Max stiffens, gripping the root of my hair.
Then, her tight heat clenches viciously around me, and I lose control, driving so deep inside her that I leave a part of myself there.
Delicious bursts of pleasure tingle across my spine and my ass, cum streaming out of me in thick ropes, and I wait a minute for the orgasm to ebb and my cock to soften before pulling out of her.
Her legs shake as I gently release her to the floor, supporting her so she doesn’t collapse.
“Oh my God. That was—” She cuts herself off.
A wide grin breaks across her face, her hand flying up too late to mask it. It fills me with pride and love to see her like that, so much so that I want to carry her to the bed and do it all again.
“It waseverything,” I finish for her.
Blushing red, she works her top back into place.
I grab a clean, wet rag from the basin and proceed to gently wash her thighs. I’m drunk on the scent we made together, on the sight of my cum leaking out of her.
Max looks curiously down at me, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She keeps her hands tucked behind her back, a loving haze spreading across her face as I kiss the patch of skin immediately below her skirt, cleaning her slowly and reverently, then wiping myself before tossing the rag aside.
“Let me carry you to bed.” I move to hook my arms beneath her knees, but she grabs my shoulders with both hands.
“Wait.”
Her gaze flicks toward the dark passage hidden within the alcove, where an icy wind has suddenly begun to blow.
The darkness beckons, but whatever waits at the end of that corridor could hurt her. Hurt us.
She hesitates, then squeezes my hand, almost regretfully. “I need to know what’s at the end of this.”
I press a kiss to her forehead, more in love with her than ever before. “Then lead the way.”
Chapter 45
Bottled Death
MAX
We follow the chilly breeze down the cramped passage and find a series of hallways that are easier to navigate. Countless intersections appear to lead to every other area of the palace, but the cold wind guides us into a vast rectangular chamber, and I skid to a halt.
The architecture of this cul-de-sac room mirrors that of the throne room in a way that makes my skin crawl. White pillars support the ceiling, and marble floors stretch beneath our feet. But there’s no gold, no warmth, no attempt at grandeur or even comfort, as though we’ve stepped into the throne room’s shadow.
An entire wall in the back is made of darkened glass, and my stomach drops. The hidden chamber runs directly alongside the throne room, separated only by a pane of enchanted glass. From this side, I can see everything. The throne. The skylight. The mutilated wings. I can even catch a glance of the mezzanine overhead.
From the other side, however, all anyone would see is their own reflection. No one in the throne room would ever know they were being watched.
“I was right.” My voice comes out quieter than intended. “There was someone here, watching us.”
“Daddy dearest, I'd bet,” E snarls.
There’s a table against one wall with various instruments laid out upon it. Chisels. Mallets. Fine engraving tools. The kind of instruments a sculptor might use. Beside them sit long metal tweezers, diamond shears, and several blackened paddles scarred by heat. A furnace squats in the corner of the room, its mouth dark and cold now, while a steel worktable stands nearby, smooth from years of shaping molten glass. The workshop looks abandoned, but not ancient. As though someone walked away in the middle of a project and never came back.
I hesitate, and my pulse stutters.
At the center of the secret room rests a massive glass enclosure, at least twelve feet long, eight feet tall, and four feet deep. Unlike the observation wall, this glass isn’t see-through.
E drifts closer to the structure, his expression darkening. “What do you think’s inside?”
We approach cautiously, but the enclosure is buried beneath a thick sheath of ice, the glass completely opaque.
