Page 8 of Loved By The King

“Wow, you truly do suck at reading body language. No wonder you can’t get laid!”

I shake my head at him before remembering how awkward she went when she was fumbling over her words. Then how she asked for clothes like she was suddenly embarrassed. Fuck! I glance at the observatory. She thinks I don’t want her. I glance at Damian, then the clothes he gave me.

“Well?” he asks but I ignore him walking back to the observatory.

“Shut the damn cameras off!” I snarl at him. He laughs, and I keep walking until I reach the door. Stepping inside, I place the clothes on the small cast-iron table just inside the door before looking for Bree.

“Bree?” I call out, her heat has grown so strong it overpowers everything in here. When I find her, she is feverish and standing by the small fish pond at the back.

“You could have just left them,” she tells me, hearing me approach her from behind.

When I don’t answer, she turns, avoiding eye contact, though I can tell she has been crying, smelling the saltiness of her tears in the air. I don’t give her a chance to make excuses. Instead, I grab her, my hand tangling in her hair as I smash my lips against hers.

Her eyes widen in surprise, within a few heartbeats, she is fiercely kissing me back with a passion that matches my own, her body melting against mine. I tighten my grip on her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. The taste of her lips drives me wild, making me forget everything else.

The heat from her body sears through me, raw and primitive. Her hands grab at my bare skin, sending shivers down my spine. “Bree...” I manage to murmur against her lips before we are kissing again, hard and desperate.

She pulls away just enough to look at me, her eyes glassy. “I thought you didn’t want—”

“I wasn’t rejecting you,” I cut her off. “I thought you’d be mad about me sending you into heat.” Her brows pinch in confusion and she leans away slightly.

I grip her hand, dragging it between us so she can feel how hard she makes me. Her breath hitches as she feels the evidence of my desire. “I’ve wanted you ever since you agreed to be my wife,” I growl, my voice rough with need.

“Your fake wife.”

“Now I just need to convince you to become my real one,” I tell her. She jerks in my arms, pulling back, but I refuse to let her escape me.

“Just because your mate was stupid enough to let you go doesn’t mean I am.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Soren.”

“I’m not fucking with you, but I’m going to fuck you,” I laugh. “Then I’m going to marry you.”

“I never even said yes.”

“You’re about to scream it.”

Chapter 4

• Aubrey •

Before I can respond, his lips capture mine in a searing kiss. Electricity courses through my body, igniting every nerve ending. I melt into him, my fingers tangling in his dark hair as the kiss deepens.

Soren’s kiss is like a drug; I can feel my breathing quickening as his tongue delves deeper into my mouth. His hands wander lower, tracing the curves of my waist and hip. He pulls me closer, our bodies flush against each other, and I can feel his erection pressing against me.

His taste explodes on my tongue, bitter nectar mixed with mint and the faint essence of alcohol. His scent fills my nostrils: a heady blend of sweat, leather and something uniquely Soren. The sound of his lips smacking against mine echoes around us, drowning out the trickling sounds of water from the small pond behind me.

One of his hands finds its way to my breast, gently squeezing as he nips at my bottom lip, demanding more from me.

I moan into his mouth, unable to resist him any longer. My body betrays me as it arches into his touch, begging for more attention.

Soren grips my hips, dragging me higher until my legs are wrapped around his waist. A second later we are falling toward the musky scented earth, and my gasp is unwarranted as he catches us at the last second, pulling me to straddle his lap. He groans as my claws slip out digging into his shoulders.

Soren hands are everywhere, holding me impossibly close, his hand squeezes my breast, his thumb brushing over a rosy-tipped nipple. The cool air hits the sensitive flesh, but it’s replaced by intense heat when he takes it between his lips. He sucks softly at first then harder, rolling it with his tongue as he thrusts his hips against me in rhythm with the motion.

“Yeah,” he groans against my skin. “You like that?”

I nod frantically, unable to form coherent words as he continues to tease and tantalize every inch of exposed skin on my chest. His other hand roams downward to explore the curve of my back and the swell of my rear. His fingers dance over my skin, tracing patterns that leave me gasping and squirming in his lap. The intensity of his touch, along with the feverish desire mounting between us, is overwhelming.