Up again.
“Then what?”
“Revenge.”
“For?”
Bypassing my defenses like a fucking picklock.
I ease the iron ring off my finger, welcoming Clode’s mischievous giggle while I move around the table, slide his bowl aside, and plant my ass in its place. I lift both legs, setting one foot atop his chair, stretching the right toward the windowsill.
The ball in Kaan’s throat rolls.
I edge the hem of my shift into the crook between my hip and wide-open thighs, his blazing stare dropping to my naked core—plump and hot and wanting.
Wet.
I lick two fingers and part my swollen flesh, baring myself to him as I whisper a stubborn word beneath my breath, Clode’s dialect gusting from my mouth like a flick of wind.
Kaan slams his mug down, striding two steps forward before he collides with a hardened wall of air. Chuffing out a low laugh, he crosses his arms and shakes his head, his eyes volcanic. “This is war, Prisoner Seventy-Three.”
“Oh, I certainly hope so.”
I smile, sinking my fingers into my hot, clenching core, looking at him from beneath lusty lids. I moan, soft and sensual, imagining they’re his fingers now slicked in the residue of my wanton need—stroking me with deft, confident thrusts.
A rumble boils in his chest. “Does that feel good?”
“Mm-hmm.” I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth, working myself deeper …
Deeper …
Pulling my fingers out, I paint slick circles around my swollen clit, bowing my spine so I can look down at myself.
Watch myself.
I thrum that tender nub of nerves, releasing short guttural groans. Sweat prickles the back of my neck, my hips rocking—chasing the warm, thrumming pleasure. Clenching nothing.
Wanting him.
I peek up, my smile sharpening at the severe outline of his swollen cock that makes me throb with a fiercer ache. At the vein popping in his temple, the tendons in his neck stretched as he watches me with feral precision.
“Why the long face?”
“Any lost opportunity to worship you is a tragedy.”
Well.
Another slick swirl. Another languid dip that stokes me full of clamping pleasure. “What would you do if I let you pass?”
“Kneel between your legs and stuff my face between your thighs,” he growls instantly, as if the words were already poised behind his pinched lips. “Eat you until your hips are jerking and you’re clenching around my tongue.”
I picture it.
Ache for it.
Another teasing swirl around that tender nub of nerves, my hips tiding toward him with each jerking thrust, my entire body heating.
I quicken the strum, legs widening.
Mind muddying.
“Then what?” I plead, every cell in my body charged, verging on the precipice …
“I’d flip you. Slip a pillow beneath your hips so your ass is in the air. Fill you with my fingers while my thumb threatens to push into you from behind.” My shoulder shifts up and down as I work myself to the illusion. “Once you’re so wound up your entire body’s shuddering, I’d spread you, marvel you, then split you like an egg.”
I snap, chin tucking close to my chest, every muscle in my center pulsing with violent waves of rapture, my harsh moans tackling him from afar. I ride my fingers with deep, desperate thrusts—every muscle tight and tenuous, then turning loose and long as the pleasure begins to ebb.
A laugh bubbles up my throat, and I shake my head, looking at him from beneath a single raised brow, hand threading up to sweep my hair back off my face. “That was good,” I say, spreading myself so he can see the residue of my release.
His eyes are black, jaw gritted, veins embossed all over his bulging muscles.
He’s never looked so big. So severe.
So heartachingly beautiful.
Too bad he’s in love with a death wish.
He swallows, eyes on my core. “You’re not done, Moonbeam. You’re ripe.”
Chuffing, I plant both feet on the ground, the hem of my shift slipping into place around my thighs. I whisper a softening word to Clode, then stand, collect my bowl of fruit, and toss a berry into my mouth.
Sweet nectar bursts across my tongue.
“There are no more white flags with me, My King.” I sway toward him, stepping into his smoldering atmosphere. “They’re all used up.”
I reach him, planting my hand on his chest, his tense muscles twitching beneath my touch as I sully him with my scent.
“Good to know,” he grinds out, every bit a shadow-bathed beast in his prime. “I’ll burn mine, shall I?”