Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The flames in the hearth cast long shadows that danced along the frost-veined walls of the bedchamber. Outside, the wind hissed like a stubborn child that would not be put to bed. Within the castle’s walls, there was only stillness, the hush of a place held in breath.
Raveena sat at her vanity, cloaked in that silence.
The soft whisper of bristles through her hair was the only sound.
Each stroke soothed her, steadied her. She had spent the entire day sharpening her mind into a blade.
First in the Winter Assembly, parrying threats and dissent with a diplomat’s smile, and then in her own court, smoothing over the fractures of a kingdom still healing from war the inhabitants had wanted no part of.
A war she'd had no interest in until her lover stormed off with his blade in hand because he needed to cleave through something, or rather someone, and a troll was better than committing regicide.
Today, she had maneuvered every conversation, every glance, every pause to achieve her endgame.
Just as she'd done for the last three years to ensure the troll wars ended swiftly with as little blood on the Snow Kingdom's hands as possible.
If she'd left the war efforts to the young forest prince, the fighting would still be going on and Graham would still be beyond her reach.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. The hour was late. The minute hand took its time going around the clock's face.
She lowered her brush and exhaled slowly. The silk robe she wore slid open as she shifted. The firelight kissed the line of her collarbone, the dip of her waist, the soft expanse of thigh. Her gaze dropped, and there—just above the bend of her leg—was the mark.
The bite was still red, tender. She bit her lip, regarding the shape of him etched into her flesh. With a fingertip, Raveena traced the edge of the bruise, feeling the ache stir again—not just between her legs but deeper, beneath skin and blood and bone.
She didn’t need to look behind her when she heard the movement. The subtle shift of air. The hush of a shadow stepping through darker shadow.
“This one feels lonely.” Her fingers brushed the mark. “It needs a companion.”
With slow, practiced grace, she opened her robe wide and spread her thighs even wider. The fire in his eyes licked over her skin, gilding her like a statue left for worship.
“You know how symmetry is important to me.”
Graham said nothing. But she felt him. Felt the weight of his stare from across the room, from the shadowed corner where he stood—stone-still, silent, radiating heat like a blade held too long over a flame.
His breath was the only giveaway. Just slightly faster than it had been. His body was taut, coiled, waiting.
Raveena dragged her fingers along her inner thigh. Outside, the wind whistled, the chill banging against the window to get in. The heat in the room kept the cold at bay.
Graham's assessing gaze continued to devour her. His stoic silence caused her core to pulse. When his index finger twitched at his side, blood pooled in her clit in anticipation.
“I said,” she whispered, voice curling like steam, “I want a matching pair. Would you deny your queen?”
The only movement was a flick of his wrist. Her brain ignored the glint of the blade in his hand.
He'd come at her with shackles before and bound her to the bed for his pleasure.
He'd tied her limbs in intricate knots that ensured they stayed open for his viewing enjoyment as he made her come so many times that she'd passed out.
Breath play was a favorite of hers when he made her gasp while his hand covered her mouth and nose as the other intimate opening gasped around his length.
But knife play? That was new. She was eager to try.
She would do anything with Graham. Anything for him.
But first he would make her beg. That was her favorite part.
Not so much the pleas that burst from her when she finally gave in.
The buildup before she gave in. When she tried to hold it in, hold on to her dignity.
Graham never had to snatch the words from her. He never used force. He just had a way of making her want him so much that she would inevitably give in.
Except right now, he wasn't doing anything. He wasn't saying anything. He wasn't making a move. He leaned against the dark oak panels like he was carved from shadow. The firelight danced over him, flickering against the blade he spun idly between his fingers.
Raveena had the patience of a saint. She'd shown that earlier in the throne room as she'd dealt with the queens and ladies. With this man, she had very little chill.
She rose from her vanity in one fluid motion, letting the brush fall to the floor. The hem of her robe whispered along the polished stone as she moved toward him, each step slow and intentional, her bare feet silent against the floor.
Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let that blade catch the glow of the light and watched her like a predator might watch the flick of a rabbit’s ears—patient, practiced, and entirely in control.
“Are you a woman of your word?”
Her smile curled, dark and eager. Ah. A game, then.
“With you?” Her hips swayed with every step that brought her closer to her true endgame. “I have never broken my word.”
