Chapter 32
Cora POV
I close the distance between us in a single, decisive movement, pushing him back onto the bed. The shift of power is deliberate, a declaration that I am not only present but unyielding. I climb over him, straddling his waist, my knees pressing into the mattress as I claim my place above him.
My hands roam across his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath my palms. Every touch is a reminder, to him and to myself, that I am still here, still his.
I lean down, capturing his mouth in a kiss that is fierce, unrestrained, and hungry. It is not gentle; it is a promise, a demand, a vow spoken without words. The taste of him floods me, grounding me even as it sets me ablaze.
His hands find my hips, strong and steady, anchoring me in place.
The weight of his grip is both possessive and reassuring, a silent answer to the fire I pour into him.
In that moment, there is no fortress, no bandits, no world beyond these walls, only us, locked together in a storm of need and devotion.
In a sudden surge of strength, Garrion flips us over, the world tilting as my back meets the mattress. His weight presses me down, firm and unyielding, leaving no doubt that he is not ready to surrender control.
His eyes blaze with determination as his mouth hovers over mine, his breath hot against my lips. “You still owe me three orgasms, Cora,” he growls, the words rough and possessive, each syllable vibrating through me like a command.
The reminder sends a shiver down my spine. His voice is both promise and challenge, a vow that he will not relent until the debt is paid in full.
Garrion disappears between my legs and his tongue runs through my folds as I shudder. His tongue flicks and circles, setting my body on fire.
"I want you inside of me" I tell him as I moan.
He pays no heed to my plea, his focus unwavering as he continues to explore me with deliberate, unrelenting care. Each movement of his tongue sends ripples through me, building until my body trembles beneath the intensity of his attention.
The pleasure is overwhelming, a storm I cannot contain, and instinctively my fingers find his hair. It is softer than I remembered, silken strands slipping between my hands as I cling to him, needing the anchor as much as the contact.
Every movement, every breath, feels like a claim, reminding me that resistance is futile, that surrender is inevitable. My body shakes, undone by him, yet desperate for more.
Garrion POV
Her plea reaches me, but I ignore it. I know her body better than she realizes, every tremor, every gasp, every way she tries to resist only to surrender in the end. My touch is deliberate, unrelenting, because I want her undone, stripped of control until there is nothing left but the truth of us.
When she threads her fingers through my hair, I feel the desperation in her grip. It fuels me, sharpens my focus. She is trembling, shaking beneath the weight of what I give her, and the sight of it fills me with a fierce satisfaction. This is what I’ve craved for the last four weeks.
Every sound she makes, every shiver that runs through her body, is mine. I drink it in, savoring the knowledge that I can unravel her with nothing more than my mouth.
Her thighs tighten around my head, a clear sign that she is teetering on the edge.
I can feel it in the way her body trembles, in the rhythm of her breath that comes in sharp, uneven gasps, as though she’s fighting to catch air while drowning in sensation.
I respond instinctively, intensifying every movement, every deliberate stroke of my tongue, determined to push her past the brink.
Her back arches violently off the bed, every muscle taut as the orgasm overtakes her. My name rips from her throat, raw and unrestrained, echoing through the room.
I hold her through it, savoring everything, the way her body trembles against my tongue, the twitch of her limbs as the aftershocks ripple through her, the soft, broken sounds that escape her lips as she struggles to steady her breath.
Each moan is a gift, each shiver a reminder of how completely she has surrendered to me.
Watching her come undone like this fills me with a fierce satisfaction, a primal reverence.
She is breathtaking in her vulnerability; in the way she yields to the fire between us.
And as she slowly calms, I know I will never tire of this, of seeing her unravel, of knowing I am the one who can bring her to this edge and catch her when she falls.
I waste no time, my hands lifting her ankles and bringing them firmly to rest on my shoulders. The movement is deliberate, claiming, leaving no doubt that I'm still in control.
I slide my dick into her slowly, letting her feel every bit of me. She's tighter than I remember. I stop and she whimpers in protest.
"You still owe me two more orgasms Cora" I tell her as my fingers start playing with her bundle of nerves. She moans loudly as her walls tighten around my dick, her hips moving in rhythm with my fingers.
"I want to feel your orgasm on my dick" I tell her as I pinch her gently. Her cry rises, raw and unrestrained, filling the room with the sound of her pleasure. Fingers clutching at the sheets.
The sight of her unravels me and I start to take her hard. Each thrust hitting her womb.
I pull her up against me, closing the space until we are pressed chest to chest, the heat of her body searing into mine. The ache in my legs throbs, but I force it aside, nothing matters except this moment, except her.
My mouth claims hers in a hard, desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of need, hunger, and longing into the press of our lips. It is not gentle; it is raw, unrestrained, a vow spoken without words.
