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She mewled and thrashed, lost in the throes. Every thrust, sight and sound propelled him higher. Pleasure stacked upon pleasure stacked upon pleasure.
He would have more than her mouth every morning. He would have this—he would have her—every day in every way for the rest of eternity.
“Right there, right there, right there.” Chantel ran his earlobe between her teeth. “It’s so good, baby.”
“Who makes you feel this way?”
“Only you.”
“That’s right. Only me.” He did this. Him. Kaysar de Aoibheall. Scraped raw, he vowed, “But I will make you feel better.”
He reared up to his knees, spread her legs wide—wider—and thrust with all his might. Bliss beckoned with more strength than before...
Spine bowing, she threw back her head and screamed. Her sheath squeezed him, milking every rock-hard inch, forcing his release.
A suspended moment as he fought it...before his body broke, ceding his pleasure. Kaysar roared, his voice tearing at the edge, rapture pouring through him, overwhelming his senses.
After the last lash of his climax, he collapsed atop her. He heaved as though he’d battled an army of hundreds. Defenses he’d built for centuries crumbled. Triumph expanded, an unstoppable force. Unimaginable. Nearly unbearable. Waiting in the center of it all...contentment. Because he’d pleased his mate. He’d satisfied her. He’d satisfied her well. Because, with his Chantel, he had no hate to bridge his past to his future. He had only here and now and tomorrow, pleasure his for the taking.
And take it he would.
“That was amazing,” she said, her voice slightly slurred. “Think I’m gonna take a little nap now.”
He rolled to his side and fit her boneless body on top of him. Their favorite sleeping position. As if she were his shield, his pain no match for her. As if he were an anchor for her, preventing her from slipping away.
Confidence surged. He could make this relationship work and enjoy his vengeance. From now on, he simply had to take better care of both.
All would be well.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THOUGH COOKIE AND KAYSAR had gone to bed only hours ago, the weather had changed drastically, a storm brewing on the horizon.
She stood on the master suite balcony, surveying her kingdom. Below her, across from the castle, was a bustling market, fae and an assortment of mythological creatures buying, selling and hustling everything from fresh baked breads, to swords and unicorns.
She’d been here, what? A week? Ten years? Since the change in management, this was the first time Dusklands citizens had come out of hiding to continue living. Progress was slow but sweet.
Evening had come, the descending sun setting storm clouds ablaze as they gathered. Lighting flashed, announcing a clap of thunder. In the market, people raced for cover to avoid the first light splatter of rain. Wind blew in, damp and fragrant with smoke and sandalwood.
As people congregated under the tents, standing still as they crammed together, a large group noticed her high in the castle. In the silence between booms of thunder, she heard, “Lulundria.”
“Summer Court princess.”
“Prince Jareth’s bride.”
She blew a kiss, smiled and waved, hoping to curry favor. They didn’t smile, but they did wave. At least she looked her best. She wore a gown of poisonvine, pink flowers woven throughout the leaves. Pink locks of hair danced in the breeze.
She drummed her thorn claws against the metal rail as her audience lost interest in her. In the bedroom, Kaysar slept like the dead in bed. She doubted he’d rested more than thirty seconds at a time during his hunt. Or in the years before her arrival.
Low-grade arousal heated her body as she remembered every action responsible for his coma of bliss. That man knew how to move. How to render her desperate but also delight her. He made her feel like the predator—and the prey.
Sex with him was out-of-this-world good. Mind-blowing. The best she’d ever had. His touch had been reverent but demanding. Perfect. He’d concentrated the full measure of his intensity on her pleasure.
Control? She’d had none. Defenses? Gone. He’d stripped her in every way imaginable, and she’d reveled in it, hungering for more. She was overjoyed with him. She was...worried.
Falling fast. With no safety net.
The girl afraid of being ditched fought to win the man who loved another. Vengeance.
The word alone made her want to destroy something. How did you win against a concept?
Kaysar materialized behind her, pressing his bare chest into her back. He braced his hands beside hers, caging her in, and nuzzled her cheek. “I didn’t like waking without you in my arms.”
Past rational thought, she nuzzled him in return, leaning into his strength. The sky chose that moment to open up, rain pelting the land. In seconds, red dirt appeared black, becoming a sea of gleaming obsidian.
The muscles in his arms flexed, as if he braced for a blow. “What thoughts plague you, sweetling? Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll fix it.”
