Chapter Thirteen #2
She looks conflicted. “To be completely honest, I don’t have a clue. I felt this really weird pulling sensation towards him, right here in my belly.” She runs her palm over her waist.
I let out a laugh, looking down at the state of her dress. Where once the billowing black fabric floated to the floor, the skirt is now a ragged scrap barely covering her black underwear.
“Hey, what’s so funny?”
“I do love the improvement to that dress.”
She smiles coyly, looking down at herself. “The damn skirt got in the way. Saleen’s going to be upset I ruined it.”
“I’m sure you’ll be forgiven under the circumstances.”
“I can’t believe that all just happened. All those Fae—” Her voice turns quiet. She stares at me, looking lost and fragile in a way I’ve never seen her before. She’s always hidden this side behind quick barbs or dutiful acceptance. An overwhelming need to protect her sweeps through me.
When she shifts on the desk, what’s left of her skirt rides higher, revealing more of her underwear.
The last thread of my control snaps.
“Fuck being appropriate,” I hiss.
I shove off the shelf with such force it slams against the wall behind it. My body moves on pure instinct, pure hunger—closing the distance between us in three desperate strides. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. My need for her is everything.
I grab each side of her neck. She lets out a breathy gasp.
Her legs open slightly, and I lean into her between them as I capture her lips with sudden, unrestrained force.
It’s not delicate or loving—it’s raw passion, the need to possess her mouth with mine.
My tongue searches her lips, and she pushes back, her mouth opening to consume me.
We groan in unison as our tongues dance together.
Her sunlight taste is so sweet my mouth waters.
Her hands grip my sides, then slide back, creeping up beneath my robes. She pulls my shirt from my pants and runs her hands up my back, fingernails scraping ever so gentle.
“Take it off,” I say, drawing back slightly. As she tugs at the robe, I help by shrugging out of the arms, stealing quick kisses as I do, hands returning to her throat. Her hands go back under my shirt once the robe falls to the floor.
I pepper light kisses down from her mouth to below her ear, the tip of my tongue darting out to taste her skin—slightly salty and metallic from sweat and blood.
As I make my way down her neck, her head falls back with a moan.
I explore the length of that milky skin, kisses turning to light nips as my desire rises.
My erection stirs, blood boiling with pure unfiltered lust.
When I reach her bodice with my mouth, I bring my hands down from her neck, slowly tracing over her skin to the hem, and pull it down. Her breasts spring free.
“Gods, can you get any more beautiful?”
She laughs, making them bounce. My desire rushes in waves as I cup them, my thumbs swirling her nipples. They harden under my touch. She writhes on the desk against me.
My erection grows quickly, painfully constrained. My mouth comes down to swirl one hard nipple with my tongue, then my hand seeks down below that scrap of a skirt, fingers slipping into the hem of her underwear. I gasp when my fingers run the length of her and feel how wet she is.
I start to feel myself unravel. I’m the master of restraint, but even a master has his limits.
I stand and look at her, my hand still in her underwear, stroking her slick heat, my thumb caressing her clit with every pass.
“You need to tell me what you want, Alaya, or I might just take it all.”
Her violet eyes are heavy with hunger. Silently, she grabs the bottom of my shirt and pulls it over my head.
I remove my hand from her heat, and she squirms in protest. My hand greedily returns.
She runs her hands over my chest, fingers swirling through the soft black hair.
She looks at me with such reverence, pausing to explore with both hand and eye, that my heart jolts with a fresh wave of desire for her.
Then she pushes me back with both hands, surprisingly strong as she leaps off the desk. She pushes me into the shelf, and my back collides with it. She has a feral, longing smile on her lips.
“My turn to taste you.”
If I were a weaker male, I would have shot my load right then.
“I might just have to marry you.” I laugh huskily as she falls to her knees in front of me, her hands smoothing down my stomach towards the waist of my trousers. I start to undo them, but she slaps my hand away.
“Naughty Prince.” She smirks. “It’s my turn.”
It’s complete torture. My restraint is tested to the max as she slowly undoes the buttons. I let out a small breath when the pressure eases. Her fingers dip into the waistband, and she pulls them down in one quick movement.
