Chapter 8
Est amage, are you coming home?
My breath hitches at the unexpected sound of Memnon’s voice, and my stomach flutters.
I grab the mug of tea I was steeping in my house’s dining hall and head back up to my room, where my notes from the library lay scattered across my bed.
I’d only just gotten back from the library and hadn’t had time to think about where I was going to stay tonight.
But it’s late, and I’m tired, and for the first time in over a week I can actually stay the night in my room without worrying that I’ll be murdered or kidnapped in my sleep.
Not tonight.
In the past I would’ve gloated over every little rejection I could fling at the sorcerer, including this one. Right now, however? I don’t enjoy this. In fact, I feel inexplicably torn. Wanting to be there and here. In my room and with Memnon.
Enjoy the respite, he says. I will make up for it when I see you next.
My blood heats at the promise, but before I can respond, I feel him pull away from the connection.
Wait!
I feel him pause.
The thing is, even though I’m comfortable here, I still want that ridiculous eye contact and more sappy, sentimental confessions between us.
I want to tell Memnon about Eislyn—and the rest of my day for that matter, though there’s not much to it.
And I want to hear about his day, diabolical though it’s likely to have been.
Come here, I finally say. I bite the inside of my cheek. That’s…a command.
I don’t know why I add on that last bit. He’s not bound to me anymore. I can’t force him to do anything, no matter how much I might want to.
But oh, how he seems to relish my order. I can practically taste his enjoyment on my tongue. And I feel that languid, sinful smile of his from across our bond.
As you wish, est amage. I’ll see you soon.
Twenty minutes later, I hear the front door swing open, followed by heavy footfalls on the stairs that have my heart hammering. It’s already done this three separate times, when my coven sisters have entered the house.
This time, however, the heavy footsteps make their way up the creaky stairs, then down my hall.
I open the door before he can knock.
Despite my anticipation, it’s somehow still a shock to see Memnon at my threshold, looking like something I conjured from a wet dream. Honestly, the nerve of Mother Nature to make someone so villainously beautiful.
“Wife,” he says, and I try my hardest to not smile.
I fail miserably.
And he sees it.
His eyes glitter, crinkling a little at the corners. “Are you happy to see me?”
I try to scoff but it comes out more as a delighted laugh. Ugh, I’m delighted.
“Don’t be delusional,” I say. “Why would I possibly be excited?”
“You tell me, Empress. You’re the one commanding me to do your bidding.”
I hear voices on the stairs. Leaning out of my room, I glance down the hallway and see two of my coven sisters coming up to this floor.
Before either of them notice us, I grab Memnon by the wrist and tug him into my room, shutting the door behind him.
When I turn, Memnon is right there, his chest mere inches from mine.
He tilts my head up. “If you’re going to drag me into your room like I’m some dirty little secret,” he says, his voice like velvet, “then I’m going to treat us like one.”
With that, he kisses my neck.
I’d like to say I’m a strong, no-nonsense woman when it comes to my life. But right now, I cave like a derelict house.
A moan slips out, and I grind against Memnon, need rising in me faster than it has any right to.
“That’s it, little witch,” he says between kisses, pressing me against the door. He shoves his leg between mine. “Moan for me again.”
The command is barely out of his mouth when he drags the low collar of my shirt down and my bra along with it, revealing one of my breasts. He leans in, taking the tip of it into his mouth, and gives my nipple a hard suck.
I slap the back of the door, gasping. It’s right then that I hear the voices pass by my door. Undoubtedly they heard me.
Memnon, however, seems completely unbothered.
He undoes my jeans, his magic peeling them and my panties down as he continues to kiss my nipple until I’m writhing against him. His power shucks my clothes away, leaving me bare from the waist down. I must be a sight, one tit out, pants missing.
I cannot find it in me to care.
It’s only when Memnon’s mouth moves to my own and his hand dips between my legs that I drag myself from the moment.
“I’m on my period,” I breathe. I removed my tampon earlier, but it still feels like something I should mention.
Memnon laughs against my lips. “Then I promise I won’t scream when I see blood.”
He lifts me then, my back still braced against the door. I hear his pants unzip while he holds me, and he must be using his magic to undo himself because he hasn’t let me go.
I feel the head of his cock press against my opening.
“Last chance to send me away, wife,” he says. There’s a challenge in his eyes.
We both know I’ve been the one with the reservations.
