Page 54 of King of Flames and Shadows

“I need you,” I beg. “Need you, Arvoren—please, I need you—”

He needs no more encouragement. The king leans back, then frees his member, the mere sight of it almost bringing me over the edge. My legs are jelly, my limbs almost numb with pleasure, and he takes advantage, slotting himself between my legs as if I am nothing but a doll. He kisses my throat once more, hard, teeth nibbling the tender flesh there as he aligns himself with me with his hand, braced above me, his huge, hot body boxing mine in.

When he pauses, I almost whine. I need him so badly, I don’t know what to do in this moment.

“Say you’re mine,” he growls. The low rumble of his voice rattles through my ribs, my whole body. I can feel the tip of him pressed to me. “You’re mine. Tell me.”

I wrap my arms around the king’s back, no room left in me for trepidation, fear, confusion, conflict. My fingers rake down his spine.

“I’m yours,” I moan. “Yours, I’myours—”

When he takes me, it’s slowly, then all at once. I expect pain, but there is none, only a huge, subsuming pressure—pleasure, presence, all-consuming, taking me apart. My legs fall further open and I slide against the bedsheets, moaning shamelessly as he sheaths himself inside me, then begins to move, kissing me so hard the back of my head sinks into the sheets, taking my mouth, my body, my very being.

His hand returns to my clitoris, fingers rubbing in tantalizing yet tormentously slow circles as he takes me. His other hand braces my hip, rocking my body against his, then travels up my side to my chest. He touches my breasts, pinching one nipple gently, then hard, twisting cruelly, until I’m moaning, the pleasure and pain mixed up in me all at once.

When I come for the first time, it’s clear Arvoren isn’t yet done, not even close. He slows to kiss me as I come down, tears of pleasure rolling down my cheeks toward my ears, still buried inside me.

“You’re strong,” he murmurs in my ear, then bites my earlobe, pistoning into me, hips setting a bruising pace.

I know what he means:any queen of mine can keep pace with me.

And yet, despite my supposed strength, I am listless with pleasure, no longer fully coherent, moaning, whining, begging. Ihear myself saying his name over and over. I know in the back of my mind something of my power has been unseated tonight—that he has broken a wall I never intended to allow him past—and yet, I cannot find it within myself to care as he sucks bruising kisses and bites into my throat, my chest, my swollen lips, warm hips hot against mine as he brings me toward my second orgasm.

When we finally come together, it's like a storm breaking. Magic crackles around us, responding to our shared passion. I cry out his name like a prayer. He holds me close, whispering endearments in a language I can no longer understand, his touch both gentle and desperate.

I am undone by pleasure, too overwhelmed by it to utter a word, let alone move. All of my limbs feel stringy and weak, jointless, boneless. When Arvoren removes himself from me, he seems to know I cannot conduct myself, because he brings me into his arms, pulling me atop his chest as he slides us beneath the sheets of his bed. He holds me tightly against his hot, hard chest, lips against the top of my head, pressed against my sweaty, mussed hair.

Despite myself, I feel safer than I have in my life there in his embrace.

As we lie tangled in the sheets, our breathing slowing, his fingers trace idle patterns on my skin. I know this changes nothing—I'm still his prisoner, still bound by chains both physical and metaphorical. And yet, through the haze of residual pleasure, I know it has changed everything.

He won. And I let him win.

It’s as if he hears my thoughts. His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer to his chest. I can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, against my back. It would be so easy to let myselfdrift off like this, safe in his embrace, pretending that love could be simple.

In the morning, we'll have to face what this means, what we've become to each other. For now, though, I close my eyes and let myself feel nothing but the warmth of his body and the gentle rhythm of his breath against my skin.

Chapter 25 - Arvoren

Dawn creeps into my chambers like a thief, pale light seeping through frost-rimmed windows. Calliope slumbers beside me, her dark hair spilling across my pillow, skin alabaster and appearing almost moonlit in the weak morning glow. Even in sleep, there's something stormy about her, untamed and wild. The chains at her ankles glint dully, the metal appearing frosted where it touches and reflects the brightness of her skin. Her wrists and throat are marked with light bruises from our night together, delicate patterns I want to trace with my tongue.

I barely slept a wink. I wanted so badly to take her again, to feel her around me, to see her ecstasy, that it kept me awake, listening to the lilt of her breathing, feeling the warmth of her against me.

Even now, it is almost unbearable. I reach out, running my fingers along the curve of her shoulder. She is warm despite the chill in the air, despite the heavy snowfall beyond my windows which casts strange, rippling shadows across the floor. The fire in the hearth has burned low, leaving only glowing embers to illuminate the pre-dawn gloom. My chambers are a world of their own in these hours, a place between sleeping and waking where anything feels possible.

This is dangerous, this wanting. This need to wake her, to claim her again, to lose myself in her. My hand drifts lower, tracing the dip of her waist. She makes a soft sound in her sleep. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like if she were truly mine—not bound by chains or fear or duty, but willing. Wanting.

Last night, for a single moment, she wanted me. Then, it was gone.

A knock breaks the silence. I stand from the bed and robe myself. Duty never stops.

Darian enters at my command, his expression grim in the half-light. Behind him, in the hallway’s high window, dawn has begun to paint the sky in shades of steel and blood, gray and red.

"The council awaits," he says quietly. His gaze flickers to Calliope's sleeping form, then back to me. "There have been … further developments. Our time grows shorter, My King."

The walk to the council chamber is long and cold. Winter is coming to Millrath. Soon, my city will be white with ice and snow; now, the halls of the castle are perpetually chilly. My boots echo against stone floors.

Everywhere, evidence of the beast's attack lingers—claw marks scoring the walls, tapestries torn and hanging askew. It killed three maids before it found Calliope in the library, rampaging through my castle on its hunt for her. The thought makes my blood boil. Servants scurry past with their heads bowed, refusing to meet my gaze. Their fear is a tangible thing, thick in the air like smoke, its scent distinctive.

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