Chapter 1 #2
Daemon kisses me hard and messy, one hand in my hair and the other taking a scenic tour of the small of my back.
The gold fabric of my dress crinkles as he slides his hands up my sides, careful not to prick himself on the pins.
A tiny moan escapes my lips, and it’s honestly a miracle I don’t burst into actual flames with how hot my face is getting.
Finally, Daemon pulls back. “I missed you, Peaches.”
I sigh. I know what he means. We sleep in the same bed, but I feel like I haven’t seen him all week. Between running the court of Vernallis, granting all the pre-wedding wishes, and final preparations for the wedding and the Yule celebrations, we’ve barely spoken to each other.
“We need a vacation,” I comment. “I guess it’s a good thing we’re taking that honeymoon.”
The Fae don’t do honeymoons, but when Daemon realized it meant we could leave for several weeks following and not be bothered by anyone, he launched a campaign to convince the entire court that honeymooning was an important cultural practice for humans, and to not do it would offend me beyond repair.
I definitely didn’t feel the need to correct him.
He hasn’t told me where we’re going yet—it’s a surprise—but I don’t even care. We could stay in this room for two weeks and that would be fine, just as long as we don’t get interrupted.
Daemon nods fervently. “Two more days. It’s the only damn thing I’ve been looking forward to for months.”
“Oh, so you’re not excited about marrying me; you’re just excited for the honeymoon?” I tease.
He growls low in his throat and nips at my ear. “I keep telling you, we’re already bonded. We don’t need to get fucking married.”
I roll my eyes. He does keep saying that, and I know he means it as a good thing.
In Daemon’s head, we’re already as committed to each other as it’s possible to be, and the wedding is just a difficult and expensive complication.
I’d probably agree with him, except that we need to get married so I can officially be the queen of Vernallis…
and maybe there’s a tiny human part of me that wants to be committed in a way that I grew up dreaming about.
Before I can voice any of that, Daemon lifts me, bridal style, and carries me over to the bed.
“Careful,” I hiss. “The seamstress didn’t even want me sitting down in case I wrinkled this dress. You’re going to ruin it.”
“It would be worth it to get to tear it off you,” he says, lips brushing against my bare shoulder.
“It would not!” I yelp. “This took months to make. If you ruin it now, we don’t have enough time to get another one.”
Daemon flashes me a wolfish grin, then moves with deliberate slowness to deposit me onto the mattress. The gold-laced skirt pools around me like a puddle of molten sun. “Fine. Keep it on, then,” he purrs.
I open my mouth to protest, but he’s already sinking to his knees at the foot of the bed, hands braced on the mattress, eyes never leaving mine as he slides his torso between my legs and then—God. He disappears under the yards of shimmering fabric.
His hands find my ankles and slip upward, tracing a path over my skin, up my calves to my thighs.
I feel his lips follow the same path, his breath fanning over me.
My pulse jumps when his lips touch the inside of my knee—just a feather-light kiss—and when he drags his tongue up my inner thigh, I gasp, and grip handfuls of my gauzy skirt until my knuckles go white.
I feel Daemon smile against me before he drags the flat of his tongue right over my soaking wet lace panties.
My hips jerk, involuntary, and the friction of the fabric combined with the heat of his mouth just makes everything more intense. The sensation is enough to short-circuit my entire nervous system. Every muscle in my body burns, waiting for the next touch, the next ruthless flick of his tongue.
He alternates between gentle, teasing licks and firmer, more insistent pressure, never letting me settle into any kind of rhythm or sanity.
Every time I gasp, he grins broader, like he’s collecting all my desperate noises to play back later when I least expect it.
I lace my fingers so tight in the gold skirt that my knuckles crack, and my head is already spinning, vision going hazy at the edges.
Daemon hooks his fingers through my panties and yanks them off before pressing another searing kiss to my core.
My legs tremble, my voice comes out in these chopped, staccato moans, and Daemon just hums in approval, the sound vibrating straight through me, and then he flattens his tongue again, right over where I’m practically throbbing for him, and my heart jackhammers against my ribs so hard I’m half convinced I’ll pass out before we even get to the main event.
He parts my folds with two fingers, filling me up to the knuckle. The pads of his fingers stroke that place inside with a pressure that borders on sinful, and when his mouth closes over my clit, sucking gently then harder, my knees lock around his head like a vice and I let out a strangled scream.
I know the entire court can hear me, but at this point I’m beyond caring. My body is not my own; it’s a live wire, every nerve coiled and sparking.
He doesn’t stop even when my entire body shakes, his mouth relentless and hungry, until the coil in my belly finally comes undone and I shout. The aftershocks roll through me in waves, turning my brain and body to mush.
Daemon resurfaces from beneath the dress, face flushed and wild, hair stuck up at odd angles like he’s been electrocuted. His grin is both supremely satisfied and absolutely unhinged.
“You’re evil,” I pant, breathless.
He just grins, kisses the inside of my knee again, and stands up, looming over me. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down to the bed, no longer worried about the yards and yards of golden fabric. Daemon captures my mouth again, and I taste myself on his tongue. He reaches for his belt, and I eagerly reach out to help.
A sharp knock sounds on the door, and we both freeze, fingers twisting around his belt buckle.
“Fuck off!” Daemon yells, immediately turning his burning gaze back on me.
“Sorry about this, mate,” Kastian’s voice calls from the other side of the door. “Wouldn’t bother you, but there’s a man downstairs insisting on talking to you.”
“Tell him to fuck off!” Daemon growls, louder. “Or you deal with it. I’m busy.”
“It’s about the wishes,” Kastian calls back. “You can’t ignore him, or it’s—”
“Bad luck,” I groan out loud, finishing Kastian’s thought. “Goddamnit.”
“I don’t care,” Daemon hisses. “We don’t need luck. I do need to be inside you in the next five seconds or I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
A desperate whimper escapes my throat. I want that too—more than pretty much anything right now—but the rational part of me knows we can’t.
“If Kas is out there, that means he left Dessa long enough to deal with whoever is downstairs. That must mean it’s serious.”
Daemon scowls, but I can tell he knows I’m right. He groans and rolls to the side and lies flat on his back looking up at the ceiling. “Have I mentioned that we don’t need to get married? This wedding seems like it’s about everyone except us.”
I sit up. “I know. Focus on the honeymoon. Just a couple more days and we’ll be alone for two whole weeks.”
He looks placated for half a second, then his face darkens again and he swears violently. “Fuck me.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve just remembered that we have to go visit your mother this evening.”
I frown too. Yeah…I’m not sure it could get worse than that.