My cock springs free and I hiss as her hand grasps it at the base, warm and tight. She runs it up agonizingly slowly. When it reaches the tip, her thumb swirls over it, using the slickness there.
Her hand slides back down, twists slightly, and comes back up.
I jerk as the sensation sends my emotions wild.
I luxuriate in the feel of her hand wrapped around me, the friction and tightness of her grip so perfect I groan deeply with pleasure.
As she reaches just below the head, she hits my sweet spot, and the ache in my balls intensifies.
Then her wet mouth envelops me, so slowly, her tongue swirling the tip. I look down. I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite so breathtaking as those violet eyes looking back up at me with my cock in her mouth.
“Fuck, don’t stop, Alaya. That’s a good Princess.
” My hands sink into her purple curls. She slides her mouth down further, the head hitting the back of her throat, her hand still clasped around me.
Then she starts moving rhythmically, mouth and hand, squeezing the length of me.
Her mouth on that sweet spot is agony, each pass bringing me closer to release.
As I feel it rising, I need her here with me so I can look into her eyes. I pull her up and thrust my hand down between her legs again, crushing my mouth to hers.
My tongue dips deep, and she meets me as I slide my finger inside her, curling it slightly.
I must hit a nerve because she buckles against me, moaning deeply into my mouth.
I slip in another and gently slide them out, then back in.
She grinds down against me, riding my fingers, seeking her pleasure.
I pull away from the kiss to look at her.
Her eyes are closed, the long lashes fluttering.
“Open your eyes. I want you to watch as we come together,” I whisper.
As her eyes open, I feel her clench around my fingers, and her body shudders.
My own release breaks free, and we come in perfect, blissful union.
The desire swirling deep in her fathomless eyes is nothing short of spectacular.
That low, breathy gasp she makes when she orgasms might be my most cherished sound.
I don’t want to remove my fingers from inside her, that warm cocoon that feels like home. But I do. She shakily steps away and sits back on the edge of the desk.
“That was definitely inappropriate,” she breathes out.
I grin, warmth spreading through my chest as I get dressed. I join her, leaning on the desk beside her, laying my hand over hers where it rests palm down on the surface.
I rummage in the inside pocket of my robe. My fingers clasp around the small box I hid there earlier. I draw it out and, without a word, place it on her lap. She looks down at it, then at me.
“What’s this?” She picks it up.
“I almost forgot about it, with everything that happened out there, and then my cock hijacking my mind. Every Princess deserves a gift on her birthday.”
Her eyes glitter with moisture as she opens the box.
I’m not good with gifts. I’ve never once celebrated a birthday of my own, nor had reason to give anything to anyone. I was taught that giving anything was giving a part of yourself away, showing them your weakness.
Alaya could have every part of me if she wanted it. My weakness for her is the only thing that makes me feel alive. I don’t just admit it; I crave the submission.
She gasps as she lifts up the small golden scabbard, holding it like it might break in her fingers.
It’s inlaid with twisting vines and roses, black onyx glinting like flint in the Faelight as she turns it.
She pulls on the hilt, and with a rasp, the small, razor-sharp golden blade unsheathes.
She turns it, then notices the writing etched into the blade and squints to read it.
“For My Warrior Queen – Kiernan”
“I researched your name—Morigan. To the Ancient Fae, it meant ‘Strong Queen.’ I wanted you to have something to protect yourself with. For the impossible moment I’m not standing between you and anyone that wants to hurt you.
” I let out a sharp, dismissive bark of laughter.
The idea of anyone getting past me was a fantasy I didn’t care to entertain.
Silence. She simply leans over and brushes her lips gently to mine, her hand stroking my cheek.
“Thank you,” she murmurs against my lips.
We both jump as a sharp rap bangs on the door. When we don’t answer, there’s a louder bang. I get up and stand by the door, straining to hear the muffled voice. A voice I know.
I pull the bolt back and throw it open.
“Why is it that whenever something happens, I always find you together?” The General laughs gruffly. “The King has called for you both—now.”