Page 64 of The Poison Princess and the Lord of Misrule

He thrusts his hand between us, shifting me as he unfastens his belt, the tie of his breeches coming undone next, and it stirs an unwanted flush of heat low in my belly.

In a few quick moves, he has himself removed from the confines of his pants, and his hand up my skirt. “Stop, Aldric—” My plea is cut short by the feel of his fingers—rough and possessive—hooking beneath the seat of my undergarments and dragging the barrier of material aside.

I feel him then, hard and pulsing, beneath me, as hegrips the curve of my hip and thrusts me down onto him. His releases a deep groan, a string of muttered oaths dropping from his mouth between us. He brings my linked wrists over his head, linking my arms around his neck.

“I may not get your smiles,” he says, voice a dark rasp, “but I get your moans. The lovely sounds you make for me that no one else can bring to your lips. And I want them. Right now. Let me hear what’s mine, Seravyn.”

“I can’t…” I bite my bottom lip the moment he fills me completely, the fullness of him cutting me short. I can’t help but roll my hips, and a heated avowal slips free. “Curses, I loathe you?—”

But, as he drives up inside me, forcing my head to fall back, I can’t think of being anywhere else, doing anything else.

My body is still oversensitive from last night, and he makes a study of every nerve ending. He yanks the laces of my bodice loose, forcing the collar down, my breast spilling into his palm.

“Never hide these beautiful tits from me, love.” Then his mouth surrounds my nipple, tongue flicking the bud, teeth nipping to draw another soft cry from my throat.

Embers liquify in my veins, heat flaring beneath my skin, as he bounces me on his cock. My nails dig into the back of his neck, finding purchase as his hands grip my hips and rocks me faster and harder against him. Pleasure tightens my muscles as I grind back against him, chasing the deliciousbuilding ache.

This fire searing between us blazes—hate and loathing, melding with dangerous attraction—combusting into an inferno.

And I no longer worry if it’s wrong, or shameful—only that my body answers to his, every guiding rock and thrust of his hips as he spears deeper inside me, meeting every demand as pleasure mounts, peaks.

“Goddess divine.”

His groan mingles with a filthy oath. “Say my name, Seravyn. I want my name on your lips. Your eyes on me as I make you come on my cock.”

My eyes snap open, finding the ice in his set ablaze, and I can’t stop myself from melting. “Aldric, yes…” And it makes him wild.

His hand shifts to my throat, his thumb settling over my pulse. “Beg, love. Tell me how badly you need me.”

“Please,” I rasp out between moans. “Please, fuck me…harder. I do need you.”

Satisfaction curls his mouth into a beautifully smug smile, and then he’s giving me exactly what I need. His muscles flex in his forearms, his jaw tightens, and he keeps those blue flames on me as he thrusts up into me in a frantic, unforgiving pace.

My spine arches, his chest rubbing against my breasts each time he slams into me, setting off a riot of sparks beneath my flesh. Then his thumb is stroking my clit, getting me closer with each brutal thrust, hitting the ache inside me so deep?—

“That’s it, love. Fuck, that’s it, come for me. I want to feel you break.”

His command reaches deep, and my body obeys. I shatter around him, his name on my lips like a prayer, my body rolling in rippling waves, chasing the unbearable pleasure over the cliff until I’m spent.

Aldric drops his mouth to the curve of my neck, his fingers digging into my thighs as he drags me harder against him, his cock spearing impossibly deeper as he grows harder, until he growls against my skin, his teeth puncturing my flesh, and he’s pulsing deep inside me with his release.

Our motions slow, even as he’s still working my hips, his own jerking beneath—the last of his pleasure wrung from him in flinching shivers. I feel him, hot and wet, slipping against my inner thighs.

Our breathing is heavy between us. We stay like this a moment more, our pulses slowing, our bodies slackening. When he pulls back a measure to meet my eyes, something guarded is held there in his gaze. There for a flash before his smug smile tips into place.

“I still loathe you,” I say.

He chuckles, and I feel it deep between my hips. “Loathe me like that every day,” he says. “At least a few times more today, and I will let you spit in my mouth and call me your whore, my love.”

Furious, I tug my bodice up and demand he free me, and he does, pushing the chair back and allowingme to escape.

I movethrough the rest of the day in a daze, feeling as though I’ve slipped into a different realm entirely.

I mask my features as best I can. It’s the only thing my mother’s training was ever truly for—the art of wearing a serene face over a body at war with itself.

I receive the court’s congratulations. I accept the Threnmere delegation’s formal well-wishes, my father’s men who will carry word home that the princess is wed and the alliance sealed, debt paid. I let the seamstresses fuss. I let the chamberlain prattle on.

And all the while, beneath the mask, I feel raw.