Chapter 30 Lore #2
He was ruthless on and off the killing fields, and I might be in danger of developing a taste for darkness. I wanted him to kiss me hard and fast against this tree. Then I remembered with his powers, he’d know.
His gaze lingered on mine before dropping to trace the curve of my lips.
It continued downward, following the line where our bodies remained locked together, pausing briefly there before it slid lower.
As he continued to drink me in, his hands slowly began to glide along my bare thighs, his touch light and unhurried.
I didn’t think he was aware of their movement. It was as if he was keeping himself so tightly wound that a few threads of his self-control had finally given way, but he was concentrating too hard on not breaking to notice.
I could feel the new tension in his posture, like a coiled spring on the verge of snapping. His Adam’s apple bobbed visibly as he swallowed hard.
“You should tell me to put you down.”
I should say something, break the spell, but I couldn’t bring myself to.
The rough bark of the tree pressed into my back through my tunic, and I reveled in the sensation of the prince’s strength, the way he held me captive against the trunk. The position was commanding and impossible to resist; the prince was an alpha in all the right ways.
I stared down at where he was slowly drawing little lines up the sides of my legs with one hand, feeling the delicious burn of being wanted in return.
“Lore.”
My name almost sounded like a plea.
“Sloth.” I tentatively reached for him, my fingers brushing against the defined angles of his jaw and the softness of his full lips.
I felt an overwhelming urge to pull him closer, to press my lips against his, then slowly trail them along his neck, down his hard chest.
I wanted him so bad I ached.
We’d been running from one battle to the next and I just needed a single moment of something good to cling to. Something not marred by nightmares.
I needed the magic of dreams. But mostly, I just wanted him. My cold, forbidding prince who secretly burned hotter than a raging inferno.
The world around us was on the brink of unraveling, and I wanted to seize this moment of respite before everything changed.
“Thank you for finding me. No one has ever…” I swallowed the sudden emotion down. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like, having someone stand by my side. Now I know.”
He looked like he was on the edge of complete destruction.
“I swore a vow to you. Nothing but true death would see me break it.”
My mouth curved from the memory.
He had actually done that—when he’d promised to stand by my side and maim all my enemies. I’d thought he’d been half-serious.
Clearly, he’d meant every slightly disturbing word.
His gaze was a smoldering fire that made my heart race in anticipation.
He wanted me. No matter what he’d said before about us being a bad idea, his expression told a different story. As did his body. The proof of his desire was still pressed between us, and I was trying desperately to not think about it.
Prince Sloth looked like he was just barely restraining himself from acting on his baser emotions by a crumbling veneer of self-control.
“What do you want?”
I wanted everything.
The press of his lips to mine, the brush of his knuckles against my inner thighs. I wanted his tongue and fingers to learn every curve and dip of my body, strumming me to the brink before he slowly thrust in, filling me completely.
I wanted to sleep in a tangle of limbs, spent from our many adventures. And I wanted lazy mornings by a fire, reading, with our future pet cat. And of course Teddy, my shadow pet.
The air between us crackled with tension now, and I knew that if I asked him to kiss me, the thin barrier of civility would shatter, and he would toss aside all restraint and claim me right now.
I managed to break the trance.
“Whatever you’re feeling, it’s probably just the venom—”
“It’s not the venom.” His breath was hot against my skin.
“I can hear your pulse racing. Sense your desire. And I am trying very, very hard to not think about the fact you’re covered in another male’s scent.
Or why it’s affecting me this way. I do not get jealous—that’s my brother’s sin.
But I can hardly think past the urge to cover you in mine. ”
Oh, gods. I was living out every jealousy trope I’d ever read.
And loving every second.
“I had nothing to change into,” I said, trying to soothe the beast I sensed lurking beneath his hooded gaze. “If he tried touching me, I would have stabbed him.” I nodded toward my ankle sheath. “Even when he didn’t touch me, I wanted to stab him. You would have approved.”
“I always approve of you. Your lightness, your darkness.” The prince’s lips brushed against the tender curve of my throat, sending a thrill of danger coursing through my veins. “And especially your intelligence.”
I closed my eyes in an attempt to leash my libido. He wasn’t himself.
In the original book, it took days for the venom’s effects to dissipate completely. He might feel mostly better, but his pupils told a different tale.
