Page 52 of The Horned King

Just as I'm thinking the words, she does something that completely ruins any positive thoughts I might have about the situation.

Her free hand reaches up, and I'm trapped in a world moving excruciatingly slow. That hand lands right where his shoulder meets his arm as she laughs a-fucking-gain. After all this talk of not liking physical contact, she's let him and Maren kiss her knuckles, and now she's touching him back.

Every instinct in my body begs me to kill him. Put him so far out of her reach that no one will ever be able to touch him again. Once again, her eyes flick to me, their fiery wickedness for me and only me. There she sits, staring down the monster she's been taught for years to fear. Even before I became king, there were tales of my crimes against the crown, how I used the dead as shields and weapons on my path to the throne, leaving behind not a single living witness.

And yet, she feels no fear at taunting me, teasing me, making me crave her flesh, only to touch another man in front of me and dare me to do something about it.

She has no fucking clue what game she's playing.

But she will.

Fury and desire are a volatile mix.

One I've never had any experience with.

Fury is simple. I can generally just eliminate anything and anyone who angers me. Desire is even more so. I've never had any difficulty bedding someone I wanted.

But together, they've turned me into a monster, unlike anything I thought possible.

Here I am, watching her sleep again.

She's in one of the barely-there sleeping slips I had Raya procure, sound asleep with her hair half across her face and half draped over the pillow.

Her pink lips are slightly parted, and she is sighing softly in her dreams.

I want to be her worst nightmare—the one she'll never wake up from and the kind she fears because she craves it so deeply and hates herself for it.

After watching her flirt with the crown prince today, I considered killing him right then and there and taking her atop his cooling corpse just to show her who she belongs to.

No, that can't be right. This is just a physical need, one made worse by being told I'm not allowed to have her.

I can't fuck her. She won't let me touch her skin for reasons she's yet to reveal. I'll let her keep her secret for now, even find creative ways to work around it if I must. Including these fucking gloves that keep me from feeling her soft skin. She tasted so delicious I couldn't help myself. Her cunt and her blood sang to me, making me lightheaded with need.

I have to taste her again. As depraved as it is, I'll do anything to taste the sweetness between her legs.

Still blissfully unaware of my presence, she sleeps, the dim light making her ethereal in her beauty. I shouldn't do this. I can just stand here, watching her rest, then take care of my needs alone in my room. I can fuck my hand and wish it was her instead.

And yet... I stand closer, my knees pressed against her bedside as I lean over her, ghosting my fingers across her collarbone, down between her perfect breasts. My touch ignites something in her, and goosebumps break out across her flesh, the peaks of her nipples becoming mouth-wateringly hard.

My hand moves of its own accord, brushing across one of the peaks, and she sighs, the pleasure reaching her even in sleep. With more pressure, I draw a circle around it, imagining doing the same with my tongue.

A quiet whimper leaves her mouth, urging me on even as something in the back of my head screams at me to stop this madness. But I can't. She is the madness, and I am just the afflicted.

As slow as my body will let me move, I lean over, gently licking the hard bud through her nightgown, unsure how much more it will take to wake her. I blow a stream of air across the wet spot, and she shivers.

Finally, her eyes slowly blink open, finding mine in the darkness. Before she can scream, I cover her mouth with my palm. "Do not scream," I warn her. "I'm not here to hurt you."

As the fear dissipates, rage fills her face, brows pinching together and eyes widening. I release her mouth, dragging my hand down to wrap around her throat. The grip has the same effect it did yesterday, turning my fiery Elva into a vision of need and surrender.

"What are you doing?" she finally asks, laying her head back on the pillow and closing her eyes as if she could make this bad dream disappear.

I don't have an honest answer for her. "Shh," I whisper, releasing her throat and setting my sights back on her exquisite chest. I blow the hard peak again before issuing a command, "Put your arms above your head. If you move them, I stop."

After only a moment's hesitation, she obeys, and that one simple movement makes my cock throb. It might not exactly be permission, but it's close enough for me right now.

Slowly, I climb on top of her, using my knees to force her legs apart. Again, she whimpers, refusing to look at me. "Did you think there wouldn't be consequences, my Elva?"

She scoffs, the sound not convincing at all, as she lies beneath me, squirming and panting. "Consequences for what, Your Majesty?"

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