21
Flare
Closer.
My pulse jolted in tune with the lightning. The prince glowered as if that word nauseated him. But since the feeling was mutual, we had nothing to worry about.
I could handle this. I could withstand his proximity for a moment.
On bended knees, I sidled into him, yet it wasn’t enough. That much was clear from his annoyed huff. Without looking away, he set his fingers on my hips, the contact pumping me with adrenaline. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea—
I gasped as he jerked me forward, my ass crashing onto his lap, the motion prying my knees apart, my steepled legs gripping his waist. Slabs of muscle radiated under me, around me, against me. Like this, he checked the cuts on my skin, scrutinizing every gash, the magnitude of his gaze funneling to the rift between my legs.
Queasiness assaulted me, born of repulsion and something else, a primal need I hadn’t experienced since Rune. Except this felt harsher, fiercer.
Satisfied with his inspection, the prince craned his head. And our eyes collided. His irises flashed like quicksilver, scorn and spite clashing.
But there was more. Another impulse intruded, hectic and covetous, the combination so potent my head swam.
Shit. Oh, shit.
Everyone in The Dark Seasons feared the Prince of Winter. And just as many wanted to get fucked by him. Yet right here, I was the only thing he saw, felt, held.
Rain stabbed through crevices in the canopy, narrowly missing us and forcing our bodies to grind nearer. Unwillingly, we moved in sync. I dripped onto him, my nipples rubbed his chest, and my core fit against his.
Pull away, I told myself. Get away from him, I warned myself.
Instead, the words dropped like firebombs from my tongue. “I hate you so much.”
He licked his lips, tasting my declaration. “I hate you more.”
Yet the hate seemed to fuel us, feeding some twisted craving. My outtakes grew shallow and stunted. A molten sensation whittled between my thighs, the effect drastic. Without warning, the walls of my pussy clenched.
On reflex, my hips bucked an inch against the ledge of his cock, the friction streaking through my veins. The prince hissed, a curse lashing from his mouth. And on a gasp, I arched into the sharp noise. Another one of those, and I might combust.
His frame strained beneath mine, our bodies quavering like threads about to snap. The moment drew itself out, suspending us at a point of no return.
And then his cock swelled.
Long and broad, it rose into the vent of my legs. The head broadened, its solid width flush with my clit. A whine crept up my throat, the sensation so extreme that arousal poured from my crease.
The Prince of Winter pinned me in his arms. The most feared ruler on the continent had gotten his hands on me, those fingers knifing into my hips, his cock tightening.
This was wrong. So very wrong.
Yet I gyrated another inch, frustration urging me forward. In response, he gnashed his canines as if ambushed by the same vice, the same need to get rid of this feeling, to banish it from our systems.
Watching my mouth drop open, those black pupils inflated, eating up the irises. Caught up in his stare, I gave into a heinous temptation. And rolled my waist again, skating my clit against his cock.
Unleashing a pent-up noise, Winter struck. The prince shoved his forehead against mine, his mouth a hair’s breadth from my own. I barely had time to absorb the sensation before he skated his incisors over my chin, down the center of my throat, and to the glen between my clavicles. Along the way, he nicked and scoured my flesh, the contact agonizing.
Then his tongue joined his mouth, the hot flat tracing my collarbones.
My head slumped back, my lips parted, and my limbs fanned apart. I would have toppled over, but he grasped me tightly, his cock getting harder. The head bloated, so that I imagined its ruddy color and the slit where cum would bead to the surface, the thought watering my mouth.
Anarchy swirled in the ravine of my thighs. Under the chemise, my bare cunt pulsated, a rush of liquid heat pouring onto his lap and seeping through the fabric of his pants.
The prince emitted a hoarse noise. Motivated by that response, I shoved my tits into him, and he reacted. Hooking his fingers onto the straps of my chemise, he peeled the material down my arms.
My breasts lifted from the bodice and into the eventide air. The points toughened into pebbles, the sensitive tips raw and aching.
An intake of breath sliced through the enclosure. “Fuck.”
With my head flung backward, I couldn’t see his expression. Yet I heard him, sensed him. Delirious, I envisioned those eyes piercing, the lustful weight of his gaze on my breasts.
