Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (14)

He was giant yet lean. Beneath the loose silk that gaped at his defined chest were rock-hard muscles. My fingers hesitantly crawled down to his abdominals. His hardness twitched against my core. It shocked me still, and he clasped my cheek.

My eyes lifted to find his were upon my mouth, his thumb pressed at the corner. “Such lovely lips. A perfect, silken bow. Tell me,” he said, nearly absently, “has anyone ever kissed them?”

Heat threatened to engulf my neck and face again, but I sensed what he wanted and shook my head.

“Kiss me, butterfly.”

I couldn’t deny that I wanted it, too, so I leaned forward. Doing so made his erection press harder against me, and a startled breath with low sound slipped free.

His hand clutched my cheek tighter. “Does that feel good?”

I swallowed, not needing to answer when my body leaned instinctively into his in response, seeking more of that sparking warmth.

“I’m still waiting,” he murmured, lashes dipping and his words heating my mouth.

“Yes,” I said and closed the small gap between our mouths, nerves long forgotten when my eyes closed upon the first touch of his lips meeting mine. I sat them against his carefully, savoring that I was truly doing such a thing.

That I was doing something I’d only ever dreamed about doing.

Then I slowly moved them. His lips parted at my urging, and a soft sound rumbled from deep within his chest. I skimmed and pressed, and after a minute, I licked just under his upper lip.

He was whiskey and winter. A poison so intoxicating, I greedily sought more.

I lost myself and grasped his cheeks. He tensed beneath me at my boldness, but when I made to withdraw, he clasped my rear. Firmly.

And then he kissed me back.

His silken lips claimed with hungry prying and pressing. He groaned and tilted his head, his tongue entering my mouth to meet mine.

I forgot why I was here. I forgot this male was a stranger willing to pay for my company. I forgot I’d ever been afraid and uncertain.

All I could feel was fire.

A moan stunned me, falling between us when his hips jerked and his length dug hard against me. He tore away, his eyelids heavy and his pinkened mouth tempting me to reclaim it. He swallowed, and I had the sudden and extreme urge to lick his throat.

The hand upon my rear squeezed then left, my skin chilled in its absence. My slip had risen, I realized.

He’d touched my bare skin.

Though it shocked, I didn’t mind. Especially when that same hand rose to my chest. A lone finger dragged along the edging of my slip over the swells of my breasts. I waited, almost asking him to tug it down to expose more of me.

As though at war with himself, the male’s jaw hardened, and he straightened until our noses were close to touching.

His hold upon my face gentled, his thumb caressing the curve of my cheek and luring my eyes to his. “You are the most exquisite treasure I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he whispered against my mouth. He bit my lip—hard enough that I flinched. I gasped when he sucked it clean of blood and dragged his mouth over my cheek to vow to my ear, “And I’m going to do such filthy, dishonorable things to you.”

I should have been afraid.

Many Fae, especially those with immense magical abilities, hungered for blood. They relied on it for strength and to appease addiction if they were prone to feeding too much.

I had no time to decide what either of us might be.

I was lifted, then dumped upon the divan beside a fat pouch of coin I hadn’t seen sitting next to him. That magnetic heat from his body had left the velvet of the chair toasty warm. I stared up at him while he rolled his shirtsleeves, my lips and flesh tingling.

Goddess damn me. Even his forearms, thick and sprinkled with dark hair, were tantalizing.

This unexpected client of mine dragged a hand through waves of darkest brown. The strands fell back over his shoulders to brush his granite jaw. “Do not speak of this meeting or meet with anyone else.”

“You’re leaving?” I blinked and blurted, “But we...”

The glare he gave me was glacial. “Understood?”

Alarmed and speechless, I blinked some more. Then I nodded my acceptance and pulled my slip over my thighs as though he hadn’t just researched my body like he was learning a map.

“Moving your head about is not an adequate answer, butterfly.”

I frowned but acquiesced. “Understood.”

“Good. Await my sparrow.”

The door opened, but before he could step through, my confusion and the mess he’d made of me demanded something. “You’ve not even given me your name.”

He stilled. I expected him to be irritated by my audacity or that he might just leave.

But as he stepped out into the hall and the door slowly creaked closed behind him, he said far too simply, “Florian.”

My heart clattered to a violent stop in my chest.

Then fell with a sickening splash into my stomach.

I’d never seen the royals of Folkyn. Given how little they wanted to do with Crustle, and of how little they thought of the citizens, any paintings and depictions of them had been forbidden in these lands eons ago.

But due to my research of the place in which I’d been born, I knew of all their names. And no one would dare name their offspring after a royal unless they too were part of that royal family.

My eyes remained stuck to the door. As the swift return of fear threatened to expel the meager contents of my stomach, I forced them to the coin next to me.