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Everything has changed. There’s still a lingering fear that this could all be taken away from me in the blink of an eye—by Mihal or Vivvy or the remaining mortal kings. But to give into fear, to let it control me… Never again.
This bed is large enough to fit four bodies side-by-side without anyone touching. I settle into the middle and allow myself to take up as much space as I want, snuggling under the covers as the sun crests the horizon and turns the sea into a blanket of diamonds.
I smooth my hands across the duvet cover and shut my eyes, willing my mind to slow.
It doesn’t.
I sigh.
Your restlessness is keeping me awake too, tiny monster.
His words stir a different sort of restlessness throughout my body.
Then help me fall asleep, I think back at him.
A low chuckle. With pleasure.
An electric giddiness courses through me as I wait as patiently as I can for the doors to my suite to swing open, for Quill’s powerful frame to crawl into my bed, for his—
Where are your hands? His voice is husky.
One traces the peak of my nipple as the other drifts across my belly and down to the apex of my sex, where it lingers. I squeeze my thighs together as desire burns hot in my core.
Are you dripping with need?
“Yes,” I murmur. “Yes, I’m drenched.”
Finger yourself, Rory, he commands. Pretend it’s my cock.
Parting my thighs, I slide my fingers through my slickness and dip them inside. Two fingers are not nearly enough to fill me and he knows it. But I do as I’m told, grinding against my hand as if it’s his lap. The lack of a heart beating in my chest and hitching of my breath is unsettling in this fantasy, so I imagine that too. A flush in my cheeks, the breath catching in my throat as his teeth graze the delicate skin there.
A moan slips out of me.
Do not come. Not until I say so.
His demand is nearly my undoing as I arch off the bed.
“Are you touching yourself, Quill?” I pant into the sunlit room.
He answers with a groan.
“Show me,” I beg.
Intrusive thoughts of his fingertips skating across my skin flitter into my mind. Immediately, my sex aches to be filled by more than my fingers, by more than my imagination.
Quill opens his mind to me, and I watch through his eyes as he spits onto his hand and wraps it around his thick cock, pumping harder and harder. I match his rhythm, but it’s not enough. My fingers are soaked as I work myself, edging closer and closer to relief.
My hand is nothing compared to your tight heat, he growls, or that perfect mouth of yours.
His pumps are faster now, and I can barely keep up. My knees are trembling as I cling to the image he’s showing me, but I want more.
Fuck, Rory.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I gasp.
Another gate opens as he fists himself. Thoughts flit through my mind in tender fragments. My face, my lips, my tongue. The fragrant scent of a field of wildflowers on a warm sunny day. The softness of my skin gliding under his fingertips. Words follow—beautiful, unexpected, mine.
Mine mine mine.
