Chapter 29
Huntyr
Iam on fire. Derian kisses me like a starving man, and I meet each thrust of his tongue with the desperate push of my own. Any thoughts, any reservations, melt away the moment his mouth claims mine. All I have left are monosyllabic desires.
Yes.
Him.
More.
His grip on my throat tightens, his thumb tilting my jaw to hold me exactly where he wants, and I go willingly.
He ravages my mouth with a relentless push and pull that leaves me breathless, my chest heaving against his.
My hands tangle in his dark hair, fingers spearing through the soft strands that feel even better than I ever imagined.
He breaks from my swollen lips, guiding my head to the side to expose the tender space beneath my ear. His mouth descends mercilessly, and then he’s kissing, sucking, and biting, until every nerve in my body screams for release. Until I can’t stop the breathy whimper that escapes.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice rough against my skin. “You whine so prettily for me.”
His hands slide lower, gripping my ass as he lifts me effortlessly, pinning me harder against the stone wall. And oh, yes, he is right there. Every hard inch of him is pressed against me, separated by only a few maddening layers of fabric.
I lock my ankles behind his back, rolling my hips as I pull his mouth back to mine.
Our kisses are feral, driven by a desperate need for each other that neither of us wants to acknowledge. There is no softness, no tenderness. There is only the consuming fire of mutual hatred and desire colliding in a way that leaves us both on the edge of combustion.
His hand moves to my breast, palming it over the thick leather of my protective vest. I arch into him, but the material is too firm, too restrictive. I need more.
So much more.
“Put me down,” I demand, my voice hoarse.
“I like you where I have you.” His hands knead my ass as his mouth trails hot kisses along my collarbone.
“Put me down so I can take my clothes off.”
He doesn’t even look up. “What if I want the pleasure of that?”
Does everything always have to be an argument with him?
“Put me down so I can take your clothes off.”
Finally, he pulls away, his lips curling into that infuriating smile. “If you insist.”
I waste no time ripping his shirt from where it’s tucked into his leather trousers, and yank it over his head, baring the expanse of his toned chest. The sight stops me, my breath hitching as I take him in.
This man’s body deserves to be painted, sculpted even, and set in a gallery for all to admire.
I trail my hand down his stomach, feeling the hard ridges of muscle, wanting to take my time for the first moment since I’ve felt his mouth on mine, but he isn’t content to let me linger.
He’s just as desperate for me as I am for him.
His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling sharply, forcing my head to the side so he can continue his assault on my throat.
And, damn, that feels like bliss.
My hands find the buttons of his trousers, working them loose. When I slide my hand inside, grasping him and stroking from root to tip, he shudders under my touch, a quiet curse escaping his lips.
His response sends a thrill racing through me. I want to pry out every sound and tremble I can get from him.
Derian’s hand slides to my right thigh, hitching it high against his hip just as he did on the courtyard. Gods, I had wanted him so badly in that moment. I hadn't allowed myself to embrace that need then, but I couldn't stop myself now. Not when death is so close to claiming me.
He crouches to undo the laces of my boot, sliding it off with ease, then repeats the process with the other.
“Spin for me,” he commands, his hands firm on my hips as he turns me to face the wall. His fingers move to the laces of my corseted vest, working to untie it with careful precision, his movements deliberate and tender around the spot where my ribs are bruised.
“You don’t need to be gentle with me,” I remind him, no longer feeling any pain as he brushes aside my hair and places a soft kiss on the back of my neck.
“You’re covered in bruises,” he counters, his voice low and steady.
“It’s not the first time.”
His breath tickles my skin as he chuckles, and I lean into it, into him.
“Not gentle then,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I’ll remember that, too.”
With skilled fingers, he makes quick work of my corset, sliding it over my head. The cotton shirt beneath follows, though he pauses briefly to take my breasts in his hands, his thumbs teasing the hardened peaks before pinching sharply.
“Oh,” I gasp, arching back into him as a jolt of pain-laced pleasure lances through me.
He moves lower, undoing the buttons of my pants and sliding them down my legs. His hands linger as he rises, tracing featherlight paths up my thighs, his fingers brushing dangerously close to that burning core of my desire, and a gentle sigh escapes me.
“I can’t wait to see how many sounds you’ll make for me.”
To prove his words, his fingers dart between my thighs, circling my clit with sudden precision. I cry out, my nails sinking into his arm.
Pleasure sparks through me, radiating until every nerve in my body is alight. This. This is what I need. This is what I’ve needed for so long.
And yet, it still isn’t enough.
Yes.
Him.
More.
“I need—” I pant, the words faltering as he alternates his pace, shifting between slow, agonizing circles and sudden overwhelming flicks.
He is frustratingly good at that.
I really shouldn’t have expected anything less.
“Yes?” His voice is a low rumble, amusement laced with desire. “Tell me what you need, Huntress.”
He says the name not as a slur but in reverence.
Suddenly, I need everything. Him, everywhere. But my body is already trembling, teetering on the edge, every stroke winding me tighter.
“Do you need this?” he whispers, sliding his fingers through my wetness and pushing two inside.
“Yes,” I gasp, the word spilling out as the feeling of him overwhelms me.
The sensation is unexplainable—his thumb working that bundle of nerves even as his fingers move inside me, slow and deliberate before quickening their pace. I am a wire pulled too taut, a storm ready to crash against the shore, a fire burning too brightly to contain.
“That’s it,” he coaxes, his fingers relentless as they drive me higher.
