Before I know it, he scoops me off the ground like I weigh nothing. My legs, able to move freely with my gown’s side slits, clutch around his hips instinctively. As soon as our bodies are aligned, a deep, husky exhalation shudders out of him.
He spins me around and presses my back to the wall. The rough stone scratches down my back like fingernails. The beautiful goose down wings snag and break apart. Feathers rain to the floor. He doesn’t seem to care that we’re shredding a costume that must cost more than he makes in a year.
Our lips crash together in a kiss that’s a battle of wills. His mouth is hot. His tongue licks and strokes over my own like it wants to sample every drop of me. The hard edge of his teeth drags against my bottom lip. He sucks the lip into his mouth, biting down just hard enough to send lightning shooting all the way to my toes. I fist my hand in the back of his hair, wrenching his head down to mine. This feels like a game, and both of us are determined to win.
His hands on my ass explore freely like I’m his prize to plunder. The dress’s slits let him touch my most intimate places, guarded only by my satin panties.
“I need these off,” he orders sharply.
I wiggle my hips, and he sets me down. He attacks the broken wings first, unfastening the leather harness around my chest and sliding it down over my shoulders. I fill my lungs to capacity, finally freed. But before I can step out of my panties, he kneels before me like he’s about to worship the gods. Roughly shoving aside the dress’s slitted fabric, he runs his hands along my panties’ front seam. His hot breath cools the already damp fabric. He’s so close to my cleft—he must be drowning in my scent. My cheeks burn to know that he can tell how wet I already am, my body craving him enough to flood my channel in preparation.
He hooks his fingers in the sides of my panties and slowly drags them down my legs, painting his palms along the smooth skin of my thighs and calves until he reaches my feet. Then he leans his forehead against my lower half and groans.
“Your scent. I’ve been thirsting for it. Nothing else will do.”
He stands and undoes his pants, then grabs me by the ass again, shoving the dress’s skirt aside to coax my legs around his hips.
My head falls back against the wall. What is wrong with me? I hate this man . . . but my body doesn’t care. In fact, the hatred only makes me wetter. It’s fucked up, but hatred is a powerful form of connection. For a long time, it was the only language I knew. And Basten is the same way. We were raised on violence, so no wonder we crave it.
We’re both so damn twisted. So broken.
At least we’re broken together.
His eyelids sink lower as he frees himself from his pants and presses his cock to my entrance. He slides the tip up and down my glistening slit as his chest heaves.
“Gods, you’re so fucking wet.”
My hips buck, unable to hold steady. My tongue darts out to dampen my lips, which are dry from panting. But as much as I wiggle, he doesn’t plunge any deeper than a shallow tease.
He demands, “Tell me how you were thinking of me when you were kissing him.”
I bare my teeth as a white-hot flare of anger engulfs me. “I wasn’t. I hate you—I don’t think of you at all.”
“You’re so fucking pretty when you lie,” he murmurs, and then finally takes me with one hard stroke.
A gasp tears from my throat as his cock fills me completely. By the gods. There is no feeling in the world like having Basten inside me. My juices make our union slick, but he’s so big that it still stretches me in a way that brings both pleasure and pain. He takes a moment to bury his face in the crook of my neck, his cock sheathed to the hilt. Then he pulls out and thrusts in again.
I cry out, overcome by the pressure, and he clamps one hand over my mouth while supporting me with the other.
“Quiet,” he breathes. “You don’t want to alert the whole castle to the fact that I’m fucking Rian’s bride.”
But as he takes me against the wall with powerful thrusts, I can’t swallow my moans fast enough. He keeps his hand against my mouth to muffle my whimpers.
“That’s it,” he says, low. “Show me how much you like it. How you can’t fucking help but like it.”
I wrap my trembling thighs around him tighter, our slickness making it hard to hold on. The dress’s slits tear. The gown was already ruined—shredded by the rough stone wall, soaked in my desire.
His fingers dig into my ass as he thrusts hard and hot. Our skin slaps together even louder than my muffled moans. I can feel every inch of him sliding in and out of me. It triggers some madness in me that shuts off my brain and turns me into an animal. Gripping his shoulders, I lift my hips to match his thrusts.
“Nod your head,” he orders. “Show me you like it.”
My head bobs against his palm. In reward, he adjusts his stance and thrusts into me even deeper. I feel swollen, needy. A storm is growing in my lower half that I can’t stop. My thighs tighten as I rock my hips faster, calling to the storm. Wanting it. The heat is building so much that I can feel it coming to a head, and my pussy tightens around his cock.
“No,” he growls. “Not yet.”
He slides all the way out of me. He removes his hand from my mouth just in time for me to give an angry protest.
“Basten, please!” I pant, angry with him for making me beg.
“I said not yet.” He carries me to the bed, where he drops my ass down on the fur coverings. He stands over me, gazing at my splayed body in the torn, ruined dress, and then shoves my knees apart, putting my core on full display.
He drops to his knees at the foot of the bed, his lips parted, and as it dawns on me what he has in mind, my eyes go wide.
“Oh no,” I say. “Not that. It’s too much. I can’t take it!”
The last time he licked my pussy, I shattered into a million pieces. I’m afraid this time, I won’t be able to put myself back together again.
He gives me a pitiless look as he lowers his mouth to my core. “Talk less when I fuck you.”
He’s merciless as he licks and sucks my swollen core. His tongue laps at my outer folds, caressing the curves. He lays his tongue flat to lick me from bottom to top, then captures my clit between his lips and sucks.
I cry out, then clamp my hand over my mouth to keep myself quiet. My heart is scrambling wildly. Any minute, Rian could come to the door looking for me. Or Brigit could enter through the servant’s door to prepare the room for the night. We can’t be caught. There’s no telling what sick game Rian would punish us with.
But the pressure is building too fast. The storm is coalescing, aching to burst. Basten pushes a finger inside me, stroking my insides deeply while simultaneously sucking on my sensitive bud.
That’s all it takes. The storm bursts. A wave of dousing pleasure drenches me like I’ve been swept underwater. My brain goes numb as I’m caught in the storm’s thrall. I’m weightless, like campfire embers coasting toward the stars.
My head falls back against the quilt, throat opening to let ragged breaths tear out of me. As my knees fall to the side, my body utterly spent, Basten wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then unbuckles the baldric belt around his waist that holds up his sword, the last of his armor. He lets the sword clatter to the floor.