Prince Sloth was still more monster than man.
“The venom…”
He thrust against me, once, and I saw the gods themselves.
“Has nothing to do with what I feel. I can promise you; I didn’t get hard when I was bitten. Or when I tore through the forest hunting you. Or when I scaled the castle walls and stalked through the streets.”
His teeth skimmed along my pulse point again. The risk of being bitten only heightened my desire for him, making him even more impossible to resist.
I really needed to seek a healer if we made it home. I had serious issues.
“It’s you, Lore. You drive me out of my senses.”
One of his hands left my leg only to curl around my waist, firm and steady as he anchored me in place, pressing me harder against the tree. He was careful to avoid the weapons belt I wore, but I almost thought the phoenix tear hummed in its pouch, pleased by our closeness.
“I have never been more frustrated, off-balance, or turned on in my life.”
I shook my head, unable to hide my smile.
“For someone who lives in a library, you need to brush up on your wooing skills.”
“Would you like me to pen you sonnets now?”
He gave me the sort of wicked grin that made my pulse race for all the right reasons. Then his hips moved again, hitting that little bundle of nerves with precision, even through his trousers.
I arched into him, my heartbeat drumming a feverish rhythm against my ribs. If this was only a taste of what he could do, I was in trouble.
Slayed by Sex might end up being the inscription on my tombstone.
“Or do you want me to fuck you hard and deep against this tree first?”
I was absolutely going to offer up my soul to this prince.
And all it took was one kiss, a little neck biting, and a few dirty words. I was weak but didn’t care—there were far worse vices than being overcome by orgasms.
I moved a little and I felt every defined ridge of his body, each muscle coiled and tense beneath his shirt.
He was so close to losing control and I couldn’t say I hated it.
Or his filthy mouth.
Gods, I seriously hoped this was not some figment of my imagination. That would be the upset of the century.
Barring my fears of being lost in a sexy daydream, I needed to at least attempt to be responsible once more. Then I’d have done my due diligence in being the voice of logic and couldn’t be held responsible for any bad decisions.
“This is a terrible idea. For multiple reasons.”
His low, dark chuckle sent delicious shivers of anticipation racing down my spine.
“Then, tell me to stop.”
I remained silent as his mouth grazed my collarbone, then dipped lower; each gentle scrape of his teeth ignited a honeyed sensation that spread through every fiber of my being. He moved lower, pressing a chaste kiss over my heart.
My senses were heightened, hyperaware of every touch, every breath.
This was what being worshipped felt like. Adored beyond the physical.
“Do you want me to tell you to stop?” I asked. Maybe he hated losing his grip on his cold indifference; maybe he needed me to end this before it began.
He stroked the sensitive area of my inner leg. “No.”
“Then, don’t.”
With a possessive growl, he balanced me on his knee, seized the fabric of my tunic, and pulled, the sound of tearing cloth echoing in the stillness.
Holy gods.
He’d torn the shirt in half down the center.
The shredded garment fell open, leaving me partly exposed. Only my weapons belt kept the shirt from falling open completely.
He drank me in, my eyes, my mouth, the expanse of bare skin from my neck to my navel, and I saw his beautiful mind kick into action.
I knew without a doubt he would put all his knowledge to use, wringing pleasure from me until I couldn’t remember my name.
The anticipation had me squeezing my thighs together.
His gaze locked onto mine with a yearning so intense it mirrored the ache building within me.
“Put my tunic on, then tell me to put you down, Lore. If you don’t, I’m going to make you come so hard you beg for mercy.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear as he whispered, “My House is not known for being merciful.”
I heard what he said, but the prince’s arms were ironclad around me, and the way his voice vibrated low and dangerous against my ear indicated he wasn’t about to walk away unless I told him to.
The clipped, strategic prince I’d teased him for being was gone; this male was hungry in every conceivable way.
He was unpredictable and wild, and the effect on my romance-addled heart was positively catastrophic.
I wanted him to claim me in every way he’d laid out.
Be logical, Lore.
But that was not in my nature—I was a being forged of fire and emotion, of impossible dreams and a not-so-secret yearning for true, storybook-worthy love.
My hands flattened against his chest, but instead of pushing him away, I fisted the fabric of his shirt.