Page 23 of Queen of War and Ruin

My body pulls tighter and tighter, shaking and writhing as Zarek devours me, and now I’m crying for something, but gods, I don’t know what it is.

I just need more. More of this, more of him, more of everything. Gods, I don’t ever want him to stop. My hips tilt, rising to meet him, driving into him, and I want this to last forever, I want this, him, only him, forever⁠—

I scream as my body falls apart, wave after wave crashing through me, leaving me wrecked and gasping.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Zarek growls.

My vision swims as the world tilts around me. I blink, trying to make sense of the dim flickers. The rafters above me. Our wet clothes draped over the railing, dripping rainwater onto the floor below.

Zarek. Gods above, Zarek. His wet hair against his throat, the bandage over his ribs, his lips curled into a hungry grin. He’s on his knees between my legs, watching me like he never wants to look at anything else.

And he’s pulling down his thin black shorts.

I gasp the first time I see it, the part of him I felt pressed against my body night after night when we kissed for the crowds, pulsing against my thigh in the carriage, straining against his pants on our wedding night. The gleaming head, the wicked curve.

Gods, it’s big. I swallow, but my throat feels dry. I spread my legs, ready for him. Or as ready as I’ll ever be.

But Zarek leans over me and kisses my neck. His breath is soft against my skin, and once again, that low ache grows between my legs.

“Princess,” he whispers. “I’m going to fuck you. Tell me how you like it.”

I open my mouth, then moan as his lips close around my earlobe.

“I— I don’t know,” I stammer.

He makes a sound, something like a purr and a laugh mixed together, and then his fingers trace a path up the inside of my thigh. I moan as they trace my sex.

“Then tell me what feels good,” he whispers.

I feel him, the heat and the pressure of his cock against the lips of my sex. I gasp, bracing myself. But he doesn’t enter.

“P-Please,” I moan. “Please, gods.”

His hips rock, and he enters me slowly. I gasp, waiting for the burn, the pain, my entire body trembling as he fills me. Above me, Zarek closes his eyes. Sweat beads on his forehead; rainwater drips down his neck.

“Oh, gods,” he whispers.

Like a plea for mercy. Or a prayer.

“More,” I beg.

He gives it to me. He fills me completely, sinking into me, his hips against mine, our bodies joined. I wrap my legs around his waist, needing something more, although I’m not sure what.

“I-Is this—” he asks, in a gasp.

“Good,” I pant. “Gods. It doesn’t—doesn’t hurt.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and his eyes flash. “It’s not supposed to hurt, Princess.”

I almost laugh, but then he moves inside me, pulling back, and I gasp instead. He fills me again, slowly, our bodies rocking together. His hand comes to the head of my sex, his fingers dancing around the place that made me explode.

And I forget how to speak.

I didn’t know it could feel like this. Zarek pants and gasps above me, his eyes closed again, a look of intense concentration on his face. My hips rise to meet him, slowly at first, like we’re both following the steps of a dance. It’s almost too much, the feeling of him inside me, his hand on my sex, my body aching, burning, reaching for him.

And it’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough.

I sink my hand into his hair and cling to him, my legs around his waist, my hips driving into him, demanding more. Demanding all he has to give. The ache rises inside me again, the need, and I would beg him if I could only form the words.