Chapter 14
Curled upon the divan, I stared sleepily at two new paintings of me.
Well, one was definitely of me taking a nap. I was almost certain the other one was me, too. But I couldn’t be sure when the portrait of my sex was perhaps only a little more than half finished.
I dipped a finger into the glass of water Brey had placed by the divan, then sucked it. “Is that work in progress of me, Majesty?”
Brey went wholly still where he sat on the floor before drawling, “Do I need to get accustomed to being insulted as soon as you open those bewitching eyes?”
“You do.”
A low chuckle rid the tension from his frame. “I was hoping to finish before you woke, and if you caught me…” He crossed his legs and tossed me a roguish smile over his shoulder. “Well, that you wouldn’t mind.”
“Perhaps I should,” I said. “But I don’t.”
In fact, I was rather flattered. Also strangely grateful for a more intimate glimpse at myself. There was only so much I could see, and I wasn’t exactly flexible.
Tilting his head at the canvas, Brey sighed wistfully. “It’s the most magical thing I have ever had the pleasure of seeing.” A pause, then he added, “And touching and tasting.”
I snorted. Trailing a finger over the velvet near my curled arm, I said, “One night, I would like you to tell me if that’s still true.”
Again, Brey tensed. “I’m quite certain I don’t know what you mean.”
“But you do know.” I didn’t care to phrase it delicately when it was simply a fact. “Very few of the born treat marriage like others do. It’s expected that we will take lovers. Sometimes even multiple.”
The king’s response was as stiff as his broad shoulders. “I will confess to noticing such things.”
“During your years of spying?”
He hummed in confirmation. Slowly, he looked over at me. His surprisingly stern gaze sank into mine and seared. “That won’t be us, lethal.”
I laughed out, “Brey, you don’t know what I will choose yet, and I’m sure once you’ve had a taste—”
“That will not be us.” Cold conviction laced every word.
Shocked, I just stared at him. A strange warmth flooded my chest.
As his expression softened, I moved my arm to place my head on my hand. “And what makes you so sure?” It was all I could manage to ask—the only words the odd sensation that had invaded my chest would allow.
Bewilderment twisted his features. “Because the very thought sickens me, and I would like to think that you wouldn’t want that—”
“What we want and what happens are nearly always different things, Majesty.”
Brey sat perfectly still for some moments. I thought he wouldn’t respond.
Then he rose, graceful and flexing his hands. “I can understand where such pessimism comes from, yet it almost seems as if you want me to fulfill these expectations.” Barefoot, he strode to the divan to gaze down at me with eerie intensity. “Why?”
“Brey, you are the king.”
“Why, Ethel?”
I didn’t like this—lying here trapped beneath the scrutiny of his vibrant eyes. Mostly, I didn’t like being forced to do something I did not wish to. I sat up and muttered, “What I want is irrelevant.”
“Ethel.”
I reached for the glass of water on the floor. He watched as I took my time drinking half of it, then as I set it back down.
Annoyed by his persistence, I glared up at him. “You’re being ridiculous.”
He collected some of my hair. Twining the maroon strands around his paint-smudged finger, he murmured, “That may be something you need to get accustomed to.” Noting my frown, he quirked his lips. “For you, I fear I’ll be whatever I must.”
I stared.
He stared back.
Those words—darkness, just having his undivided attention—both excited and unnerved. My chest cinched as if I were wearing a corset. My heart seemed to thud against my sternum, steady and slow.
Starved yet snarling.
To combat the conflicting feelings, I wrangled my lips into a coy smile. “And what do you want to be right now?” With a flutter of my lashes, I reached up to caress his inner wrist and added, intentionally breathy, “Majesty.”
He continued to gaze down at me with that intensity in his eyes, and I knew. I knew he saw right through me. But he gave me a feline smile. “A great many things, lethal.”
“Oh?” I slid my teeth over my lower lip. “Care to share some of these things?”
“I’m willing to consider it.” His thumb glossed my hair, then he released it to touch my chin. Gently, he tipped it. “If you’re willing to share something with me.”
I braced.
He grinned. “Fear not. I wish only for something small.”
“Such as?”
“Anything you’re willing to give, really.” Casual words. Almost detached.
Yet I knew that although he’d relented, this game—his desire to dig into the sludge of my reservations—had only just begun.
His finger stroked as he drew away to take a seat beside me on the divan, where he watched me with unblinking focus.
Fine.
If he wanted a truth, then I would give him one that might get me something I wanted. Something I wished to do plenty of during my stay here.
I tucked my legs under me and shifted close.
