Kennedy (Council Assassins #19)

Chapter Ten

Ariella

The forest’s damp chill seeps into my bones, every step a reminder that this journey is dragging on far longer than it should. My patience, already wearing thin, feels more like a raw nerve.

This was supposed to be simple: find the Palmluvela, secure their help, and leave. But nothing about this journey has gone as planned—something I should expect by now, it seems. Days have passed, and they remain as elusive as ever. I catch myself glancing through the mist, half-expecting to see an imperceptible movement among the trees. But the only persistent presence is the one I need a break from. I did not realize how difficult it is to spend every second of your life next to someone.

And it’s not even Caspian getting under my skin, it’s me. I keep repeating what he said over and over, unwilling, and the damned thoughts will not rest. I need a break from me and my fucking head.

Caspian’s boots crunch on fallen leaves behind me, the sound grating on my nerves like nails on glass. His steps are steady, casual, as if he’s taking a stroll through a garden instead of an overrated forest. The bastard has impeccable self-regulating capabilities. Every little noise he makes—his sighs, the clearing of his throat—feels like a deliberate attempt to irritate me. I doubt he’s foolish enough to play such games, though.

“Are you always this restless?”

he asks, breaking the silence with the same ease he’s shattered a dozen others.

I ignore him, pretending to focus on the path ahead. Silence used to be my ally—a weapon I welcomed with open arms and sharpened over years of training. But around Caspian, it feels like surrender.

“You could try talking to me about that storm raging inside your head, you know. It might make the time pass faster…or at least quiet the noise a bit.”

His voice is light, but I can hear the taunting edge in it. And still, I ignore him. “Ouch. And here I thought you enjoyed my company, angel.”

He almost sounds hurt—which I also neglect to acknowledge because something deep inside me snaps.

“I don’t know what the fuck you want, Caspian!”

I shout, clenching my fists to keep from ripping his tongue out. I whirl to face his tired eyes; not the same tired as when I found him in the library, but more like bone-exhaustion. I can relate. “You may call me your guard to those who wander the castle, but you are not my keeper. I do not owe you my time, and I especially do not owe you any part of my body, including my mouth.”

I realize my mistake the moment I speak it.

The prince smirks, humming to himself. “Shame, I do love that mouth of yours.”

My eyes hold his as he approaches, refusing to stray even when his head tilts and he peruses my lips with the same hunger I feel in myself. It should be impossible to want to fuck him and kill him at the same time.

How does he manage to burrow under my skin so effortlessly? If anyone else dared speak to me in the manner he does, their bodies would no longer have heads. My jaw clenches. His playful banter rivals even Isaiah’s, though the latter knew when to stop his advances.

There were so many times growing up that Isaiah would taunt me, watching just how far he could push me before I lunged for his throat. It may have angered me at first, but I grew to enjoy the back and forth. I never did tell him as much, though. Truthfully, I allowed him to see how upset it made me, as he would eventually relent and offer me one free hit of my choosing.

I usually chose his dick. I would rear my body back and send my leg forward as hard as I could, knocking him several feet away. He may have been my best friend, but he was a pompous ass and he knew it. Maybe he didn’t deserve the exhilarated force I put into those kicks, but he shouldn’t have kept offering.

It was years later before I realized just what Isaiah’s intentions were with the relentless antagonizing. I’d been on an assignment—taking out someone who thought he’d been successful in stealing from his employer—when the realization struck. The man shouted vulgar names at me, as they do, and instead of my blade already being inches deep into his throat, I stood un-moving and watched him squirm when he didn’t get a reaction from me.

Patience, Ari.

Two words I’d heard from Isaiah almost every day for years, and until that moment, I didn’t notice how he ceased repeating them months prior. It may have been foolish for him to test me so often, but his methods were effective. I gained a deeper respect for my friend that day—just before I sliced the throat of my target.

