The Alien’s Vicious Starflash Manor (Empire of Frost and Flame #2)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

IVRAEL

I n the gallery, I pull away from our kiss for a moment.

I know there’s no way she could ever want me as much as I want her. Not after all the ways I’ve already betrayed her.

But I’m willing to accept whatever she’ll give me in this moment.

Or whatever I can take.

Power surges through me as I snap the ribbons taut, savage satisfaction coursing through my veins when she gasps.

Her wrists slam against the wall above her head, bound by my will. Such delicate restraints for such precious cargo.

I could hold her there with pure magic, but the ribbons... the ribbons let me feel every tremor, every instinctive pull against my control.

She arches into me, a whimper caught in her throat. I claim it with my mouth, drinking down her surrender to her desire for me even as my ice magic crackles through the chamber. The temperature plummets. Frost blooms beneath my feet in crystalline patterns, spreading outward like the waves of desire radiating through my core.

Let it spread. Let her see exactly what she does to my control.

Her pulse races beneath my lips—a frantic, fluttering thing. So fragile.

So susceptible to monsters.

And there are so many monsters in my domain. In the cemeteries. In the woods.

And in Starfrost Manor, in the gallery with her right now.

I scrape my teeth against her thundering pulse point, and her moan vibrates through me, sharp as lightning. My hands find her hips, fingers digging in just shy of bruising as I pull her harder against me.

Mine. The word pounds through my blood with each savage beat of my heart.

She fights the ribbons even as she melts into me, that maddening combination of submission and defiance that makes my power surge, my cock throb and ache.

My kiss turns brutal, claiming, conquering.

She matches me beat for beat, the response she offers in her own kiss challenging me even as she yields to my onslaught.

Such spirit. Such fire. It calls to something primal in me, something that wants to break her defiance.

Her needy whimpers vibrate against my lips as I trail searing kisses down the pale column of her throat. Her wrists strain against the bonds holding them aloft, helpless and at my mercy.

My frost magic, cold and dark, courses through my veins, tightening my grip on her soft form.

“Please,” she gasps again, arching into my touch even as she resists the ribbons of power ensnaring her. The fight in her inflames my desire, stoking the primal need to conquer and claim.

With a savage wrench, I tear the flimsy blue silk of her new court gown away from her heaving breasts. The rosy peaks draw me in, and I capture one of them hungrily between my lips, swirling my tongue around the stiffened bud. Lara cries out, the sound anguished ecstasy as she writhes against me.

I will break her and remake her.

Shatter her defenses until she has no choice but to surrender everything to me—body, mind and soul.

I will make her beg for the torment only I can give her, the darkness only I can show her.

My teeth close around the tender nub, scraping across it. Lara shudders and mewls, trapped between torment and bliss.

“You can’t resist me, princess,” I rasp against her breast.

My hand, cold and unrelenting, glides down the plush curve of her stomach, slipping beneath the pooling ruins of her gown. The warmth that radiates from her core is an irresistible beacon.

I need to feel her slick heat enveloping me again.

“No, please, Ivrael,” she whimpers, but her words are laced with longing.

I smile to myself, knowing that her defiance is crumbling. My fingers brush along the crease of her thigh, the barest touch setting her aflame.

“Yield to me,” I purr in her ear, my voice a winter’s breeze.

Her reply is a strained gasp as my fingers delve further, the barest tip of my index finger finding the slippery folds between her thighs. She is slick, so slick, the scent of her arousal intoxicating me like the sweetest nectar.

“Say it,” I demand, my voice harsh with need. “Say that you want me.”

For a moment, she hesitates, her body trembling under my ministrations.

But then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she surrenders.

“I want you,” she moans, the admission shattering whatever defenses remained.

Soaked with her scent, I trail my fingers down her trembling thighs, savoring the gooseflesh that ripples on her skin in my wake. Frost tendrils dance on her heated flesh, kindling a fire hotter than any mere flame could evoke. The contrast mocks me, as irresistible as it is infuriating.

“You are mine now, Lara,” I snarl against her neck, nipping at the soft column of her throat.

As I move my mouth to her other breast, I slide my hand back up her thigh and slip one finger, then two, deep inside her molten core. She is so tight, so wet, her sheath clenching around my digits like she never wants to let go. A low groan rumbles up from my chest as I plunge in and out, stroking her silken walls, the inferno of her desire searing my icy fingers.

In this moment, there is only her and the power I hold over her. Her heat and need intertwined with the cold bite of my touch.

The dance of ice and flame.

“Ivrael...” Lara moans my name like a forbidden prayer. “No...you can’t. Don’t.”

But her body betrays her, her hips rocking instinctively to meet my thrusts, grinding against me in invitation.

