The Heir's Bargain (Of Fire and Lies)

Chapter 22

Fuck.

That was the only word that came to mind when Fynn”s eyes darkened. His fingers curled around my wrist, and he locked my arms above my head.

And for once, I didn”t care if I lost this fight. Not when Fynn was pressing hungry kisses across my jawline, down my neck, over my collarbone. With each kiss, a trail of fire raced over my skin, my worries burning to ash along with it.

This—whatever this was—was a fight I wanted to lose.

Fynn sat up, and my heart sank.

Because this had to have been it—the moment he realized the egregious mistake we were making.

But when his gaze met mine, I knew I was wrong. He hadn”t realized that. Because my friend was gone. Only a primal animal remained.

His hand hovered over the cotton waistband of his trousers, and a question flashed across his countenance.

”Are you. . .?”

”Am I?” I asked, the two words raw in my throat.

He swallowed, then cleared his throat. ”Are you taking anything to prevent?—?”

I stared up at him. His sudden shyness was enough to force a laugh from my lips. ”Yes, Fynn. I take a medicinal herb with my tea.” With my hands still restrained by his, I twisted my hips. ”Now, take them off.”

He blinked, and the shyness vanished. He took off his trousers, kicking them off his ankles and grabbing his cock in his hand, pumping it once.

My lips parted, a small gasp escaping.

I had felt him press against me, but seeing his length was something entirely different.

I snapped my gaze up to meet his. ”Are you simply going to play with yourself all night, Fynn?”

The corner of his lip quirked up. His teeth scraped across his bottom lip. ”As tempting as it would be for you to watch me beat off, I have other plans.”

Releasing his cock, he sunk lower. His fingers danced across the fabric of the slip, running up and down my ribcage, sending spikes of ice-cold shivers coursing through my body.

”Have I mentioned yet how much I love this slip?” His voice was low, hungry, and unlike any of his voices I was used to.

But I was rendered speechless as he pushed the slip up and over my hips, the fabric rubbing against my overly sensitive skin. Heat bloomed between my thighs. I should have felt self-conscious; I should have felt uncomfortable. But when he licked his lips, the hunger in his gaze palpable, the need between my thighs only increased.

”Gods, Dani, you are beautiful.”

My fingers dug deeper into his shoulders. It felt too intimate, too close. We were already crossing the line as it was. I had sex plenty of times before, but it was just sex and nothing more. During extended training camps, we had little time for anything else. It was quick and straightforward, not explorative. Not like this.

And it most definitely never felt as if we had been starved of each other for decades.

But right now, I was starving.

”Fynn,” I begged, raising my hips.

His head dropped, the fallen locks of hair hiding his features. He released my hands. Then, he was crawling up my body, his hand slipping between my legs. As he trailed his fingers up my inner thigh, my legs parted for him. He rubbed a finger over my clit. ”Shit, Dani,” he said.

”What happened to that royal vocabulary?”

Fynn huffed a laugh. ”No time for it when you feel like this.”

His lips met mine, and there was nothing sweet or light about this kiss. Not as he worked me, circling my sex. I released a strangled moan, unable to hold it back. He might not have been able to read my mind, but he found the rhythm and pattern I preferred quickly.

I arched, craving more of his touch.

This meant nothing, I told myself.

It was just two people blowing off steam?—

I groaned, my head pressing into the pillow. My nails dug into his shoulders as his fingers continued to work. He was already bringing me to the edge. ”I need?—”

He dipped a finger inside me and then pulled it out too soon. He spread the slickness around, teasing me, asking, ”You need what, Ferrios?”

Moaning, I squeezed my eyes shut. ”You.”

Chuckling, he rubbed his cock against my folds, circling me and driving me insane. When I thought I was going to have to beg again, he pushed the tip inside. He was gentle and slow and sweet. When he slipped his length out, I shivered and bucked my hips.

He forced me back down with a hand against my stomach. He leaned closer, his scruff brushing the side of my neck as he nibbled a spot beneath my ear. Another shiver raced down my spine as my back arched higher.

Chestnut hair fell in a halo around Fynn”s face, casting shadows across his features. ”Since you won”t bring your shields down for me, tell me, Ferrios, do you want it slow or hard?”

He slipped inside me, and at first, it was slow, but then he slammed the rest of his length into me. My back arched further, his breath hot against my throat.

”Hard.” The word was no more than a whisper on my tongue, but he heard it nevertheless.

And for once, the Crown Prince listened.

With the tip at my entrance, he thrust. He wasn”t sweet or gentle about it; he was rough and hard.

Because this was just sex. It wasn”t supposed to be gentle or loving.

We weren”t supposed to be taking our time or whispering sweet nothings into one another”s ears.

At that moment, we were not friends; we were not lovers. We were something else. And whatever we were, it wasn”t sweet, it wasn”t soft.

It was hard, fast, and quick.

Simple.

I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist, shifting the angle. He bit the tender spot behind my ear and picked up his pace. My hands dug into his hair, gripping his head as my other hand wrapped around his shoulder.

He pulled out, leaving just the tip in before thrusting. Hard. Again and again, hitting the back of me and driving my head further into the pillow. He grabbed my calf and lifted it over his shoulder.

My head tipped back, and a moan escaped as he stretched me.

”Tell me, Ferrios,” Fynn said, driving into me once before slipping out. He ran a hand across my leg, still lying on the bed. ”Has your training made you as stiff as you are outside this bed?”

”You tell me,” I said, but the words didn”t come out as snarky as I intended; instead, they were more like a plea.

Smirking, he tossed my other leg over his shoulder and bent me forward, folding me. ”That”s a good girl,” he said.

He slipped a hand between us. He found my clit with his thumb as he pushed inside of me.

A smack sounded, my hand hitting the wall.

”Gods above,” I hissed.

Fynn paused, his fingers digging into the side of my hip. His beard brushed against my chin. ”There are no gods here, Ferrios,” he said, his voice husky and sending a chill down my neck.

Something in me stirred when his voice went that low and turned that primal. The pit of my stomach filled with an untamable fire, roaring fiercely.

”Fynn, please.”

”What was that?” he asked, pausing.

My eyes sprung open. My hand flung out, wrapping my fingers around the back of his neck and pulling him closer. ”Fuck me, Fynn, or so help me?—”

I gasped, and my hands slapped against the wall as he slammed into me, again and again. We breathed in tandem as if our bodies were connecting on a higher level. Sweat coated my skin and his, but I no longer cared about the heat licking my skin. All I cared about was climbing over that edge with him. With his fingers wrapped around my ankle, his grip tightening, and his teeth scraping, then biting my ankle, I fell over the edge.

And Fynn fell with me.

It was at that exact moment when I didn”t know if we could be just friends after what we had just experienced. How could we revert to normal after our bodies connected and after I screamed his name as white stars filled the back of my eyes?

Fynn let my leg fall onto the bed. He leaned over, his teeth scraping the side of my neck and the stars spinning across the ceiling.

I had lied before. There was no way I was going to forget tonight.