Page 114 of Of Sword & Silver

“I wanted to fuck you as soon as I saw you. Then you danced with me, and I swear on my own life, Kyrie, if I don’t watch you come right now, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“This seems like the worst possible time,” I gasp as his hand goes to the slit of my dress, calloused fingers gripping my inner thigh and crooking it around his waist.

He stills, fire in his gaze. “Are you telling me no?” The words grind out of him.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, gods help me, I’m not telling you no.”

“Fuck, Kyrie,” he says, and then his hand is there, in between my thighs, pushing my sex apart. “You are beautiful. So beautiful.”

I make a wordless noise as his thick fingers find my clit.

“That’s right, little liar. You can’t lie about how good this feels, can you?”

My legs start shaking, and he looses a hoarse laugh. I grab his shoulders, hanging on for dear life as he teases it, teases me. He dips his head, his mouth clamping over the beadwork covering my nipple, and my head rolls back.

“If we had time, I would have you begging for it, Kyrie. I would have you on your knees, right here, asking me.” He’s rough, and my hips buck as he circles my clit aggressively. “You’re so fucking wet. Tell me how good it feels.”

“It feels… terrible,” I lie, grinning up at him, nearly senseless, my body already climbing towards release.

He huffs a laugh. “You might be able to say the words, but your body speaks for you.” He holds up his blunt finger and it shines with my slick wetness in the dim light. “This is all the proof I need.”

I shudder as he draws the finger into his mouth, gaze hot on mine, as he tastes my most private self.

“Fuck,” I moan.

He smiles at me in earnest and my knees go weak at that dimple. Pinning me against the wall, he kisses me hard, like he means it, and I taste myself on his tongue.

“Come for me while you have time, Kyrie,” he whispers against my cheek. It’s an odd phrase, and I wonder at it for a split second.

But his thumb works at my clit, his index finger dipping into my wet heat, making sloppy sounds that might be embarrassing were I not so impossibly turned on right now.

“So fucking tight. So perfect. Kyrie, you are mine, do you hear me? When this is over, you’re mine. Mine,” he continues on a growl, adding his middle finger, pumping in and out of me.

My shoulders scrape against wood paneling and I’m nodding in agreement, nearly senseless.

“Come for me, Kyrie, you’ll only ever come for me again.”

It’s so possessive and ridiculous that it should do anything but make me come—but it’s so him. It’s so thoroughly the Sword, this impossible, swaggering Fae knight of death who’s managed to go from driving me mad to driving me wild, pinned up against the wall.

I should tell him no. I should make him even wilder.

I don’t, though.

“Please, yes, please, I want that.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting mine.

I expect to see lust, I expect to see the same need in him he’s wringing from me.

I don’t expect to see sadness, so deep and ancient it washes over me like an icy wave.

His lips press against mine again, tenderly. I close my eyes and I let him take me where I want to go.

I gasp, clenching around him, my eyes flying wide open, coming hard.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs. “So perfect, my Kyrie.”

I rest my cheek against his chest, floating back into myself.

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