Page 81 of Heir to His Court

Raniel lowered his head, burying his face in my cleavage. “Do you know how angry you made me the night of the ball in that slip of a silk dress, your breasts swaying unbound for any male to behold?” My breath came faster, faster as his voice deepened, gaining that soft, savage edge. “I almost ripped it off and strangled you with it. Renaud wanted to fuck you on your knees in front of the Court so there would be no question your submission is ours.”

Realms. “I thought you liked showing me off.”

“We want them to envy us,” he whispered, the razor in his voice so subtle it could slash a dozen cuts and the pain wouldn't bloom until moments later. The blood would not begin to slip down the skin until it was too late. “Not take pleasure from what is ours. Be warned, my halfling. He might fulfill his wish yet.”

I laughed breathlessly as his mouth closed around one nipple, suckled, pulled—hard, a delicate whip of cruelty, followed by gentleness. “You're going to have to choose. Confine me or display me. Keep your hand on my throat or lengthen my leash. You cannot have both.”

His free hand plucked at the other nipple, twisted. Hard, again. Punishing. “No? Can I not?”

I moaned, deep in my throat, cupped my breasts and pushed them together, offering the bounty for his tongue and teeth. He bit into the soft flesh, circling, scraping, playing with the hardened pebbles as I writhed beneath him, each lick, each squeeze, each bite shooting painful throbbing to my clit.

“I'm going to come on these breasts tonight and watch them bounce as you ride my cock. I'm going to play with them. I'm going to relish it.”

My core stuttered at the image of him above me on his knees, pumping his come onto my chest, his hair brushing the bed in a silken midnight river.

“I deny you,” I said, voice low and husky. Raniel lifted his head slowly, pinned me with his brilliant eyes. “I deny you. You may not come on my breasts until you come in my mouth.”

The dangerous stillness softened, and he smiled sharply. “Neither activity will get you with child.”

I scowled. He had to ruin it.

His laughter spilled out. “Do not worry, my halfling. You will have a full portion of pleasure. I will not cease my assault on your body until you are begging me to let you crawl into my bed alone. When I have filled my glass with your tears, I will grant you rest. . .but only after I have filled it with your come.”

The noise I made merged the divide of fear and desire—weak words for what I wanted him to do to me.

The Prince lifted his gaze, his smile a sensuous, wicked promise. I sank into that promise, slowly, inexorably, my feminine Fae nature slapping aside any remnants of resistance as I began to open my soul as I opened my legs. He watched me sink into the abyss, satisfaction in his eyes as he played with my breasts. He slid down my body, tasting every curve and valley of my skin, leaving no inch unmarked by his lips and tongue.

Raniel pressed a kiss on the smooth skin of my mound. “You want me to fuck your mouth, but first I want you to fuck mine. Will you deny me that, consort? Will you deny me your river?” His voice said he knew I would deny himnothing.

The tip of his tongue delicately touched my clit. He spread my folds wide with his clever fingers and licked a long, languorous line to my entrance, pausing to rim the flesh and slip inside—teasing. I lifted my hips, wanting his tongue to pierce, to savage, not to sample like a mortal lady at tea time.

Raniel chuckled, his breath warm between my thighs, and slowly licked his way back up to that tiny bundle of nerves—and latched on.

I lost grip on sanity. He understood just where to press, how hard, the path and the rhythm to take as his tongue and lips worked in symphony. I grabbed the hand still digging into my breast and held on for the sake of life.

He ate me out with elegant savagery, the deftness of an Old One, the relish of a possessive male in heat. He plucked the ends of each of my unraveling threads and wound the strings around his fingers, making my body his puppet.

When he kissed, I sighed. When he licked, I moaned. When he bit, I screamed.

And I gushed.

He did not waste a drop.

When he rose above me, his lips red and glistening, the kiss he inflicted on my mouth filled me with my own taste—come and blood where his fangs nicked my bottom lip.

Raniel waited until my shaking eased, cupped my mound again. “I'm going to open you with my fingers first. Would you like that? When your body is fully prepared for me—I will rut you, Aerinne.”

I nodded, then shook my head. I wasn't entirely certain of the question he’d asked, my ears half stuffed.

He clucked his tongue on his teeth. “Well, no matter. Ready or not, here you come.”

A flash of mockery in his eyes, of darkness, and I wondered if Renaud was swimming to the surface. I wondered if I even cared, though of course I knew the answer. Ask a stupid question.

Raniel's eyes captured mine, his gaze holding me in a headlock as the first of his fingers slid inside my entrance. “My tight little halfling,” he murmured, “you are already swollen.”

He pushed the single finger in further, began to move in a slow circle.

“You saved this for me, and I am glad you did. It would have been necessary to hunt down and kill any male you'd taken to your bed. Though I would have enjoyed tossing their heads at your feet. Perhaps you would have enjoyed it too? Perhaps we can still play that game.”

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