Page 85 of Embers of Ruin

And this time, I don't want him to ask with words.

His eyes darken as he draws in a slow breath. In one fluid motion—I have no idea how he does it—he lifts me effortlessly with one arm while tugging down his trousers with the other.

I lower myself onto him slowly, and the sensation steals the breath from my lungs. My hands fly to his shoulders as I bury my face against his neck to stifle the scream that threatens to tear from my throat. The sheer size of him makes me gasp as tears spring involuntarily from my eyes. I cry out from the shockwaves rippling throughout my body as we move, our bodies so in sync that we create a rhythm of our own.

His arms tighten around me, holding me there for a moment as he grinds his hips slowly into me at an angle that threatens to send me to Illurine. When I finally lift my head, his eyes are completely silver.

Something in his expression changes and he moves. One second I’m straddling him. The next, my back meets the cushions, Thorin above me, one hand braced beside my head as his shadows curl around us. I barely have time to catch my breath before his mouth finds mine.

We separate just long enough for him to remove his shirt, and gods... He's all lean muscle, every hard line and sculpted angle looking as though he’d been carved from stone.

“You’re glowing for me again, muya quenati,” he murmurs.

I glance down at my body, noticing how it reacts to him. To his magic. Golden light radiates beneath my skin, washing over my arms, my breasts, my thighs. His fingers trail every inch of exposed skin as his shadows circle me, gliding over my body in slow, possessive caresses. It’s too much sensation. The feel of him as he grinds in and out of me slowly, his guttural groans—if there’s such a thing as dying from too much pleasure, that might be my fate tonight.

“Thorin…” I moan, never breaking eye contact as he sends me over wave after wave. Gods, he feels so good. His pace is exquisite; the way he hits every spot has me clenching, begging for more. I clutch my inner walls with every stroke, feeling his thickness pulse in response.

Gods, I want this man. I need him. But I hate him. I suppose three things can be true at once.

“Gods, Thorin!” I cry out, so lost in pleasure that there’s nothing but us. Nothing else matters.

“You are going to be the death of me, muya quenati,” he groans, and the way he says those words sends spasms throughout my body. He’s sent me over the edge three... no, four? Maybe five times now. I’ve lost count. No one has ever made me feel anything like this.

I quicken my movement, arching my neck as he changes his pace, grinding into me as if he could find my heart through my sex. Gods.

Thorin.

Thorin.

Thorin.

I don’t know if I’m thinking his name or saying it aloud repetitively, but he grabs a fistful of my hair gently as he brings my face closer to his.

“Look at me, beautiful. I want to see your face as your body sings for me.”

I whimper, because there isn’t room left for words, for air, for anything—there’s only him. There’s only him.

“Good girl, Lyra. Good fucking girl. You are making a mess,” he says as he palms my rear and grinds deeper into me.

“MINE,” he growls, thrusting until he hits that spot that sends my body into convulsions. If he doesn’t stop, I might die right here, on his cock.

“Yes,” I moan, ignoring the searing pain that shoots through my wrist. “Yes, Thorin. Yours.”

He captures my mouth in a kiss that consumes me so fiercely, it feels as if I’m on fire as he grinds relentlessly into me. We’re connected so deeply that I don’t know where I end and he begins. His rhythm slows as if his body knows that I’m close to falling off the edge. I can feel pressure mounting in my stomach, and my sex is so satisfied with the way he fucks me that arousal coats my thighs, his legs, everything.

His hands grip my waist firmly, and he kisses me once more before his lips move to my ear, sending a cold shiver of pleasure down my spine.

“I’ve been waiting for you to take your place on my throne, Lyra,” he whispers into my ear, and pleasure crashes through me so violently that my eyes squeeze shut as golden sparks erupt behind my eyelids. I've never felt anything like this before. When I open them again, his gaze is fixed on mine, unwavering. I watch every movement he makes as he palms my breast, thrusting into me one last time before we both fall off the cliff together.

CHAPTER 20

Mazelle is alive and well, with no broken bones to keep her from being a thorn in my side. It's both impressive and deeply inconvenient. I knew she'd survived my magical outburst, but seeing her storm into my chambers looking more offended than injured somehow feels like a personal attack.

I would respect that if she weren’t currently standing in my room with the clear intention of ruining my evening.

Again.

For a moment, I stare at her from my place beside the window. I’ve spent most of the day here, watching Andell move beneath the endless gray sky and pretending I haven’t been thinking about Thorin’s hands caressing my body, his presence inside my mind, and the hidden golden wall he found there before everything went catastrophically wrong.