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It was about their love.
Their need.
Mordred’s clawed gauntlet fisted in her hair, pulling her head back sharply. She hissed in pain, but the sting felt wonderful as the thrill of it went straight through her. She felt his weight settle onto the bed behind her as he straddled her legs. His breath pooled against her cheek as he hovered his lips by her ear.
“I am going to make certain you never forget me,” he murmured to her. “I am going to make certain that any lovers you take in my absence will pale in comparison.”
She shivered at his words. At the way they were little more than a dusky growl as he made her both a promise and a threat. He pressed her head back down to the mattress. The instruction was clear—stay. Yes. Yes please. She wanted to feel his strength, his certainty. She wanted the warlord. Not despite his darker moods, but because of them.
He hefted her hips up until she was on her knees with her shoulders still on the mattress. When his claws trailed up over her thigh, she broke out into goosebumps. How could he ever think that she’d forget the man with knives for hands?
“So beautiful,” he said through a breathy exhale, his hands running up her body, following every curve, tracing the small of her back and the hollow of her spine as it trailed up between her shoulders. She had vanished her wings the moment his intent had become clear—there were just a few moments where they got in the way. And this was one of them.
Shutting her eyes, she let herself savor the sensation of those sharp tips roaming over her, just hard enough to make themselves known but not hard enough to hurt or scratch her. It was the danger of it, the thrill of playing on the edge, that did something to her that she still couldn’t quite believe. She never even considered anything like this.
How far she’d come from the farmer’s daughter.
Now she was a…well, whatever she was.
Doing this.
With the dark Prince in Iron.
And all she wanted was more.
The sensation of sharp iron changed for the rough pads of his hands as he dismissed his gauntlets. The reason why became perfectly clear a moment later as his fingers trailed over her core, teasing her, exploring her—making her whimper before pressing a thick digit inside.
She moaned, biting her lower lip as she did.
His chuckle from behind her was amused as he tutted. “Eager, are we?”
She mumbled something into the sheets that wasn’t exactly flattering.
“Well, I plan to take my damnable time with you.” He slowly worked his finger deeper inside her, making good on his threat to go slow. “I want to hear you beg for forgiveness. For mercy. For me.”
When his other hand came down her ass cheek with a hard crack, she yelped in surprise more than she did out of pain. The warring sensations muddled in her, the sting and the pleasure. A second finger joined the first, slowly but not gently. Methodical, but unflinching. When his fingers reached the knuckles, he pressed, trying to somehow seemingly force them deeper than they could possibly go. The pressure sent her back arching as she cried out in pleasure, lifting her head from the sheets.
“No.” His other hand grasped the back of her neck and pressed her down to the sheets. “You shall stay as you are until you are told otherwise. This is your penance for your lies.”
Turning her head to rest on her cheek, she kept her eyes shut as he slowly pulled his fingers from her, only to repeat the pattern. Her head was spinning. “And what about you? What about your penance?”
“I think if you understood precisely how badly I wish to rut you like a wild horse, you might understand that our suffering is mutual.” His hand came down on her ass again, before squeezing the offended spot, kneading the flesh in his hand as he worked out the sting that he had just paid her.
It wasn’t long before she found herself pressing back against his hand, desperately searching out more of him, her body seeking more than what his fingers could deliver. She didn’t know how long she was supposed to hold out, but she knew how long she’d last. Not very, was the answer.
A third slap, and her head was spinning with conflicting sensations. “Mordred, please?—”
“Mm. Not yet. You have to ask for forgiveness first.” His thumb brushed over her sensitive ball of nerves, and she let out a frustrated wail as pleasure lanced through her—but not enough. He laughed, quiet and dark, clearly loving every second of this.
Each time she thought he would bring her to a peak of ecstasy, he backed away, denying her release. She pounded her palm into the mattress, grasping the sheets in a fist. Her antics made him chuckle just a little louder.
“Ask, and it shall be granted.”
She tried to hold out. Tried to make a worthy fight. But it was pointless. She knew she was going to lose; she might as well get it over with. “Mordred—forgive me, please—I’m sorry—” She breathed out each section between thrusts of his fingers that were still too slow, still not hard enough. “Please?—”
“Tell me you are mine. Tell me that no one else shall have you. Tell me that the stars would blink out and die before you would surrender your heart to another soul.”
“Yes—god, yes—” She moaned. “I love you. I’m yours. Please, Mordred?—”
