He pointed at another, and then another, and another, telling her about a person who had died at his hand. “The rest…” He shrugged. “I don’t remember anymore who they are. They’re just battle tattoos, evidence of a trek or a raid completed, a life ended. And the scars? Proof I’m still alive.” Every muscle in his stomach rippled and tightened as he stalked closer.
She stared back, refusing to thank him for the explanation, or apologize for forcing it, though it felt like the polite thing to do.
“And the felanas?” His voice was low, just a murmur really. “They were Dillan’s wives. I inherited them along with the throne. They don’t matter to me. I don’t want them.” He trailed his thumb down to her bottom lip, taking her chin on his forefinger. “I want you. I choose you.”
She scoffed, but he only moved in closer.
“You matter to me.”
“You barely know me.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I know you.”
His other hand slid down her back, to cup her bottom. “I know how you like your eeffoc.”
He moved closer, so the hard planes of his bare chest had her sandwiched against the wall. He blocked out everything, the whole world, and all she saw was him and his big, warm chest. “I know how you like your bread in the morning.”
His lips coasted down her cheek. He fisted her dress, tugging it high. Fresh air teased against the bare skin of her bottom. “And how you murmur in your sleep. I know that you love flowers, and wish you’d known your mother, that you love your father even though you wish you didn’t. I know that you see beauty where everyone else sees gray. I know that you watch the holos because it’s proof of a love you wish you had again. I know that you’re strong and you fight, and you never give up. And you’re loyal to a fault, even if it’s misplaced at the moment. You hate being told what to do.”
Her eyes burned. He couldn’t know all that. She didn’t even know all that.
He teased the corner of her lips with his tongue, sliding his fingers through her hair, destroying her bun. “I know that you want me.”
Her lips parted, neck arching. Want him? Yes. It was dangerous, the wanting. Dangerous, and unreasonable, irrational, impossible. They didn’t belong together.
“And that you’re too stubborn to admit that you hated your cage of a life on Argentus.” He trailed his nose down the shell of her ear.
She’d lost control of her own breathing, the air shuddered in her lungs like she couldn’t get enough of it. “Th-th-that’s not true.” She’d had a whole future planned with Agammo.
“And I know you’re afraid of me and the way I make you feel.” He smiled. “If you let go of all your manners and teachings, you’ll see how right we are together.”
“N—”
He closed his mouth on hers. Soft at first. Like the faintest brush of a petal. And then stronger. Until it wasn’t soft at all, and kiss was too sensitive a word. Too dainty.
His lips conquered hers. His tongue invaded her mouth. His hands dominated her body, as unstoppable and irrefutable as a raging tide.
She couldn’t fight it. Or stop it.
She was caught in an explosion of clutching hands and heat. So much heat.
She moaned, and so did he. She tilted her head to the side, trying to get closer and so did he. She stroked his tongue with hers, and so did he. He seemed every bit as mad and wild as she.
It was as if they breathed for each other and there was no one else in the universe who could ever touch them.
The bare skin of his back was hot under her fingers, hot enough to burn, and if it did, it was worth it, just to be so close, even for a moment. All thoughts of Argentus melted away. Her body took over, and her brain shut down, and she clutched at him, trying to get him closer, trying to get inside him. She raked her fingers across his back, dug them in, clutching and pulling, to put her marks on him.
He growled into her mouth, and his enormous, hard hands closed on her bottom, lifting her up, pinning her against the wall. Her legs locked around his waist. He slid his hands up to capture her arms, pulling them over her head. So, she hung there, incapable of resistance. He caught her wrists in one hand, and with his other tore her dress down.
Buttons sprayed through the air, scattering across the floor, and her breasts burst free.
He groaned against her lips.
His mouth slid down her neck, to her ear. He caught the lobe between his teeth.
His hand worked its way up her skirt, a finger sliding inside, his thumb working a magical spell all its own. He knew her body far too well.
Those swirling fingers had her head lolling against the wall like a ragdoll. Hot. Too hot. She was a thousand degrees. She’d explode if he kept on swirling his thumb like that.
It was wrong, but it didn’t feel wrong at all. It felt like the best thing in the whole world.
He bit her neck, and all of it boiled down, everything condensed into a single, ripe pinprick of violent pleasure, and exploded outward. Her body convulsed around him. Shaking and shuddering and bucking.
She was moaning. Loudly. Gasping and panting and crying and not being the slightest bit civilized. He’d turned her into a beast again, and the windows were open, and she didn’t even care.
Let them hear.
Let every felana in the city hear, and know that no one touched
