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Neo seizes my finger, jerking me forward and slipping a hand around my waist. My breath stalls as he proceeds to dip my finger into his mouth to suck. I hate the longing ache growing inside me when he nips the tip of my finger and informs me, “We both know I am no decent human being, Elysia. I am the Prince of Destruction. No better than a damned devil. The Dragon.” His hand strays from my finger to my wrist, thumbing his horned mark with the reminder.
My pulse flagellates my throat, and I shake my head in denial, even when he thrusts my wrist up, causing the robe sleeve to fall. “That’s not true, Neo. I’ve seen you without your masks. They’re your addictions. I know why you were forced to wear them in the first place.”
“Yes, Nita informed me of your interlude in her dungeon. Quite impressive. It’s no wonder she’s bonded with you to the extreme.” He rubs his lips across the inset of my wrist. My pulse flutters in response.
“Ilove—”
“Me too,” Neo agrees, and I cage a gasp at the repeat of our past that he does not remember. I’d swear a shooting star erupts inside my chest at the connection.
“You could have destroyed the whip, Neo,” I distract myself, pressuring him, reminding him of that day in Court. “You could have stopped everything. You have the highest power in all the land next to him.”
Neo groans, drops my wrists, and kneads his eyes. “When I made the blood oath with my Father, there were certain provisions in the contract. I had to rule according to the laws of the land, laws he transcribed. I have the power tobendsuch laws, which is why I added the Rite of Substitution. But if Ibreakone of them, Nita returns to my Father. And he would have whipped her until there was nothing left, Elysia. He has even more reason to hurt me now.”
“Why?” I thread my suspicious fingers together. He releases his hand from my waist, picks up the decanter on the nearby table, and pours us each a glass.
“Because I married the Everblood and kept it a secret from him. Triumvirate or no.”
I lick my lips and nod, accepting the drink, sipping the traitorous wine so it lulls my body. Triggered, the Halo casts an ethereal glow about my form. More butterflies flutter to the surface of my flesh. Still, I test Neo more than I tempt him. “But can we agree that it never should have happened in the first place? That you shouldn’t have brought me into the Inner Circle?”
At first, I believe he’s going to object when he opens his mouth, neck muscles flexing, jaw steeling. But he doesn’t. Neo lowers his head, almost to where his chin touches his throat, swallowing. His anti-Adam’s apple rolls. In a deep, velvety voice, the Prince of Destruction tells me, “Yes, Elysia. We agree on that.”
It’s more than I hoped for. And I’ll settle for it…for now.
“But I am cashing in on our other bargain tonight…” Neo indicates, thumbing my robe.
I heave a sigh and cringe. “What will it be tonight, Neo? Leathers? Gold wings? Nipple clamps?” Um…why the fuck am I giving him ideas?
He cocks his head to the side with a deep, throaty chuckle. “We’ll get to that later. First…” He juts his thumb to the corner table, gesturing to the present he’d given me months ago. The camera.
“Hmm…sure you want to risk it?” I beam and move toward the table, cinching my hands around the device. “Your giant ego might break my lens.”
“Oh, you will not be shooting just me tonight, my love.”
I turn to the side, raising a brow, but all Neo offers is a feral grin like the cat Prince that ate the canary Princess.
* * *
“You’ve gotto be kidding me!” are my first words when the elevator jolts to a stop right in front of Neo’s harem.
“Come…” Neo coaxes, practically humming in my ear with his hand draping across my nude back thanks to the dress I’d chosen: a more casual evening dress—far similar to a dressing gown, except with a heart-shaped neckline, capped sleeves, and royal amaranthine ruffles. “I’m most eager for your opinion on the theme.”
I roll my eyes but follow him out of the elevator with my camera tucked in my hands. “Let me guess…Season:Seven Minutes In Heaven?”
Neo brushes his lips across the side of my forehead in a feather-light kiss. Dammit. Gold dust breeds between my thighs, and I clench them tight, commanding my insides not to trickle liquid gold from his stamp of approval over my deduction, though it wasn’t that hard.
There is the backdrop of silver blood tech that projects a planetarium-like scene into the whole room; it reminds me of a throne room but more rotund with several pillars. On the left side, floor-to-ceiling-sized glass doors open to reveal a dais descending to a colossal bathing pool. In the center of the room, amid all the stars, hovers a glowing, silvery moon surrounded by mounds of fluffy clouds—all of which hold Neo’s harem girls in varying positions, posing for the camera crew.
As soon as he sweeps around the corner into the room, already dressed for the episode filming, and announces with arms spread wide, “Prince in the house, ladies!”, all the girls scream—shriller than banshees crossed with swallows.
I startle, eyes skyrocketing wide. They trip over themselves, shaking the cloud set, scattering glitter everywhere while scrambling for Neo, competing in their launch to tackle him. Like they’re Berbie teens at a Berberians show runway. But dressed in nothing but crystal lingerie and white angel wings.
Oh, for the love of the Goddess, I roll my eyes but decide to rein back my sighs. My ears, the back of my neck, and my cheeks all flush. I wish I could deny my skin tingling, especially my fingertips.
Remaining behind the pillar, I peek my head around the side to take a few candid shots as four sets of legs wrap around Neo. They send him sprawling to the floor, where he throws his head back, laughing. He cranes his neck to me, catches me photographing them, and puckers up his lips to blow me a kiss with a wink.
Under his gaze, I blush but don’t know what heats me more: his response or the multiple girls showering him with kisses and even love bites. He settles his hand on a few of them, cupping at their waists, shoulders, hair, necks, and back, but never anywhere private. Holy foremothers, why am I acting like a jealous, love-starved teenager?
Pursing my lips, I study their ardor for him, how he rises to stand with two attaching themselves to each side of his hips, one tangling around his front, and another curving on his back.
