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She had been chosen by sons of the apocalypse.
And she would be protected and treated as the dark queen she would one day become, no matter her humanity—no matter her physical frailty. We wanted all of her.
But we had ten minutes to finish this charade before things took a turn for the bloody out there.
Still crouched, Cato worked her clit with two fingers, and I left her ass alone—for now. Joining my shadow-crowned brother, I sat back on my heels as Geralt doubled his efforts, his knees up, this a full-body task. As the color dripped from her cheeks to her chest to her navel, heat rolling off her in invisible waves, a sweaty sheen across her skin and eyes clenched shut like she was fighting her own pleasure with everything she had—I grabbed her throat.
Her eyes snapped open.
I squeezed, my sharp smile making her jerk and shiver in place.
But when she finally shattered, she pressed her lips together, biting down hard on the lower one as a squeal lodged in her throat. Stubborn creature, right to the very end.
“Say it,” I snarled, yanking her forward as Geralt licked and licked and licked, her climax the only scent in the room now. “Give it to us!”
She had made a deal.
Sort of.
An orgasm for her name.
“Now, little magpie,” Cato barked. He then delved between her forcefully parted thighs and pinched her clit. “Your name.”
She finally looked at us—really looked—with stars in her eyes, tears swelling and twinkling like diamonds. “Ileana.”
“Ileana,” I hissed, knowing I’d never taste another lover’s name on my tongue for as long as I lived.
“Ileana,” Cato choked out, his voice demonic and deep, nightmare fuel to the fuckers listening outside.
“Ileana,” Geralt declared, thoughtful and sweet as he kissed our mate’s name along her inner thigh. She grabbed at my arm, my hand still locked around her throat, then shyly peeked over to watch Geralt worship her.
And I—
Fuck.
I was already in love.
