Page 103 of The Crowned Queen

Araya’s breath hitched, her own hands shaking as she popped the buckle. Magic skittered across her skin, lighting up every nerve as she tore the belt free and tossed it aside.

Loren’s hands were on her again before the leather even hit the floor, dragging her breeches down her legs in one swift pull. Her undergarments went with them, a snarl twisting his lips when they tangled around her ankles.

“Don’t rip them!” Araya cried out.

She sat up, clinging to his shoulder for balance as she kicked her feet free. She’d wanted to pull him out of his head, but the last thing she needed was to have to walk back to the others without pants.

Loren’s hands slid up her calves, skimming over her knees before tracing up the curve of her thighs to finally settle on her hips. His shadows were there too, their cool touch a balm against her fevered skin as they slid higher, slipping under the hem of her now-loose shirt to skate across her ribs.

“Loren—”

Araya broke off with a soft cry, arching into him as his teeth grazed the line of her jaw. He laughed against her skin, biting a line down her neck to nuzzle into the sensitive spot where her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat.

She raked her hands down his chest in retaliation, relishing his surprised grunt as her nails dug into his flesh through his shirt. His ministrations against her neck faltered, his breath coming harder as she slid her hands lower and lower⁠—

Loren’s hand wrapped around her wrist, pinning her arm to the mattress with an iron grip.

“No,” he said, baring his teeth at her.

“But I want to touch you,” Araya protested, wriggling against his grip.

Loren’s eyes darkened, but his grip on her wrist didn’t loosen. “Who,” he challenged, “is worshiping who?”

Araya gasped, any response she might have made lost as something cool slid around her wrists. She twisted, panic flaring as she tried and failed to pull free. The restraints coiled around her arms like silken ribbons, stretching her wrists above her head and pinning her against the mattress.

“Loren,” she whispered, her heart pounding.

“It’s just the shadows, ael’sura.” Loren stroked a piece of hair back from her face, trailing a scorching path across her skin. His body pressed between her knees, hard against her softness even through layers of clothing. Every muscle in his body was taut, the heat in his eyes tempered by his concern.

But he didn’t pull away.

He watched her face instead, his hands shaking with the effort of holding himself still. Waiting for her to decide if this was too much for her.

Araya took a slow breath. The shadows tightened slightly as she shifted, flexing her wrists experimentally against their grip. They were restraining her, but they weren’t hurting her. They would no sooner harm her than Loren would. And if she let them, they would keep her exactly where he wanted her.

Araya shivered, a thrill rushing over her skin at the thought.

“It’s alright, ael’sura,” Loren said gently. “We don’t have to—ah.” He broke off with a hoarse groan, every muscle in his body going rigid. “Goddess, Araya.”

Araya shifted her hips against him again, wrapping one bare leg around his body to drag him even closer. He dropped to his elbows over her, his breath panting sharp and uneven across her skin when she leaned up, straining against the shadows to press a stinging kiss to his jaw.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, scraping her teeth across the place she’d just kissed. “Don’t ever stop⁠—”

Loren shuddered, his head dropping into the crook of her neck. And then he was moving, like her words had broken whatever fragile control he’d been clinging to. He slid down her body in one smooth motion, one hand resting on each of her thighs as he dropped to his knees beside the bed.

He glanced up, a wicked grin curving his lips when he found her straining against the shadows, her neck craned to stare down her body at him. With slow, exaggerated reverence, he pressed a soft kiss to each of her knees before he yanked.

Araya yelped, snapping her legs together as Loren dragged her to the edge of the mattress. But his hands were somehow already on her inner thighs, his grip firm and unyielding as he spread her open in front of him.

Heat flooded Araya’s face. “Loren—” she started, squirming in his grip. But the expression on his face when he looked up at her stole the rest of her protest from her lips.

“Careful what you wish for, ael’sura,” he whispered.

And then his mouth was on her.

Araya’s back left the mattress, the shadows holding her down as she writhed, desperate to grab onto something, anything—but all she could do was feel as he traced each hyper-sensitive part of her with lips and tongue and teeth, dragging soft cries from her with every stroke until she went boneless against the mattress.

Loren hummed against her, pleased. He rewarded her by shifting, one arm banding across her hips to pin her in place as he slid two fingers inside her.