I link my ankles around his back, my hands delving into his hair. “I don’t want you to go,” I admit.
Time seems to pause as we stare at each other.
Then he sinks into me in one quick motion.
I moan again, this time loud and unrestrained. A full-body shudder runs through me at the full feel of him in me.
His magic swirls around us, thickening right over my clit. It brushes against the bundle of nerves again and again, even as Memnon grips my hips and begins pounding into me.
This isn’t sensual and slow. This is frenetic and wild. I can hear the slick sounds as he hammers into me, the rhythmic slam of the door with each thrust, loud enough to alert the whole fucking building that the witch in room 306 is getting thoroughly railed.
It doesn’t help that each stroke of his cock elicits these small, breathy noises out of me. It’s horribly embarrassing, but I’m too turned on to care.
“I don’t think…this is…the kind of…sex…dirty little secrets…have,” I pant out. At least not the ones who mean to actually keep secrets.
“But it’s the kind you wanted,” Memnon breathes against my ear.
He’s right. This is exactly the kind of sex I’ve wanted for weeks with him—hard and fast, with no emotional intimacy to muddy up the waters.
The only problem is, I don’t think I want this anymore.
“I want to see your eyes,” I say.
I feel him smile against my skin before he pulls away, letting me get a good look at him.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, swallowing self-consciously.
His eyes soften as he gazes at me. His strokes have slowed and deepened. “Do you want to come like this?” he asks.
I nod, then shake my head, then close my eyes. “I don’t know what I want.”
My head and heart are a bit at odds.
But I must know on some level because when he withdraws a little too far, I tighten my hold around his waist. “Where do you think you’re going?” I ask, opening my eyes.
I sense a thrill rushing through him at my impertinence. “Absolutely nowhere.”
I hold him close, and his eyes don’t leave mine.
Goddess, I’m pretty sure this is going to become a thing. Why did no one warn me about eye contact?
His pace picks up as we stare at each other. And when I start to feel self-conscious and my eyes drift, Memnon drags my face back to his.
“Eyes on me.”
I return my gaze to him as he drives into me, sensation building. “Memnon,” I breathe as his strokes push me closer and closer to the edge.
He shakes his head. “I don’t want my name on your lips. I want my title.”
Normally, this is where I fight him. Right now, I don’t feel like fighting. “Est xsaya.”
His body shudders at that. “Not that one.”
His strokes are still relentless, driving me higher and higher.
I moan. “Husband.”
Yes. He kisses my neck, nipping me lightly. “Louder or you get nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“I would torment you all night if I had to,” he vows.
I believe him.
Remember that tormenting goes both ways.
I dig my heels into his skin, but Goddess, a twisted part of me loves this so fucking much.
“Husband!”
I can feel him bathing in the title, even as his magic pinches my clit and my nipples, and I gasp.
There are no thoughts, no words, as I stare at the sorcerer, but something is rushing through me, something that makes me lightheaded and soaringly happy.
I don’t think Memnon alters his angle or his driving momentum, but I swear I feel everything more intensely as I gaze at him.
My orgasm explodes through me then, and I come hard on him, riding out wave after wave of pleasure. Memnon drinks in my expression the whole time.
“I love you.” I say the words on a wave of euphoria.
Memnon groans, like he was starving and I finally fed him. Leaning in, he brutally takes my mouth as he thrusts into me harder. It’s too much for my overly sensitized skin. Already, I can feel him thickening inside me, the pressure exquisite. If I want anything out of him, I need to act now.
Tell me you’re mine.
He laughs against my lips. “Before the sun rose, I was yours, and long after it sets, I will still be yours,” he whispers. “I am yours, forever, dear wife.”
And then he’s coming, his orgasm echoing across our bond. Again and again, he slams into me, each thrust shaking the door, and Goddess, the pressure and sensation overwhelm me.
It feels as though our releases go on forever.
Eventually, the rocking slows, then stops.
Wish I could stay here forever, Memnon says as he slides out of me. His magic is still swirling around, and I feel it clean me while it pulls up his pants.
Memnon takes one long look at my naked form, then tugs off his shirt and pulls it over my head.
I should tell him he doesn’t need to give me his shirt when we’re in my bedroom, but I also weirdly love the idea of being in his clothes.
The thing falls past my thighs, comically large on me, and when I bring my nose to it, it might not smell like leather and horse and freshly turned earth, but beneath the clean scent of it, I can smell Memnon.