“I can. I will.” My thumb finds the sensitive pearl at the apex of her cleft, circling it slowly, relentlessly, even as my fingers continue their carnal assault on her quivering depths. “Don’t fight it, my princess. Let go.”

I capture her nipple between my teeth again, nothing gentle about my bite this time. Lara keens, a despairing, ecstatic sound, and I feel a fresh rush of liquid heat coat my hand.

So responsive. So ripe for fucking.

My cock throbs almost painfully against my breeches, pulsing in time with the flutter of her pussy around my fingers.

The clash of our bodies is pure, elemental instinct. I want to feel that searing warmth sheathing my shaft, those slick walls rippling along my length as I pound into her.

But not yet. First I will shatter her utterly with my hands and mouth. Make her climax again and again until she is sobbing with the force of it.

Only when she is thoroughly broken will I finally allow myself to?—

“Ivrael!” Her fingernails claw into my back, her body arching. “God, Ivrael, please!” Her hips buck wildly, grinding herself against my relentless touch.

I step up the pressure, pistoning my fingers mercilessly inside her molten core, imbuing them with just a breath of frost. The contrast sends her over the edge, and she explodes around me, crying out my name on a strangled gasp.

Her inner muscles spasm around my digits, tightening like a vice, and the feel of her orgasm travels up my spine like molten lava. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to fuck her against the wall, right then.

Panic seizes me as I feel her squirming, wriggling to escape my grip. The wall beneath her back shudders and cracks, and I know she’s trying to use her power against me, to escape. Her eyes, which a moment ago were glazed with lust, now burn with defiance.

“No! Stay still, damn you!” I slam my hips forward, trying to pin her in place, but she is surprisingly strong for such a small creature.

In the end, her struggles allow her to slide down the wall, if not away from it, and I feel my soaked fingers slip out of her slick pussy as she drops down to the floor.

Her soft curves kneel before me, trembling under my icy gaze. A primal hunger surges through my veins as I take in the sight of her on her knees before me.

“Lara,” I warn, my chest heaving, fury and desire warring within me.

Her wrists are still pinned back against the wall.

But even her ability to slide down shows a loss of my own magical control.

I reach down and fist my hand in her silken hair, roughly tugging her head back. Her neck arches as she gasps, baring her throat to me in submission.

“Do you realize what you’re begging me for?” I demand, my voice a low growl.

Her wide eyes meet mine, equal parts fear and desperate longing. The same one that burns through my veins.

“Yes.” Her voice is a harsh whisper as she strains forward, her wrists still pinned against the wall, and runs her cheek across my breeches.

“Is this what you want?” My voice is hoarse with need. “To be at my mercy?”

To submit to my dominance?

Her gaze locks with mine, and in those depths, I see the answer to my question.

I could order her directly, could demand instant obedience. Could have her disciplined if she refused me.

The power of generations of noble privilege colors every moment between us, condensed into the simple fact that no one in my domain would dare question my right to demand anything of her.

To force her to even this.

I could break her. Could use my power, my position, to shatter that spirit into compliance. The thought sends ice crackling across my skin, magic surging with dark potential.

I want... I need…

I tell myself I need to break the wildness in her, to make her submit fully to my will. Yet each small act of rebellion makes my blood sing with something dangerously close to pride.

It’s a delicate dance we perform, this push and pull of power.

I’ve watched too many nobles break their servants’ spirits with such commands, seen the hollow shells left behind. The way their eyes go dull and distant.

The thought of the fire in her gaze being extinguished makes my chest tighten with something uncomfortably close to pain.

No, I realize.

I want her to choose me. Want to see that defiant spirit bend, not break. Want her surrender to be given freely, not taken by force of title or tradition.

The intensity of this desire unbalances me, makes me question motives I thought were carved in ice. The thought of her coming to me by choice, of her own accord, burns hotter than any desire to force her compliance.

Because true power lies in her willing submission—in earning her mouth wrapped around my cock rather than demanding it.

And yet, the fact that I want her willing submission rather than her forced obedience is an alarming weakness, one I cannot afford.

These thoughts are dangerous—for both of us. I have a duty to my world, my people. Her role in my plans must remain clear. Yet with each passing day, the lines between captor and captive, between duty and desire, grow increasingly blurred.

The ice in my veins wars with the heat her kneeling ignites.

I’ve spent years crafting this mask of cold nobility, yet she makes me want to shatter it with my own hands. To show her the fire that burns beneath my frozen exterior.

The vulnerability in that desire terrifies me more than any loss of control.

And even as she kneels, power pulses between us, magnetic and dangerous.

So again I ask her, my voice scraped raw by emotion, “Do you understand what you are begging for, princess?”