given up all pretenses of trying to teach him how to cook. That can wait for another time when my body isn’t desperately screaming for him to take me. I have to move out of his embrace to grab my pot, which puts distance between us. Enough to calm my body, even slightly, and for my brain not to feel like I’m walking through sludge.
That’s not to say Niko isn’t still distracting. I feel his eyes on me as I add the vegetables, broth, and a few of the spices I brought with me to the pot, bringing it to a boil. The smell of garlic and herbs permeates the air, making my stomach growl.
Like Niko and Zephyr, I’m rationing my food, but I haven’t told them. How is it fair if I’m well fed and the kingdom isn’t? I may have only been queen for a short time, but even I know that’s not a good look.
“There,” I put the lid on the pot, “now it needs tocook for about half an hour to an hour, and it will be ready to serve to the fae back in the infirmary.”
“So you’re done?” Niko’s voice is closer than I last remember him being. I turn to see he’s behind me again, a hungry look in his eyes. A hunger that can’t be satisfied by food.
“I’m done.” In more ways than one.
“Good. Because I’m going to kiss you, sweetheart, so if that’s not what you want, tell me now.” He moves in closer, and my back hits a stone wall, trapping me between it and Niko.
“I want that.” The words leave my lips before I can stop them. But that’s the thing. Idon’twant to stop. I want Niko to kiss me, to mold his body against mine until we are one panting mess. And I think he wants that too. His stiffening cock certainly wants me.
“Good.”
The word barely leaves his mouth before he’s on me. His lips crash into mine with a hunger that steals the breath from my lungs. There’s nothing tentative about the way he kisses me; it’s all possession and urgency, like he’s been holding back for far too long and can’t anymore. I feel his hunger and need because it matches my own. I meet his intensity and passion, a soft moan leaving my lips.
His hands slide up to cup my face, rough and tender all at once, before he presses me harder against the wall. He pins me in place like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. The cool surface at my back contrasts with the heat between us, and I gasp against his mouth.
I cling to him, hands feeling up his bare chest, desperate to match the fire he’s igniting in me. Every stroke of his tongue, every graze of his teeth sends sparks shooting down my spine, pulling moan after moan from my lips. All the tension he built while brushing against me in the kitchen—the teasing glances, the barely-there touches—now explodes in this kiss. It’s messy, consuming, and, frankly, a little reckless with the dangers happening outside our walls.
And yet I never want it to stop.
“Fuck, Evangeline. You’ve been on my mind ever since our ceremony. That kiss—fuck, that kiss—is the only thing I have thought about over the last two days. You take up all my thoughts, sweetheart.” Niko drops a hand from my cheek, moving it down to my thigh and hiking it around his hips. He presses the hard outline of his dick against my aching core.
I part my lips to reply but don’t get the chance. He kisses me again, swallowing my unspoken words. His tongue brushes mine, claiming my mouth. I’m a wanton woman, grinding against his thigh. The movement makes Niko moan, and it’s a fucking amazing sound I could get addicted to.
“Take your pleasure, Evangeline. Take what you need.”
His voice is rough, ragged with want, each word a dare and a promise wrapped up in one. He’s panting, his breath hot against my cheek before he starts to trail kisses along my jaw, then lower, his lips brushing the curve of my neck. When his tongue flicks out, tasting my skin, a shiver rolls down my spine. I can’t stop the floodof images—what else that mouth, that tongue could do to me.
The thought lights a fire low in my belly. I grind down against his thigh, desperate for relief, for friction. It’s maddening—too many layers between us, not enough of him where I need him most. Still, I move, chasing the pleasure that teases me just out of reach.
Niko growls low in his throat, and then his hand slides up under my shirt, hot and sure, fingers finding my breast. He cups me firmly, his thumb brushing over my nipple before he begins to knead, slow and deliberate, like he has all the time in the world to drive me insane.
And, god, I think he might. My nipple hardens against his touch, but he’s relentless. He rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, applying just enough pressure that it straddles pleasure and pain.