Graham’s scoff was more breath than sound, but it carried enough accusation to cut. “You married another man.”
“I gave the king my body,” she said, stopping just before him, their breath mingling in the narrow space between them. “Not my heart.”
He stared at her—jaw tight, eyes darker than a storm. "Do you even have a heart?"
Raveena's hands went to the straps of her nightgown. She pulled the edges to her shoulders. Along with the robe, the gown slithered off her body, pooling at her bare feet. She inhaled, which pushed her breasts up. The eager nipples throbbed in time to her racing chest.
Instead of looking at her naked body, Graham held her gaze. “Your body belonged to me.”
She let her gaze rake over his face—every scar, every shadow, every hard-earned line etched into the man he’d become. The soldier. The ghost. The flame that had never gone out.
“It still does. It’s been locked up tight. Waiting for the only man who ever knew what to do with it.”
Graham looked then. Looked at the body that had only ever sang for him. The tender flesh of her breasts ached to be close to him. Her knees pressed together, partly to get relief from the pulsing of her core, partly in preparation to launch into him.
The blade stilled in his hand. His chest rose sharply. Heat rolled off him now, barely restrained. Something dark coiled behind his gaze, like a storm behind a dam.
Slowly, deliberately, Raveena sank to her knees before him. Her head lowered, and her hands slid behind her back, fingers lacing together. She tilted her face up to him, her expression not vulnerable but still somehow submissive.
“Take what’s yours,” she whispered.
Graham swallowed, the column of his throat working while his jaw remained tight. The dagger was still gripped in his callused hand, fingers tightening around the hilt of the blade. He brought the flat edge of the blade under her chin and tilted her face up until her eyes met his.
Dark. Defiant. Drenched in want. Eager to do anything he asked. Ready to give him anything he asked for.
“I want the land you promised.”
Her lips curved, wicked and pleased. “It’s yours. I settled it this afternoon. The scrolls are in process. You’ll have the deed within the week.”
Surprise flickered through him, sharp and swift. He hadn’t expected her to follow through. That was odd. She always did exactly what he told her to. After being a brat for a bit because they both enjoyed it.
“Can I have you now?” Her tongue escaped from her mouth, and she licked the flat side of the blade. “It’s been so long since I’ve tasted anything like you. My husband balked the one time I tried.”
Graham snatched the dagger away. “Do not speak of other men in your bed, Ray.”
“Charming, on the other hand, was very quick on the draw once I got into his pants.”
Graham's growl turned feral. “You keep talking, and I swear I’ll commit regicide tonight.”
Raveena leaned into the crotch of his pants and inhaled that woodsy musk of his. “I only ever found pleasure with you. It’s your taste I crave. Always has been. No one else will do.”
With those words, the dagger fell from his grip as his hands came to cup both sides of her face. "Free me from my britches, my queen. No, no—don't use your hands."
Raveena's grin was wicked as she flashed her teeth. Then those teeth went to work undoing the ties that barely held Graham's manhood in check. She buried her nose in his crotch for another deep pull of his scent. Then she got to work undoing the laces, pull by pull.
It was slow work, and Graham did not lift a finger to help her. When she finally got him free, mostly from his eager cock pushing through the fabric, she took her first lick. They both moaned.
Raveena didn't bother with a slow preamble. No, she was too starved for this. She swallowed Graham whole, taking him all the way to the back of her throat in the first go. Her huntsman was a big boy, but he'd let her practice deep-throating him a lot. Enough that she no longer had a gag reflex.
With a fistful of her hair, Graham held her to him.
He was no gentleman. He was everything that was rough and rugged.
He didn't spend like an untried youth as she swirled her tongue around his tip.
He didn't pull away when she used her teeth on the underside of the delicate head of his penis.
He wasn't a quick draw as she lapped at his balls.
He stood firm and let her lick her fill of him, backing off when he got close and then letting her take him to the back of her throat when he'd caught his breath.
On and on it went like that until he could hold back no longer.
He did press her to him then as he let go and spilled into her mouth.
Raveena lapped up every drop of him, then licked at the dregs that escaped her mouth and spilled down his still hard cock.
When she was done, she sat back on her heels and looked up at her lover with a satisfied grin.