And then, finally, the pleasure explodes.
I gasp his name, the release hitting me with unspeakable fury. Stars burst behind my eyelids as I ride the waves of pleasure, my body trembling and weightless. Only his arm, still wrapped firmly around my waist, keeps me from collapsing.
He holds me there for a moment, his arms steady around my waist, until my legs stop trembling enough to bear my weight again. I hear the slap of his pants hitting the floor before I feel him, hard and hot, pressing against my entrance.
“Grab the wall,” he orders, his voice low and commanding.
I brace my palms against the cold stone as his hands grasp onto my hips.
“Should I be impressed that you actually did as you were told?”
I arch my spine further, pushing back against him. “You should stop talking and fuck me.”
A growl rumbles in his chest as his hand snakes into my hair, gripping it and pulling sharply. I moan against the sting of pain, and he rewards me by slowly pushing in, giving me just enough time to adjust to the stretch.
“Not gentle?” he confirms.
“Please, no,” I pant.
“No need to beg,” he murmurs. “I aim to satisfy.”
And then he slams into me.
The force shoves me away even as his hand on my hip pulls me back into him. He uses his hold of my hair to guide the rhythm as he moves, and I savor every sensation, the delicious friction of each thrust driving me closer to oblivion.
“This is what I want, Huntyr,” he says roughly. “I want you like this. I want you on the bed. I want you in the tub. I want you on your knees.”
He punctuates each claim with sharper thrusts, his pace walking the line between pleasure and pain.
I am breathless, mindless, unable to do anything other than take what he gives me. My nails scrape against the stone as I desperately try to brace myself, pushing back to meet him with a roll of my hips, loving when he groans in pleasure.
And it’s so good. The pace, the pressure, the stretch. It’s all perfect. Too perfect. I am already climbing again, the release building far too quickly.
He yanks my hair again, pulling me upright so his mouth can claim mine, his teeth catching my lower lip. I cry into him, my hand reaching back to twist behind his head and pull him impossibly closer.
“You’re so fucking sweet,” he mutters against my lips. “So sweet, so wet, so desperate for me.”
Lightning cracks outside, the flash illuminating the room as his hand slides between my thighs once more.
It’s all too much. I’m not sure I can take any more. The depth of him, the rhythm of his hips, the relentless stroke of his fingers against my clit. Every nerve in my body screams for release.
“Come for me,” he breathes, lips grazing the hollow of my throat. “Let me hear you.”
I feel his teeth scrape against my shoulder just as he rolls his hips, slamming into me deeper than ever before, and I do as I’m told.
I shatter.
Screams pour from my throat, a mixture of helpless moans, slurs of his name, and pleas for more spilling over and over as bliss ravages my body.
When it finally subsides after what feels like an eternity, I am limp in his hands, sated but still greedy for more.
I can’t be done.
I need him to fall apart the way I just did.
Derian pulls out of me, spinning me around and lifting me by the thighs. He pushes me against the wall, not wasting a single second before he sheaths himself inside me with a growl, his face buried in the crook of my neck.
He moves harder, faster, every thrust driving him closer to the edge. His breathing grows ragged, his grip on me tightens, until finally, he stills, groaning a curse as he finds his release, too.
And it’s glorious to witness.
For a moment, we stay frozen, chests heaving as the world comes back into focus.
He pulls out carefully, his gaze meeting mine, oddly serious. “Are you alright?”
My mind spins, my body buzzing.
I want to say yes. I want to say no.
Truthfully, that felt like the most natural thing I’ve ever done. We’d fit together as perfectly as if we’d been made for each other. The pleasure still lingers in my limbs, even as my body begins to hunger for more, like it would never have enough of him to feel satisfied.
As the world begins to fade back into view, though, so does the betrayal of what I’d just done.
I just fucked the Fae prince.
The man I am supposed to kill.
The man who is supposed to be my vengeance against all the Fae I’ve hated for my entire life.
But… I don’t hate him.
And that confuses me more than I’m willing to admit.
So I simply smirk and force my voice to steady as I answer. “I’m perfect.”
This time when he grins, it doesn’t infuriate me as much.
Without explanation, he carries me to the bed, pulling back the covers before settling me against the pillows. My nightgown sits discarded on the floor from the night before, and he picks it up and slides it over my head, careful of my ribs as he pulls it down.
I settle against the blankets. My body is more than ready to sleep, but I watch him as he dresses, his movements slow and deliberate.
He comes to sit beside me, his hand resting on my hip. “I suppose I should clarify if you’re planning to try to kill me again?”
A soft laugh escapes me. “I’m too tired for murder. Ask me again tomorrow.”
The mention of tomorrow sends a shiver down my spine.
Death is hiding in the dark corners of this fortress, just waiting for the final trial of the Conclave.
A shadow crosses Derian’s face as he realizes the same. “I should let you sleep. You’ll need your strength.”
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t say that, Huntress,” he murmurs, standing and pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to my temple. He smooths the blanket over me and brushes my hair back over my shoulder, his touch soft. “That arrogance of yours is one of the things I like.”
I toss a pillow at his retreating back. “You’re one to talk.”
He laughs softly, throwing a wink over his shoulder.
“Sleep.”
An order, not a request.
He slips out of my room and closes the door behind him.
As I curl up against the pillow, a strange ache settles deep in my chest.
Because suddenly, I can’t tell which was the bigger mistake—letting him touch me, or letting him leave.