Her hips are moving in rhythm with mine, answering me with a fire that matches my own.
My body yields completely, surrendering to the inevitable. Orgasm crashing over me with the force I cannot resist or control. It surges through me, relentless and consuming, leaving me trembling in its wake.
I ease out of her carefully. My body protests as I sink back onto the bed, legs screaming with pain, muscles tight and unyielding. I stretch them out slowly, forcing myself to breathe through the ache, but none of it matters, not when she is here.
Cora nestles against my chest, her breath uneven, ragged, as though she’s still fighting to reclaim control. I feel the rapid thrum of her heartbeat against me, matching my own, both of us caught in the lingering echo of what just passed.
Our skin is slick with sweat, the heat of our bodies mingling, binding us together in a cocoon of exhaustion and closeness. I wrap an arm around her, holding her tight, unwilling to let the moment slip away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice soft but steady. “I kept my distance. I thought it was what you needed, to recover quickly. I could see how restless you were, and I didn’t want to make it harder for you.”
Her words hang between us, heavy with intention and regret. I know she means them out of love, out of concern, but the silence she left in her wake had cut deeper than she realized.
“It’s alright,” I tell her, though the truth is layered. I understand why she did it, and I can feel the tenderness behind her choice. Yet, even knowing that, it had still felt like rejection, like being pushed away when all I wanted was her closeness.
I reach for her hand, needing her to feel the sincerity in my touch. “You were trying to protect me”
A sharp knock rattles the door. My voice cuts through the silence, rough with impatience. “What is it?”
Soma’s reply comes muffled but clear. “A messenger has just arrived, with a letter from the king.”
The words ignite fury in me instantly. Rage surges hot and fast, burning through my chest. That bastard. He swore, three winters without summons, three winters of peace. And now, he breaks his word.
Cora feels the shift in me before I speak. She rises quietly, pulling the fur around her shoulders, her movements graceful but urgent. Without hesitation, she crosses to the door and opens it just enough for Soma to slip a scroll through the gap.
She closes the door again, shutting out the world, and returns to me. The bed dips as she settles beside me, her presence steady against the storm brewing inside me. Without a word, she breaks the seal, the crack of wax loud in the tense silence.
I watch her hands, the calm precision of her movements, while my own pulse hammers with anger. Whatever lies within that letter, it has already stolen the peace I was promised.
I watch her closely as her eyes move over the parchment, searching for any flicker of emotion. But her face remains unreadable, a mask that gives nothing away. The silence gnaws at me, each heartbeat stoking the fire in my chest.
“What does it say?” I demand, the words forced through clenched teeth, my voice rough with barely contained anger.
Cora clears her throat, steadying herself before she speaks. The scroll trembles faintly in her hands, though her voice is calm as she begins to read aloud, carrying the king’s words into the room like a blade meant to cut.
By Royal Decree
To the Esteemed Lord and Lady Darkmoor,
It is with great honor and joy that you are hereby invited to attend the union of His Royal Highness, Prince Dorian II, and Lady Helga Vorath, whose marriage shall mark a new chapter in the legacy of the crown.
The ceremony will be held on the First Day of Summer, within the hallowed halls of the Royal Palace, where the court and kingdom shall gather to witness this most auspicious occasion.
Your presence is requested no later than one week prior to the wedding, so that you may join in the festivities, preparations, and celebrations leading to the day of vows.
With the authority of the crown and the blessings of tradition, King Dorian
Cora lowers the scroll slowly, her expression unreadable, before setting it aside. “Well,” she says with a faint attempt at levity, “at least it isn’t a summons for war.”
A bitter laugh escapes me, sharp and hollow. “Might as well be,” I mutter, the words edged with scorn.
Her gaze flicks to mine, searching, and she tilts her head. “Our wedding wasn’t so bad… was it?” she asks, her voice soft, almost hesitant.
The question drags me back, unbidden, to that day. I remember the way she trembled, the way her hands shook as though she were standing before a blade. The memory stings, and I cannot lie. “You were terrified of me,” I say flatly, the truth heavy in my chest.
Her lips part, and she exhales slowly, as if confessing something long held. “I was told you were ruthless,” she admits, her voice quiet but steady. “That you killed without hesitation. How could I not be terrified?"
“And what do you think of me now?” I ask, my voice low, the question heavy with challenge and vulnerability.
She leans in, her lips brushing against mine in a whisper of contact that sends a shiver through me.
Her smile is faint, teasing, but her words cut straight to the core.
“You are definitely ruthless,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my mouth.
“And you kill me with this.” her hand wraps around my dick and my breath catches.
She deepens the kiss, her declaration lingering between us, half jest, half-truth. I feel the weight of it, the way she yields and resists all at once, and the satisfaction of knowing that her surrender is not born of fear, but of desire.