He had to admit that he was stunned. He had never imagined that calling her his queen would come with so much weight.
He turned her head toward his, and she met his gaze, eyes red and watery.
“Persephone, what do you think of when you think of a queen?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I know what I would like to see in a queen.”
“Then what would you like to see in a queen?”
“Someone who is kind…compassionate… present.”
The last word was meant for him.
“And you do not think you are all those things?” he asked. He let his thumb brush over her lips. He wanted to kiss her because he hadn’t in a very long time. He wanted to bring her comfort and to assure her that there was no title she needed to live up to because she was already enough. “I’m not asking you to be a queen. I’m asking you to be yourself. I’m asking you to marry me. The title comes with our marriage. It changes nothing.”
“Are you asking me to marry you again?” she asked, her words quiet and slow.
“Will you?”
She stared, and he already knew the answer, even as the tears slid down her face, and he had never felt so conflicted—so desperate to hear her say yes but so content with her no. She’d shown him tonight how willing she was to defend his people, how she had adopted them as her people, and he knew that meant she loved him.
“My darling,” he whispered. “You do not have to answer now. We have time—an eternity.”
Finally, he kissed her, and the release was instant but quickly overpowered by an all-consuming need to be inside her. Then she touched him, sliding her hands down his stomach and over his cock before unbuttoning his trousers, fingers curling around his bare flesh. He groaned, loving the feel of her on him, and he wanted more.
He let his tongue and teeth play across her lips, over her jaw and down her neck, and the harder she breathed and moaned, the more he teased and sucked her skin, which was why he was surprised when she pushed him away. She took a moment to stare at him with hungry eyes, then placed her hand on the center of his chest, pushing him back until he felt the edge of the bed behind him.
“Sit,” she ordered, and as he obeyed, she removed the crown from her head and set it on the nearby table. She placed her hands on his knees, holding his gaze as she lowered to the floor.
“You look like a fucking queen.”
She always did.
She smiled as she answered, “I am your queen.”
Then she touched him, her hand working up and down his cock. He took a breath, the heat of her touch going straight to his head.
“Persephone.” Her name felt rough on his tongue, and while her hands felt good, her mouth felt better, closing around his crown, tongue trailing around his head before she brought him fully into her mouth.
He drew her hair into his hand and held it away from her face so he could watch her take him deep. She was warm and wet, and the pressure her mouth offered was far different from being inside her. There was something all-consuming about this, and he had an acute awareness that she was somehow in every part of his body, though she touched just one. After he came, he brought her to her feet with him and devoured her mouth while his fingers worked to unlace her dress. Once she was naked beneath his hands, he lowered her to the bed until she was on her back, rising once more to shed his own clothing.
She watched him from where she lay, and his eyes never left her body, so exposed in the firelight of his room, cradled in the darkness of their sheets.
As good as her mouth had been on his body, he couldn’t wait to be inside her.
He climbed on top of her and rested his body against hers. There was nothing like the feel of her against him, nothing that felt more like home.
She placed a hand on his face, then twined strands of his hair around her fingers.
“Why do you wish to be married?” she asked.
He wasn’t exactly sure how to take her question, though they had never discussed each of their perceptions of marriage, and perhaps that was part of the problem. He had asked her twice without knowing how she felt. He was definitely an idiot.
“Haven’t you always dreamed of marriage?” he asked, curious, though he imagined she hadn’t thought it was ever going to be a possibility, considering her mother had probably never encouraged her to think beyond four glass walls.
“No,” she answered. “You didn’t answer my question. Why is marriage important to you?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It became important to me when I met you.”