Page 56 of Taken By the Shadow Prince

I hope he knows he is worth knowing and exploring and learning about, too.

But I can’t bring myself to tell him that, so I just slump on top of him and press a kiss to his lips that has me heating with arousal again. He deepens the kiss by sliding his tongue into my mouth. He flips us over without breaking that kiss, so that I’m below him and he’s on top of me now.

Armin grinds his stiffening dick against my core. I moan into his mouth and lift my hips to meet his, heavy breaths breaking out of me between each kiss before he comes back for more.

This is what I want—what I need. This closeness, his body against mine, his lips pressing into my own. Nothing has ever made me feel so safe, so reassured, as his arms, the beating of his heart, synchronized with mine.

Armin doesn’t break the kiss as he drops his fingers to my clit and rubs tight circles at the bundle of nerves, and my legs wrap around his waist as I fight to keep myself from shaking with the pleasure of it all. Still, my hips jolt, pushing him harder against me as his cock finally slides in, slowly.

This will be nowhere near as fast as we were before.

I will be late, and I can’t bring myself to care as I feeleverything.

A slow, long moan pulls against my lip with every inch he sinks into me, only halting when he’s seated inside of me completely.

I roll my hips against his, and Armin groans, body shuddering above me. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so good to me, Mavey. I wish I had a god to thank for this right now.”

His mouth moves from mine to the sensitive spot on my shoulder before sinking to my breast. The words fall out of my mouth before I can reel them in. “I’ll be your god.”

Armin’s cock angles upward and hits my g-spot so unexpectedly hard and good that my walls clench and I cry out as I grip him. “You want to be my god? Want me to pray to you, Mavey?”

“I feel like one,” I whisper, pushing myself onto him.

Armin grits his teeth as he pulls out of me. “You’re talking like a demon, Mavey. And fuck if it isn’t about to make me come.”

I let out a laugh that sounds more like lust than it does like humor and say, “Prove it.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Armin buries himself inside of me again and drops his mouth back down to my breast. His fingers at my clit pinch, driving me absolutely fucking wild, and I can’t do a damn thing but scream out before he pulls out again and turns me over, then shoves himself back inside.

I lift on instinct as the position drives him inside of me in a way different than before. My legs fall further apart and his hands keep them spread apart. “Look at you like this,” he whispers. “Youarea god, Mavey. A Goddess. There’s no other reason for you to look so good like this, dripping wet as you clench my cock.”

He pulls out and pushes back in, just as slow as he did the first time. “I never want to stop worshiping you.”

I scream his name as I come, and he repeats mine like a prayer as he follows with me, pumping us both through our climaxes before his hands, which grip my thighs, finally loosen their hold on me.

He gives me a moment to recover before pulling me to him, standing, and lifting me into his arms. “Come on,” he says, “Let’s get cleaned up.”

I grin up at him as my desire begins to burn again already.

I have a feeling we’re going to get a lot dirtier before we’re clean.

Chapter 31

Mavey

truth revealed

Armin came back yesterday.

And in that amount of time, I have been away from him for exactly two hours and twenty-three minutes, and that was simply to honor the promise I made to Auley to help him.

We talk, mostly. We have sex, too—of course we do, but our time is pretty evenly split between sharing stories, fucking, and eating afterwards because we’re starving once we’ve finished with each other for the time being.

Which is exactly the issue now, except Armin requested strawberry cake, and he wants to finally meet the illustrious nineteen-year-old mortal chef who shocks him more and more with each meal sent to our door. Even though a lot of these meals aren’t directly made by her, and therefore aren’tasgood as they would be if they’d come from her hands alone, they’re still her recipes, and her cooks aren’t bad at making them taste similar to her dishes.

Armin and I take the stairs quickly as we make our way to the kitchen. His plan is to bombard her with a very specific recipe and figure out that all of her dishes are age old imitations and not original to her—though I’ve promised him that if he tells her that, she will most definitely be insulted.

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