Close enough to kiss him so softly, it was hardly a kiss at all. My nose grazed his, and I whispered, “Can I kiss you, Majesty?”
“Whenever you like.”
I smiled, then kissed him properly—so firm it was bruising. Punishing.
But rather than curse or retreat, the king cupped the back of my head. He kissed me just as hard, a growled purr rumbling in his throat.
My desire to wound him was quickly smothered by the overwhelming need to enjoy him. To take his taste and swallow it deep. To learn the shape of his lips with my own until I struggled to draw breath.
I moaned and melted against him.
Breathing hard, I lay my forehead on his as my finger swept over his upper lip. I traced the perfect petal shape, then licked it as if I were the fucking cat.
“More,” Brey said when I eased back. His hand moved to my jaw and cheek, urging me close. “Adore me half as much as I adore you.”
Warmth returned to my chest.
I climbed onto his lap and straddled him, then squashed his mouth with mine. I kissed him so hard it surely hurt. So softly that his chest rose and fell in violent heaves and he held my waist with squeezing force.
I kissed him until he began to buck into my core—until I was certain it was time to give him this small truth he wanted.
“Majesty.” Again, I placed my forehead on his. “I’m ready to share something.”
Beneath heavy lashes, he gazed at me. Waiting.
“I’m glad you’ve never had sex before.” I rocked over him, and he hissed. Then I admitted, “Excited, even.”
“Is that so?”
Biting my lip, I nodded once.
Arousal thickened his question. “How excited?”
“So excited that I fear I cannot wait much longer.” I kissed his cheek. “I simply must know what you feel like inside me.”
An inhale was pulled between his teeth.
At his ear, I whispered, “May I find out?”
“You needn’t ask. Take what you want whenever you want it.” Turning his head, he kissed the corner of my mouth, then rasped, “I fucking beg of you.”
Ruthless heat seared through me. My thighs clenched his.
He squeezed my hips again—so tight, I became even more aroused. I leaned back and reached between us to free his cock. Before I could touch his pants, Brey stood, and I clung to him as he descended the stairs to his bedchamber.
There, he lowered me to my feet. He did so slowly, ensuring my body stayed against his. A rough murmur was given to my ear, his nose nudging my hair. “Turn around, lethal.”
I didn’t want to leave the heat of him. But wanting to know his intentions, I did as I was told.
Gently, he gathered my hair. His fingers brushed my collarbone, lingering as he carefully placed the strands over my shoulder. Warmth met the back of my neck.
My eyes fluttered.
His mouth dragged to my exposed throat, where it stayed while he took his time undoing the clasps of my gown. As his fingers skimmed the skin of my back, his fangs grazed my neck.
Withholding a shiver, I stared longingly at his rumpled bedsheets.
My bodice soon gaped. Before I could wriggle free of it, Brey swept his hands up my bare arms. Gooseflesh rose in their wake. A stuttered breath fled me when he kissed my shoulder. His hands reached the puff sleeves that now hung halfway down my arms.
Then, ever so gently, he pulled them.
The rigid material slipped down my chest, exposing my breasts to the balmy air. My nipples immediately hardened. I shook my hands out of the sleeves, and the abundance of crimson collapsed in a pile on the carpet, caging my feet.
“Your turn,” I whispered.
“Not yet.” His voice had that rough edge I’d learned accompanied his arousal. A hand met my stomach, fingers curling over the soft and fleshy area. Another kiss was placed upon my shoulder. “You are a dream I wish to have every time I close my eyes.”
A twinge in my chest faltered my breathing.
His hand moved higher. Beneath my breast, his fingers spread. “May I?”
That twinge returned—more of a pinch now. It made me toss his earlier words back at him. “You needn’t ask.” Yet my tone was not as scathing as I’d intended.
As soon as his hand covered my breast, he inhaled sharply. The sound, and his gentle grasp, evoked a shiver I couldn’t suppress. He felt it and asked, “Good?”
“Yes,” I exhaled.
He kissed me again. This time, at the curve of my throat as his thumb brushed my nipple. With a rasped groan, his other hand crossed my stomach, then descended toward my sex.
My thighs opened wider in invitation.
He didn’t hesitate. His middle finger glided through me, opening me. Again, he groaned, squeezing my breast as that finger rubbed back and forth. Each time he encountered my clit, it swelled.
Noticing, he gently pressed the pad of his finger against it. “I want to lick you.”
I moaned from the touch and the mere thought of his mouth on me.
“Get on the bed, lethal.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I crawled across the sheets and flopped onto my back. Peering over at him, I ran my fingers through my hair.