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“That’s it, naughty changeling. Show me what you like, because I’ll be giving all of it to you. Every inch of this body will bear my claim.” He opens his mouth wide, covering me as his tongue never stops its feverish dance.
So much pleasure pools inside me that I fear I might drown. Each of his touches sends me deeper, and I ache for release and more—I ache for him. I want him inside me, his hard body on top of mine as we move together, joining as he claims me, moaning until we both burst in sparks of pure bliss.
My hips still, my thighs shake, and Gareth focuses on my clit as I pinch my nipples and imagine his claiming bite. That’s all it takes. Months of sexual tension explode in waves of pleasure, my body giving in so easily to his perfect mouth and teasing tongue. He doesn’t stop, each stroke from him prolonging my climax until I’m wrung out and lying in a quivering heap.
Pressing his face against me, he thrusts his tongue even deeper, then laps at me. I look down at him, and he stares right back with liquid gold eyes.
“Again, my beloved.” It isn’t a question. And the way he laves my clit again tells me he won’t be stopping.
“Gareth.” I shake my head as he caresses my too-sensitive flesh. “I can’t possibly—” All my air whooshes out when his fang grazes my clit. “Ancestors, help me.” I bite my lip as he makes another pass that sends shocks of desire skittering through me.
“Touch your breasts for me. I like to watch you pleasure yourself.” He licks hard, and I obey, my fingers trailing wanton paths across my nipples. I’ve been a slave to a cruel master, but this is the first time I’ve been a willing participant in my own destruction. I want more of him, more of his adoring looks and scathing touches. Even though my release drained me, I feel the warmth growing, the need twisting tighter with each stroke of his tongue.
“I said one kiss.” I can barely get the weak protest past my lips.
“I would never break a vow to you, my beloved.” He grins and presses his lips to me. “This is the same kiss. If you recall, I got to choose its duration.”
I give up my half-hearted protests. “What can I do? You made the rules.”
“Rules.” He laughs low and throaty, and I almost come again. “There are none when it comes to you.” His kiss continues, his tongue joining in as I unabashedly watch him. His gaze never falters as he devours me, pushing me to my limit until I scream his name.
And he doesn’t stop.
Not until my voice is hoarse from yelling.
Not until my hips ache and my legs have no strength left.
Not until I’m sated. And spent. And utterly smitten with the dark fae warrior who climbs into bed with me, cradles me to his chest, and tells me I’m the most precious thing he’s ever found, the reason he draws breath, and that I am, above all, his beloved.
6
Gareth
“Fun night?” Silmaran winks at me over a breakfast of fresh fruit and warm bread.
“Please pass me the—” Beth’s voice cracks.
“My throat would be sore after a long night of screaming orgasms too.” Silmaran pours some sort of fruit juice from a golden pitcher.
“Is that an invitation?” Chastain strides in, his white tunic and pants pitch perfect in this desert land. He leans over and kisses her crown. “I think it is. Those two were last night’s entertainment. I think we should show them how it’s done this evening.”
“Why wait till this evening?” Silmaran cranes her head back to look at him.
“You bring out the beast in me, my love.” He leans down and kisses her with utter abandon.
Old Gareth would have been embarrassed for them to break decorum in such a manner. Now? Now it only makes me want to drag Beth into my lap and do the same. No. Worse. I would do much, much worse to her. Now that I know what she tastes like, all I can think about is licking her until she shatters in that exquisite way of hers. My cock hardens immediately, and the feral demands I make these fantasies a reality. But I don’t have a bargain for it … yet.
“Oh, for the love of the Ancestors.” Parnon stomps in, his color back to a sandy beige and his gaze hard as he peruses the dining table.
“You’re up!” Silmaran pops to her feet and hurries over to him.
“Stop your fussing.” He grimaces as she hugs him. “I’m fine.” Though he protests, he pats her gently on the back and his eyes are warm as he looks down at her. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Glad to have you with us.” Chastain rises and clasps forearms with him.
“Enough frittering away words on me.” Parnon moves to the seat beside me and sits, the table groaning as he leans on it.
