His fingers dug into my thighs, and I couldn’t help but roll my hips against him. It felt frenzied, like we were both trying to keep up with the other. The chaise knocked up against the shelf—books fell with heavy thuds. When his tongue ran along the inner seam of my lower lip, I was so lost in the moment that the ground could have crumbled beneath us and I wouldn’t have noticed.
All of his hard edges melted into passion.
Cool wisps of dark vines surrounded me. They snaked over my back, around my stomach and between my thighs. I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed it with a groan that made my toes curl.
He was touching me in so many places that Ialmostdidn’t notice his hardened length pressed against the thin silk and linen between us. He pushed my hips down against him and thrust up against my core. The sensation elicited a moan.
Fucking blasphemy. A King shouldn’t be that well-endowed. I’d thought his badder-than-all personality was merely compensating for something.
I waswrong.
I hooked a thumb in the waist of his pants and tried to push down.
I would let him take me.
“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he groaned between us.
I shook my head and tried to recapture his lips. I would tell him no such thing.
One moment I was above him, the next I’d been flipped onto my back. Dark vines peeled my breeches from me, and I gasped. I felt exposed and my hands moved to cover myself, but his Shadows were faster. They pinned my arms to the chaise cushion.
“Open your legs, Sybilla,” Krait commanded.
I’d never followed an order so fast in my life.
He hooked a finger in my undergarments and pulled them to one side and let out a satisfied hum when he saw the evidence of my arousal, slick against my thighs. I panted and watched him kneel in front of the chaise before he placed my legs over his shoulders.
My brain no longer had the reins. Instead, every nerve hummed for his touch. I saw his intent to taste me in his eyes as he took me in and pushed up my tunic with one hand. His gaze roved up to my breasts before trailing back down to where I burned for him most. He licked his lower lip.
“Krait,” I gasped. “That isn’t how heirs are made.”
He smirked and said, “This is exactly how heirs are made. And if you insist on opening your mouth still, then all I want to hear is you screaming all those filthy words you love so much.”
Then his mouth was on me. His tongue parted my seam and worked against my sex as though it were an instrument he was skilled in playing. I cried out, unable to stop my hand from grabbing a fistful of his dark hair.
No duty to the world edged me onward now. All I could think of was how good I felt as he pressed two fingers inside of me, how frantic I was to have even more of him.
My back arched, and my hands clawed at the leather cushions as he continued to work me until I was cursing as he’d told me to.
Sources. I’d never reached a peak this quickly.
“Fuck, Krait. I’m going to…”
Krait answered by curling his fingers and sucking, and then my eyes snapped closed, head thrown against the chaise. The noise that left my body didn’t sound human as my release reached a crescendo.
I felt light. I could’ve floated to the ceiling as I pulsed around his fingers. He returned my feet to the floor with gentleness and nipped at the skin just above my navel. The weight of his head rested below my wildly beating heart, and I felt a contented growl rumble in his throat.
A feminine gasp from the stairway interrupted us, and I crashed down from the height of my pleasure.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” Elsedora repeated with each hurried footstep she took back up the stairs.
“She saw us…she saw. Oh, fucking Sources. Get up,” I demanded, though my body made no move against him. He didn’t budge at first, remaining still with closed eyes and a feral sort of drunken expression. When he moved off me and sat on the chaise beside me, I quickly pulled up my breeches. He leaned back against the bookshelf and gently banged his head a few times as though scolding himself.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
The weight of his internal panic and guilt alarmed me.
Elsedora had already ascended the steps, and we were left there alone—panting, wanting. He was still aroused; theevidence of his need bulged in his linen pants. And he hated himself for it.
