Page 47 of Queen of War and Ruin

“Please what?”

His fingers circle, gently, and my gods, I swear I’m dying. I feel him through the folds of my skirt, the hard length of his cock pressed against my backside, his hips rocking against mine.

“Touch me,” I gasp. “Please.”

He makes a sound, low and in the back of his throat, something that’s almost a laugh and almost a growl. I tilt my head back and close my eyes as his lips trace a path down the curve of my neck.

His fingers enter me slowly, his thumb dancing over the spot at the top of my sex, sending pleasure searing through my body like bolts of lightning, bright and fast, until I can barely breathe. His fingers thrust inside me, moving to the same rhythm as our hips, and oh, how can he make me feel so good with just his hand?

Gods, I’ve never wanted anything like I want this man. I want to turn around and pin him to the ground, to rip his clothes off and taste every part of him. But I don’t dare to move. I don’t want to break this thing between us.

“Like this?” he pants, his breath hot against my skin.

I moan in response. I don’t want him to stop. I don’t ever want him to stop. I gasp as my legs tremble, my body pulsing to the beat of his hand. His lips travel down my neck, kissing and biting, and the sounds coming out of my mouth are so raw and hungry I almost don’t recognize them.

His fingers dance inside me. I’m trapped between his hand and the massive length of his cock pressing into my backside, his hips rocking with mine through the layers of my dress, almost like we’re dancing together, gasping and panting, his chest pressed against my back, his fingers deep inside me, my hand clinging to the back of his head like I’ll fall apart without him.

“What do you want, Princess?” he growls against my throat as his fingers drive into me, so good but not enough, never enough.

“More,” I gasp.

He gives it to me. The room spins as his hand dances over my sex, his fingers thrusting deep inside me, making me shake as pleasure burns me alive. The noises I make sound like sobs as my body presses against his, and nothing else matters. Not the cold silences between us as we traveled, not the way he looks at me when he thinks I won’t notice, not all the impossible, broken things I can never find the words to tell him⁠—

Something slips out of my lips, loud and feral, as the crest crashes down all around me, coming fast and hot and sudden. My body pulls tight, then almost collapses as I gasp, carried away by the shattering ecstasy. Zarek wraps his arm around my waist, holding me upright, pressed to his body as the waves of my orgasm tear through me.

And then I’m gasping as the room swirls and pulses around me. Zarek grabs my skirts.

“On your knees,” he growls.

I fall to my knees, desperate and aching. The carpet beneath my hands is soaked with red wine, and it seeps up through my fingertips, making me think of the taste of his lips on the unity tour, the wine-sweet kisses that made me burn for something I’d never even had. Something I’d never even imagined could be so good.

Zarek drops to his knees behind me. I gasp as he pushes my skirts up over my waist, and then I feel him against me, the heat of his cock pressing against the folds of my dripping sex. A moan slips from my lips, even as some part of me recoils, because this isn’t how it’s supposed to work. I’m supposed to be on my back, my legs spread wide.

My husband leans over me, his breath hot against the back of my neck.

“What do you want?” he whispers, his voice thick. His fingers trace a path up the inside of my thigh, and I shiver. “What is your command, Princess?”

My hips rock back, pressing against the heat of his cock. He pulls away; my breath catches in my throat and comes out like a sob.

“You,” I gasp, trembling. “Please. I want you.”

Naked hunger burns through me, and gods, I don’t care how it’s supposed to be. I want him, all of him. I want him now.

He’s still for just a heartbeat. And then I feel the press of his cock, heat and pressure against my opening. He’s panting, his breath coming in sharp little bursts.

“More,” I beg.

It’s almost a sob, almost a desperate, wordless cry.

And he gives it to me. I moan as he fills me. Gods, it feels right. Like we were always meant to be this way, his body deep inside mine, the two of us joined and dancing. My fingers curl against the wine-wet rug and I push back, driving him into me, needing more. Needing everything.

He pulls away, and for a heartbeat I think of the stallion, desperate for the mare, thrusting into her.

“Yes,” I gasp, my voice ragged. “Yes, please, more⁠—”

And then he thrusts inside of me, entering me fully, and my world explodes with pleasure. I can’t think of anything except the feel of him inside of me, the rightness of it, the way he fills my whole being.

“Oh, gods,” I gasp. “Gods, yes, Zarek⁠—”