Page 19 of The Shadowbound King

“Are you sorry?” I demanded, my hips snapping.

Rane gagged again, coughing around my dick as he nodded.

“That’s my good boy,” I growled, tightening my fingers in his hair. I gave him a few vicious pumps, then pulled out and slapped my glistening shaft against his cheek before stuffing his mouth again. “Show me how sorry you are.”

Defiance glittered in his eyes even as he obeyed, his head tilted back and his jaw stretched wide to accommodate me. Color stained his cheekbones. Drool slipped down his chin and dripped onto his shirt. His nostrils flared as he absorbed my brutal thrusts. The King’s Grove filled with my harsh breaths and the slick, fleshy sound of my cock punching into his mouth.

His erection was a swollen bulge between his legs. He had to be aching. Probably, he wanted nothing more than to stroke himself to release. But he was trapped on his knees, subject to me in every way possible. The knowledge was its own kind of pleasure.

My orgasm struck in a white-hot flash—blinding and painful in its intensity. A guttural cry broke from me as I thrust a final time and pumped seed down Rane’s throat.

He swallowed around my cockhead, tight tissue milking every last drop from my dick. My breath sawed in and out of my chest as I stared down at him, mesmerized by the ripple of his thick throat. The flush in his cheeks and the hard line of his jaw. When I was spent, I pulled from his mouth and braced a hand on his shoulder. He pressed his forehead to my thigh. The cool air of the Grove teased my damp, softened shaft. Together, Rane and I caught our breath.

Someone cleared their throat.

With an inward curse, I straightened, hastily tucking myself away before pulling Rane to his feet. Belatedly, I realized the newcomer’s arrival had floated at the edges of my consciousness for several seconds.

I just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge him.

Rane licked come from his lips, which threatened to tighten my dick all over again. Gaze on a spot over my shoulder, he straightened his clothes with unhurried movements.

“Othor,” he said a touch louder than necessary, “you always have such excellent timing.”

“Behave yourself,”I mouthed, reluctant amusement tugging at me.

Rane grunted.

Hiding a smile, I faced the High Priest of the Autumn Court. Othor stood at the edge of the fountain, the tip of his Edeloak staff resting on the ground. The hem of his robes dusted the grass. The breeze played with his honey-blond hair. Blue eyes the same shade as mine were serene—and seemingly unbothered by Rane’s obvious irritation.

I knew better.

“Cousin,” I said, stepping toward Othor. “I think I can guess why you seek an audience. But I don’t presume to know anyone’s mind.” I smoothed a hand over my beard. “If only I could persuade others to follow my example.”

Behind me, Rane huffed.

Othor inclined his head. “My apologies for intruding, Andrin.” He looked past me, a line forming between his brows. “Are you certain it’s wise to be so…active around the Edeloak?”

Rane came to my side. “In my grandfather’s day, the whole court used to fuck in the King’s Grove for a fortnight to celebrate the harvest.” Rane leaned toward Othor and lowered his voice. “That’s two weeks.”

Othor smiled thinly. “Thank you, Rane, I had no idea. It’s not like I’ve written any books about the history of our people.”

He’d written several, along with numerous treatises on magic and the Old Language. And his staff wasn’t merely ceremonial. For a priest, Othor was no slouch in battle. Rane’s stab wound had healed, but he was undoubtedly fatigued from maintaining a shadow tether through the Edelfen. If he and Othor came to blows, I wasn’t certain Rane would triumph.

“What brings you here, Cousin?” I asked. “You have my attention, as well as my trust.”

Othor’s features smoothed. “I’m glad to hear it. And as you’ve probably guessed, I wish to discuss the Lady Mirella.”

“Yes,” I said. “What of her?”

“I should question her without delay. If not tonight, then first thing tomorrow.”

Rane stirred at my side. “You mean torture her.”

Impatience flitted through Othor’s eyes. “Magical intervention, Lord Rane. It’s particularly effective on humans.”

“Because they can’t defend themselves from it,” I said, the idea souring my gut. “You would pull her worst fears and memories from her mind and torment her into giving you information.”

“Information we need,” Othor said. “Time is precious. We’re running out of it.”

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