Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
He does. He can’t deny it now, when he’s buried so deep inside me, helpless to make himself stop. I put my hands on his face, lift his gaze to mine.
His eyes are lit with stars in the night sky and lined with tears of quicksilver.
“I don’t want you,” he whispers again, and kisses me.
The table is no longer hard at my back; we’re in Luthian’s bed, lying between the sheets. When he lifts his mouth from mine, he says, “This wasn’t supposed to happen, Cenere.”
“I know.” I arch up, grinding against him. “But I wanted it to.”
He gives me exactly what both of us need. The two of us, no tricks, no toys, no games. Just the slow, deep stroke of his cock, my hips rocking with his rhythm. His hand between us, thumb circling over my clit with such skill that it seems unfair. I wish he didn’t know my body so well. I wish he couldn’t make me feel such pleasure. I wish I didn’t love him so much.
And I am out of wishes.
I give myself over to the frantic sway of our bodies as we strive for completion, to Luthian’s lips on my neck, his tongue in my mouth. I tremble and cry out with every climax, and he lasts as long as he can, wringing as many from me as my body will allow. Only when I’m so worn out that I can no longer meet his rhythm does he let himself go.
He isn’t controlled and silent, the way he has been in the past. He moans a little more with every slow, deliberate thrust, growing louder as he picks up speed until, with a roar, he rams deep, and I feel the hot surge of his cum filling me with every jerk of his cock. I hold his face to my breast, stroke his hair, soothing him as he convulses with the last of his pleasure, and my heart shatters.
This is the only time. I knew it when we started, but I haven’t truly believed it until now, when he’s breathing hard, sweat dripping onto my chest, slowly coming back to his senses. When the lust has passed and reason returns, he will be finished with me. Forever.
He slips from my body on a groan of finality that pierces my heart. Falling back on the pillows, he stares up at the canopy over the bed. A mirror shows us there, tangled in the black sheets, my pale body flushed where he’s been pressed against me, his blue-gray skin slick with sweat.
Our eyes meet in that reflection, and he looks away.
“This won’t happen again,” he says, his voice flat and removed from the act we just shared.
“I know.” But I don’t move. If I stay here, in this bed, the memory of his body still imprinted on mine, it isn’t over.
With no wishes left, there isn’t a reason for us to see each other again. Luthian loves me. I felt it in every touch. But something stands in the way of that love.
Parphia.
“You love her still,” I whisper.
“I do.” The admission is emotionless. “And until I no longer love her, I cannot love another.”
I reach for him, but he rolls away and rises from the bed. He conjures his dressing gown from the air and puts it on, meticulously arranging it with his back still turned to me. “I’ve handed you over to Cassan. I told him I don’t want you anymore, that he’s won the bet by default. You will be queen, after all.”
I sit up and pull my knees to my chest. “And you?”
“You won’t see me again.” Still, he does not look at me. “Thank you, Cenere, for your help.”
“I was helping myself.”
His shoulders move with a grim laugh. “I’ve taught you too well. Good-bye, my honey flower.”
He lifts his hand, and I call out, “No, wait!”
But I’m back in my mirrored room, and I am alone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The funeral for King Arcus, five-thousand-year ruler of the Court of Pleasure and Torment, draws faeries from all over the kingdom.
The only people missing are Luthian and Kathras.
I sit beside Cassan on a matching throne outside the ritual circle. In the center, a bier has been constructed over the cold remains of the bonfire, and atop it is a small bundle, wrapped in white.
All that was left of Arcus when the poison did its work was a tarry stain on his coverlet. That’s what will be burned today.
I suppose it’s preferable to the smell of a burning corpse.
Through the black veil drawn over my face, I note that Cassan looks…bored. As if his father’s funeral is an inconvenience. Indeed, he hasn’t said a word about his brother’s escape, and seems mostly troubled with the fact that court mourning will interfere with his birthday celebrations.
Which, he has assured me more than once, he looks forward to with great anticipation.