Nemar claps him on the back and Eldra pushes a plate full of food toward him. He digs in, devouring a hunk of cheese in one bite, then moving on to the dates and figs.
“Thank you.” His mutter is so low I almost miss it, but he gives me a glance that reinforces his meaning.
“You’re welcome.” I nod.
His answering grunt is all I need to retire the subject and move on. “What’s the plan?” I cut up a too-large fig on Beth’s plate while she gawks at me. “Two days isn’t much time for preparation.” Then I slice her pieces of cheese thin just the way she likes and layer them on top of the bread like tiles on a roof, also the way she likes.
“Do you always cut her food for her?” Silmaran asks.
“I’d drink her bathwater if she’d let me.” I spear a piece of fig and offer it to Beth.
With a wickedly sultry look, she opens her mouth, her pink tongue darting out to lick the ripe fruit.
My purr can’t be stifled as I think about what else she could be licking right now.
“We have a plan, a new one now that you’re in the mix.” Chastain leans back in his chair. “It’s a bit … flashy, but we think it will work.”
“Flashy?” I wipe some juice from Beth’s chin and lick it from my thumb. Sweet.
“Gareth isn’t flashy,” Beth says between chews. “Not his style.”
“Of course not. But if he wants to get invited to the Bazaar, he’s going to have to stir up the desert sands. We need Cranthum buzzing.”
“How do you intend to do that?” I meet his silver gaze.
“Gossip.” He shrugs. His summer realm ease is beginning to chap my ass.
“That’s not a plan. That’s just talk.” I let Beth shoo me away from her plate and focus on my own.
“Not in Cranthum. Get the town talking about you, and Lord Zatran will become interested. He controls this city, moving the pieces about like a game board. When a new player arrives, he will take an interest, feel you out, and above all—he’ll want to impress you.”
“Why would he want to impress me?” I look down at my borrowed clothes. “As Silmaran keeps pointing out, I have nothing. No prestige, no money, no supplies.”
“Oh, but you will.” He turns to Nemar. “Could you bring the attire?”
“Sure.” Nemar rises and strides toward the bedrooms.
“We’ll also need you to leave.” Silmaran sits across from me, her amber eyes crackling with intelligence.
“Leave?”
“Yes.” She twirls her knife in a relaxed, but practiced way. “You need to leave the city and come back in a golden chariot, slaves
at your beck and call, and coin pouring off you.”
“And I suppose you’re to provide the—”
“Here it is.” Nemar carries a white tunic embroidered with gold thread, the collar pure gold, and a pair of leather pants lined with precious gems down the side seams.
“You want me to be the new town jester?” I glare at Chastain.
Beth laughs. “You have to put that on.”
Parnon snorts into his cup.
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“You must.” Silmaran waves Nemar over. “This is exactly the sort of thing that will catch Zatran’s eye. You’ll look like a—”
“Buffoon,” I offer.
“Yes.” Silmaran smiles. “Exactly. A buffoon who obviously paid good coin to a slick salesman for these fancy clothes. You can say you met a Jinn in the desert who told you all the fae in Cranthum dress this way.” She runs her fingers down the golden stitching. “It doesn’t matter what the story is. Zatran will see you, see the gold, see you’re vulnerable, and he’ll invite you right in to the Bazaar.”
I see her plan, the murky shape of it bearing sharp edges. And, I must admit …
“It’s a good plan, right?” She smiles knowingly.
“What was your plan for the Bazaar before you set your sights on me?” I don’t let her rapport with Beth or her smiles fool me.
Her smile falters. “It was a bit more—”
“Bloody,” Parnon grunts.
“Yes.” Silmaran clasps her hands together. “But the moment I saw you and Beth, I knew we could do it smarter, with less bloodshed. We don’t have to overrun the slave masters’ homes if we can cut the head off the snake. If Zatran falls, then the rest will, too. This is the way to save lives.”
“But you were prepared to slaughter them all?” I need to know who I’m dealing with. Silmaran isn’t the same sweet female that Beth has told me about. She’s something different now, something harder.