But that was Isaiah. The prince does not seem to hold the same intentions as he pinches my chin and forces my dazed eyes back to his. His smirk grows with whatever he sees on my face, and I’m certain he’s about to increase his taunts.

“Do you have a death wish?”

I spit, venom prevalent in my tone. He opens his mouth to speak, but my fingers close the distance between us to scrunch his lips together. “I am in no mood for your petty games, Caspian. Go annoy the trees if you are that bored; or, better idea, shut the fuck up.”

His dark lashes lower over increasingly playful irises, and my eyes roll as I shove his head back and spin to stalk away.

I squeal—squeal—when a hand wraps around my throat and yanks me back into a distractingly hard chest. My fingers itch to reach for the prince’s grip, though I force them to still. He’s not squeezing enough to cut off my air, but just enough that my lips part to compensate.

If I’m honest with myself for just a moment, I am intrigued. His hold is not malicious, nor does the bulge against my backside indicate he means harm…no, his grip is carnal. Possessive.

“I don’t think so, angel,”

he breathes as soft lips graze my left ear. His free hand slides around my waist, flattening against my abdomen before fusing my back to his chest. My body’s reaction is immediate, threatening to melt under his rapt attention.

Fuck, the things this man does to me shouldn’t be possible.

“You want to try that again? Or should I just punish you right now for being so fucking frustrating the last few days?”

I shift, chuckling at his words. “Punish me? As if I’d ever let you do such a thing.”

I would, but the cocky bastard behind me does not need to know that.

I bite my top lip—hard—when he presses the lightest kiss just under my ear. I cannot hold myself still much longer, and if he continues…

“Somehow I don’t think you letting me would be the problem,”

he remarks. His hand squeezes harder, a barely perceptible movement.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

My eyes roll when he smiles against my neck. “You may still act as though I do not affect you, lying effortlessly through your teeth and solidifying that blank mask on your face. But your body cannot deceive, angel. I feel the effort it takes for you to swallow each time I kiss you here.”

He provides an example, and I am no longer aware of anything outside the scorching places our bodies connect. “I feel how your pulse increases the more I touch you. How you’re trying so hard to breathe normally, but fail to suppress the rapid rise and fall of your chest. A cute effort, really, but pointless.”

The hand on my stomach drags so fucking slowly up and up until it reaches my chin, pulling my head to the side so that my eyes meet his. “I bet you’re already dripping for me. Shall we find out?”

I shiver as his fingers trail down between my breasts, over my abdomen before hooking just under my shirt to reach the top of my pants. I tense as one finger inches under the hem, and he drags it languidly across the slick skin, remaining under the fabric but never venturing lower. As if he isn’t at all affected by this, while the loud beating of my heart rivals the sounds of the forest.

Caspian’s lips press against my ear as he removes one finger from his grip on my throat to caress the delicate space above my airway—a reminder of the power he holds. So much more than the physical piece of me under his hands.

He knows it, though I will never admit it.

But the cocky fucking bastard chuckles as if I expressed every thought out loud and presses on my lower abdomen until the ridiculously hard length of him is the only thing I can feel.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed, Ari,”

he placates in a teasing manner as the flat of his hand drifts toward my center. “I know you can feel that I want you just as badly. More, if we’re being truthful.”

“You’ve no Angel-damned idea what you’re talking about. The day I want you is the day I decide to never pick up a blade again.”

His hand pauses its exploration, and I almost regret letting the lies slip from between my lips.

Almost.

“You don’t, huh?”

His hold on my throat tightens. “I suppose I will just stop touching you, then. My apologies, angel.”

The fingers on my abdomen trail back up, and fuck me. I know I shouldn’t give in or fall for his ridiculous taunting—but I do. His smile grows wide when I move to grip his wrist, stopping it from abandoning its original path.

No one—no one—has ever made me feel the way he does. I want to fight it. Push against his every advance until he’s sick of pining for me.

