Page 94 of The Kingdom Cursed By Iron

“I need you, Ella,” he growls, and I’m taken aback by the edge of desperation in his voice. “So badly. Every hour, every night since that trial, I’ve been thinking about it. About you. How good you feel around me.”

His cock freed, I run my hands over it, trying to soothe the wild edge that’s suddenly come over him.

“And I couldn’t touch you,” he says, lifting me up onto the edge of the dressing table, pressing kisses against my neck, my jaw. “It was unbearable. I couldn’t stand it.”

I’d had no idea how he was suffering. It’s suddenly clear to me how difficult it must’ve been for him to have learned about the naminai match and then not be able to be close to me. I had time to process it, I was the one who initiated sex on our journey here, already suspecting what we shared. But he had no warning. And the yearning that I can sense from him…it’s overpowering. For a moment, it makes me worry that we’re skirting dangerously close to breaking our agreement—after all, this does mean something: the satiation of a deep, instinctive want he’s been nurturing ever since he found out I’m meant to be his.

But it’s too late to pull back.

While he’s standing there, hard and ready to take me, my body is already aching for more after the perfect pleasure he gave me moments ago. There’s no point resisting. No matter what rules it breaks.

I spread my legs, pulling him closer.

“You can touch me now,” I murmur, wanting to give him sweet release as much as I need my own. I guide his cock against my opening, pressing the head of him between the welcoming folds of me. “You can do whatever you want with me, Rus,” I continue, meaning every word of it. “Take what you need,” I thrust my hips forward, taking in more of him. His response is a noise of raw animal need, and he grabs my ass, sinking into me so deep I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. I gasp at the pressure of it, overwhelming my senses, as he builds up a rhythm, pumping into to me as I hook my ankles behind him. The musky scent of his sweat calls to me as it beads across his chest, and I lean forward, licking an experimental line across his pectoral, savoring the salty tang of his feverish skin.

He moans as his pace speeds up, pushing forward with deep, purposeful thrusts. I shift an inch, and he’s suddenly hitting that perfect angle inside me, ripping an unexpected scream from my throat. He covers my mouth with his, muffling the sounds I make as he repeatedly drives up against the sensitive spot right at my core.

I can’t think coherently—can’t worry about anything in this moment. My skin’s too busy being on fire, every nerve ablaze, and soon I’m quivering in his arms, gripped by the throes of sensation flooding through my body.

My muscles tighten around him, the walls of me closing around his cock, and he breaks his rhythm with a long, low groan, rocking his hips purposefully until he spills into me, shuddering against my own shaking body as our orgasms meet.

Moments later, we both slip to the floor, gasping and panting against each other, grinning with satisfaction. I feel exhausted, spent, but I also feel… alive. I don’t dwell on what was said before we both came. In this moment, I can’t bring myself to care. Not when I’m still intoxicated by the warm glow of us together.

I nudge his leg with mine, feeling playful after all our tension has been worked away.

“All right, that may have been one your better ideas,” I admit. He laughs and pulls me into a deep, satisfying kiss, our bodies entwining. My dress is caught beneath me, and I tug on it, suddenly remembering there’s somewhere we’re meant to be soon. Destan would be furious with us at wasting this precious time to primp.

“Did you say something about new clothes?” I ask.

We dress for dinner, and I see with relief that the gown the Unseelie have picked out is more modest than the average Seelie styles, but the neckline still plunges into a deep V. It’s like nothing I’ve ever worn before, the entire thing constructed from panels of soft black leather, with long sleeves, a high collar, and a full skirt that sweeps down to the floor. Ruskin raises an eyebrow at the sight of it when I meet him in the corridor, but I can tell from the brightening of his eyes that he likes what he sees.

“You look like an evil empress about to order an execution,” he says, his voice gently mocking.

“You better watch your step, then,” I shoot back, but accept the hand he offers to lead me to the banquet hall.

Lisinder nods when we enter, sitting at the head of a long table that looks like it’s made from an impossibly large lump of amethyst. Unseelie fae, many bearing a family resemblance to the king, line either side. They don’t pause when we enter, chatting among themselves, but I notice a few interested looks slide our way. At his insistence, I sit down next to Lisinder, with Ruskin taking the seat on his other side.

“Welcome,” Lisinder says, offering me a cup of wine. I try to subtly sniff it, but he smiles at me, the effect disconcerting, as it exposes some sharply pointed teeth.

“Don’t worry. We may not have many humans in these parts, but I know you cannot have our food. I had this specially sourced.”

The wine smells delicious but ordinary—without that heady, dangerously tempting scent that fae food holds for humans. I thank him and take a sip.

A hand extends in front of my face, clutching a goblet.

“What happens if you drink this, then?” I turn to see the woman with the viper’s eyes, the one who escorted us to the throne room, holding her cup out. Her tone sounds simply curious, but it’s hard not to attach a menacing note to it with a face as dangerous-looking as hers.

“This is my niece, Pyromey,” Lisinder says. “Daughter of my late wife’s brother.”

I nod, then turn to answer her. “It depends,” I say, meeting her gaze head on. “It might make me pass out, or maybe just lose my wits, like a drunk. I think it varies between people and the type of food.”

“Is that true?” she asks, her eyes flitting across my face.

“Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Oh, because your kind can lie.” She drops her head to one side, as if thinking. “Strange sort of skill to have.” I watch her withdraw her hand and take a sip from her goblet before continuing. “It must be quite inconvenient always having to check that your food’s imported before you can eat it.”

“About as inconvenient as not being able to lie, I’d imagine,” I counter.

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