Page 80 of Court of Treachery

“Good,” she gasped. She could hardly breathe. He plunged into her again and again, and that white-hot obliterationthreatened, the intense wave building inside her, on the cusp of sweeping her away. She gave herself to it gladly. “Come with me.”

On the next thrust, Harper shattered again. She locked her legs around him and pulled him closer, calling his name as the world disappeared. Dimitrius groaned and stiffened as she broke on his cock, tightening and spasming around him—and he followed her over the edge with one last thrust, powerful and deep, as his own release found him and he gushed his seed into her. His strokes slowed as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, eventually stilling, but still fused with her body.

They remained like that, breathing heavily, their slick chests sliding together and with him still buried within her for a long moment. Harper’s eyes slid closed as he placed tender kisses where he rested against her neck, revelling in the hazy after-effect of her climax, and relishing in the settled warmth of him on top and inside her. In that moment, there were no regrets or misgivings over what they had just done—only a deep, certain satisfaction.

But, they could not remain like that forever. The cold of the world crept in around the edges of that warm cocoon. Dimitri slowly pulled out and she sighed at the loss of him as his length vanished and slickness from their mingled pleasure slid down her thighs. It feltglorious, and she wanted more.

“You are extraordinary,” he murmured, caressing her jaw with a knuckle. His eyes were bright with wonder as he regarded her. He leaned in to kiss her once more—so softly this time, it seemed as though it was someone else entirely. “If I die tonight, I shall go to my doom happy.”

Bitterness crept around her edges. “Don’t say things like that,” she whispered, sitting up. “Why would you say that?”

His expression clouded, and he pushed back from the bed and stood. He did not answer for a long moment as he retreated and donned his trousers.

Unease curled, tainting the afterglow. She felt suddenly exposed. “Dimitrius?”

“I think you know me well enough to call me Dimitri now, princess,” he said with half a smirk, but she saw at once it was one of his masks.

“Don’t do that. What aren’t you telling me?” She stood too, crossing her arms across her bare stomach.

His gaze flicked to the pile of fabric. “He’s back,” he admitted.

The white-hot fear that shot through her at his admission burned away the last embers of pleasure.

“He summons us both to attend to him.”

“When?”

Dimitri had the good grace to drop his gaze. “Since we have made other use of our time… Now.”

The walls closed in. Harper could not breathe. She sank onto the bed again. She could not bear to face Saradon—not again—and the walls closed in as her breath stalled for an entirely different reason. Any sanctuary she had found in those snatched moments with Dimitri was destroyed in the face of the truth. She was at Saradon’s mercy. And she could not save herself from him.

68

HARPER

Her body carried a multitude of delicious aches from what they had just done—sweetest of all that lingering satisfaction simmering in her core. Whathadthey just done? She reeled from it—the utter recklessness of what she had invited. Dimitri was right. There was no going back from this. She had fucked Dimitrius—spymaster, traitor, duplicity incarnate—however much he felt none of those things to her. But that did not mean she felt ready to face the consequences of her choices as they slammed her in the chest with full force. He took a daily preventative tonic—there would be nothing born of their union. But that did not relieve her, not with the magnitude of their choice. Now she was glad there were no mirrors in this suite. She wouldn’t have to look herself in the eye.

Dimitri hovered, twitching with impatience between the living and dining areas as Harper dressed in the bedroom. He had filled the armoire in her room with elegant dresses from the elven court of Tournai—the bundle of shimmering and sheer fabrics he had brought and dumped on the chair. Whose dresses she wore, she had no idea, but he told her, with no give in his voice, that Saradon had decreed she dress as befit her rank.

“I still prefer breeches!” she called to him, wriggling into a dress. “You have no idea how cold my legs get flapping around under these ridiculous skirts! It’s winter!”

“You never know. I might,” he called, a smile in his voice. “I might suit a dress, you know.”

She snorted. “I’d pay to see that.”

“I’ll dress up—or down—any time for you, princess,” he oozed in a sultry tone. It seemed his cocky, arrogant mask was back. Harper tutted. At least it meant he had recovered some of his spirit and resilience—and it helped keep the emotions simmering inside her at bay. She could fall back on bickering too.

“This… is… ridiculous!” she huffed, trying to pull the sleeves and neckline up far enough so she could button the back. “Argh! I can’t get into this damned thing.”

“You chose one that fastened in the back, didn’t you? You do know they’re the hardest ones to get into. You probably need a maid for that.” She could practically hear his eye roll.

“Well, how wouldIknow? I don’t wear these blasted things. You ought not to have brought it!”

“Well, how would I know?” he mimicked her. “I don’t know the first thing about dresses.”

“Clearly you do…”

“I suppose. I’m an expert in taking dresses off, though, not putting them on. I’mverygood at taking that style off.” She could see his wolfish smile in her mind.

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