I want to shove him so far away from me that there’s no chance he could burrow inside my heart and break me from the isolation I’ve thrived in for so many years.

But I know that would be a fool’s mission. He’s already carved a place for himself, and fuck if I don’t want to give him so much more.

And yet, how can I? It would ruin everything that I have worked for. To let him in fully—to let myself change—would be to lose focus of what we’re here to do. Right? It would be impractical to feel so deeply for him.

It would mean I’ve failed.

I do not need feelings for this, though. I can allow him to pleasure me in the ways we both so desperately want without crossing that hazy line I drew between our hearts.

So I give in.

My head falls to his shoulder, and he curses under his breath as he feels my body sink into his—submitting to him. It’s as if he cannot hold back any longer, shoving his hand the remaining distance to my slick heat. We both groan at the same time.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”

I do not have a moment to respond before he slips from my pants and uses his grip on my throat to twist and shove me back into a tree. A small sound of surprise escapes me, and he smirks before reaching under my clothing once more, circling the arousal that has been infuriating me since we left the castle.

His lips run down my jaw as he releases my throat and continues on, kissing the exposed skin. He pauses at the same spot his teeth almost sank into the last time, and a small whimper falls from my lips.

“Don’t worry,”

he says as his mouth finds mine for a brief moment. “I’ll take care of you.”

I gasp when he pushes three fingers into me. The burn from his stretching is utterly exquisite, and I’m so on edge that my shaking hands snap to his wrist.

“It’s too much…oh, shit,”

I groan into his mouth when his fingers curl and press against something delicious. He grabs my leg and pulls it over his hip, giving him far more access to my sensitive flesh.

“It’s okay, angel, you can take it,”

he mumbles against my lips before kissing me so passionately my head spins.

I can’t think. The world blurs, caught in this suffocating haze of lust and desperation. He drives me fucking mad, each thrust of his fingers igniting boundless sensation that claws at the edges of my sanity. The tree’s rough bark digs into my back, grounding me while he devours every gasp and moan spilling from my lips like secrets shared in the quiet of the night.

“Caspian…”

His name is a prayer, a curse—my plea for release, and my call for restraint. I want to push him away and pull him impossibly closer. Shove him to the farthest corners of my mind where no one has ever dared to tread, but he won’t allow it. He radiates warmth, and I find myself caught in this cruel paradox. His touch should be unbearable, yet here in the midst of this forest, it feels like salvation.

“Fuck, Ariella, you’re gripping me so good,”

he breathes against my mouth, the tension building far higher than I can comprehend. I mean to say I’m so close, but the words don’t make it past a fleeting thought as he presses his palm against my clit and I shatter. “That’s it. Take your pleasure, angel.”

I think my hand rips some of his hair out as I grip his head—though if it bothers him, he does everything but show it.

The waves of pleasure last for so long my vision blurs. Caspian continues to undulate his fingers even when I plead that it’s too sensitive, insistent on wringing out every bit of this orgasm he can.

I’m pissed that he’s so good at this.

But I’m also pleased that no one other than me will experience him in this way again.

His nose grazes mine as his hand slips from between us. The prince holds up his fingers, drowned in my arousal, up where we both can see, spreading them wide before his ravenous eyes hold me hostage. “I could live off the little noises you make right before you come, and the sweet fucking taste of your pleasure on my tongue.”

My jaw slackens as his index finger dips into his mouth. He leisurely pulls it out, sucking me from his skin and not once breaking our stare. I’ve never been so fucking turned on in my life.

I’m also particularly happy I decided to wash in a small lake earlier, despite that I just about met the Angel from freezing to death.

Something feral glimmers in his eyes. “Open,”

he demands, his tone stern. Fuck me, I cannot handle this side of him…because I’d obey his every command. Just as I do now, spreading my lips until a satisfied hum sounds from his chest. He shoves the next two fingers into my mouth and presses down on the back of my tongue, forcing me to hold in a gag. “Now clean up your mess.”