With a hostile groan, the prince’s mouth sank to the first nipple. All or nothing, he strapped his lips around the shell and sucked deeply. And all semblance of restraint fled my being.
A cry broke from my lips, somehow audible to his ears. Humming, he suctioned me into his hot mouth, then circled his tongue over the erect tip, the decadent swats throwing me into a tailspin.
I whimpered up to the trees. Over and over, this went. The prince sketched and nipped, plying me into a drenched mess, his tongue flicking until I was inconsolable.
“Yes,” he encouraged against my wet nipple. “Cry for me.”
I did, and I did, and I did. Spurred by my responses, he swerved to the opposite breast, his lips skewering me to pieces.
Lightning cracked. At the explosive noise, we snapped into motion.
Straddling his cock, my pussy moved in tandem to his mouth. I writhed my hips, grinding onto his distended crown, which lifted through the pants. Serrated noises cleaved from his lungs like shards of glass. Those iron muscles trapped me to him while I spread my knees, planted them on uneven ground, and hauled my waist into him.
While sucking my nipple with force, the prince’s groan struck my breast. His fingers trenched into my hips and hauled me forward, rowing my body back and forth, the pace borderline violent. Shockwaves catapulted up my legs, my folds parting and soaking his lap.
And he lost it.
Releasing my nipple and seizing my ass, the villain prince hoisted me forward, thrashing my pussy against his cock and whisking his hips in unison. The chemise’s hem flipped high, the brunt of his thrusts making my tits jostle.
My unruly, wet hair fell over my upturned face, and my fingers sank into his mane for leverage. Sobs tore from me, plaintive and demanding. The commotion tumbled out in short bursts. Each one incited the prince, his hands snatching me so tightly, I would bruise later.
Our bodies smashed into one another like cannonballs. Our rhythm surged from eager to frenzied. Greed shredded my thoughts to bits, drowning out the last vestiges of morality.
I flew at him. Scrambling from his arms, I whipped around and landed once more on his cock. With my back facing him, I didn’t have to see, didn’t have to stare. My fingers braced on his thighs as I matched the prince’s frantic pace, slamming my damp hips against his, jutting my cunt into his erection, chasing this upheaval, this disorder, this pandemonium.
Grunting, he fisted my slick hair and lunged his ass. Hard and fast and rough, he charged us toward release, toward a turbulent end, the chaos escalating as quickly as it had begun. I curled my spine, my naked backside exposed under the chemise, and flayed my pussy with his length, desperate to free myself from this need, to peel it from me like a layer of flesh. As the pace increased, we belted into one another, and I didn’t know anymore, and I didn’t think anymore, and I didn’t care anymore.
And please. And more.
Detestable pleasure spiraled between my thighs, building, mounting. With punishing shoves of his waist, the prince groaned and unleashed, pistoning to beat the climax out of me. My pussy rippled against the head of his cock, the crescendo tearing through my walls.
I came with my mouth ajar. A scream pushed against my tongue, but I refused to let it out, all the while my body convulsed on his lap.
Lightning charged through my blood, electrifying me down to the bone, the intense pleasure beyond any zenith that had come before. I pitched my backside, bucking hard and reaping the sensation to its final tremor.
The prince rammed his face into my nape and bit back a growl. His hips froze, his cock twitching through the pants, on the brink of spilling. The instant I sagged, he batted me away. Still reeling from the climax, I scurried off his lap.
With a hiss, he wrenched himself in the opposite direction and fumbled rapidly with the closures of his pants. Out of eyeshot, the prince freed his erection. Spasms racked his frame, low groans chuffed from his mouth, and his tip streamed into the sand.
After another moment, he slumped. Shifting to make sure I still couldn’t see a thing, the prince bowed his head, one palm flat on the ground and the other groping his cock.
I yanked down my chemise and jerked the bodice straps in place. My breath struggled to catch up, my heart battering into my chest.
Rain pummeled the cove. The weight of what happened drove us apart, the remnants of pleasure tingling across my skin as I tucked myself under the blanket. And although the prince kept his back to me, I imagined his calamitous features reflecting my own.
Divine Seasons. What had we just done?