Page 10 of A Pact of Blood

Well, he isn’t going to get what he wants tonight, not really.

I loosen the robe and let it slide off my shoulders into a silky puddle. Marclinus’s attention roves from the swell of my breasts—ample enough if not as impressive as his lover Bianca’s—to the apex of my thighs and then over the purple scars that mark my lower arms.

He lifts one of my wrists and skims his fingertips over the blotches left behind by a failed potion that erupted from my cauldron years ago. “Such an adventurous woman. I hope you’ll bring that spirit to the bedroom as well.”

I peek through my eyelashes with all the coyness I can summon, tamping down my nausea. “Any adventure with you would be nothing but thrilling, husband.”

Marclinus apparently sees no need to remove any of his own clothing just yet. He leans in to claim my mouth, fondling one of my breasts at the same time. I hold myself in place through sheer strength of will and kiss him back with as much feigned passion as I’m capable of.

I want to move this encounter along so I can get to the part where I disengage.

I yank his vest off him and tug at the collar of the shirt underneath to loosen the ties. Marclinus chuckles against my mouth. He steps back for long enough to pull the garment over his head.

Muscles ripple all across his sculpted chest. The imperial artists are going to enjoy depicting his form.

The deeper pink lines of the godlen brand in the middle of that chest show he’s dedicated to Sabrelle. The godlen of warfare and hunting—appropriate enough. I’d assumed it would be her or Creaden, godlen of rulership.

As Marclinus pushes me farther back on the bed and clambers over me, I flick my thumb across my ring in the way that releases the tiny thorn embedded in its surface. The needle point is crafted to be so short and thin it’s nearly invisible—and imperceptible when it grazes the skin to deliver whatever potion the ring’s hidden cavity contains.

At the brush of my hand against his bicep, Marclinus shows no more reaction to that gentlest of jabs than his father did two nights ago. I tap the ring again to tuck any sign of its hidden purpose away.

The only problem with this incredibly surreptitious method of delivery is that chemicals penetrating only the upper layers of skin take their time seeping to the bloodstream. With Tarquin, I wanted a significant delay before the effect took hold to avoid suspicion, so I brewed my concoction with that in mind. This one should be more immediately potent… but I still have to endure my husband’s unwanted attentions for a little more time.

He's already got his thigh between my legs, his mouth uncomfortably hot against the side of my neck, his hand pawing at my breast. The only sensations he’s provoking in me are horror and revulsion.

The easiest way to slow him down is to take the lead myself. I push myself farther upright again and nudge him back onto his ass. Before he can protest, I bring my lips to his shoulder and begin to chart a teasing path down his chest toward his abdomen.

Marclinus makes an approving sound and tangles hisfingers in my hair. “That’s right, princess. Worship your emperor.”

Ugh. I restrain a grimace and continue acting as if there’s nothing I’d rather do than adore him. I draw the process out as long as I can, pecking kisses across the taut plane of his belly and stroking my hands over his outer thighs through his pants.

He braces his hands on the bedcovers behind him and tips back, clearly expecting me to delve into those pants and service every part of him with my mouth. More bile threatens to rise up my throat.

Then a slackness comes over his pose. His arms relax, his shoulders sagging. His head lolls to one side.

When I sit up to look at him, his gaze is hazy, fixed at some point in the vicinity of my ear.

He licks his lips and gives a heated growl. “That’s right. Just like that.”

I’m not even touching him at this moment, but the hallucinogenic properties of the potion I brewed must be conjuring those impressions. I smile and run my hands down my nude body to add fuel to his fantasies.

Marclinus’s hips start to rock, whether he thinks into my mouth or my loins, I have no idea. I do free him from his pants and drawers then, tossing one article after the other onto the floor next to the bed. They’ll serve both as proof of our having consummated this interlude and ensure no unexpected stains linger from its culmination.

His pale cock juts rigidly upward. He might be close already.

I ease him down on his back with his head on the pillow and hover over him. He doesn’t reach for me, too lost in his deepening delirium, but his mouth twitches with imagined kisses and his ass bucks upward with futile thrusts. A groan escapes his lips.

“You make me feel so good, husband,” I say with feigned giddiness.

Even in his daze, one of those arrogant smirks crosses his face.

It only takes another few minutes before his breath hitches. His release spurts across his abdomen.

He slumps into the bedspread, his eyelids already drooping shut. Before I’ve even finished wiping him clean with one of the bath towels, he’s snoring.

Of course he’d be a snorer.

Well, I could have fucked him the way he was aiming for and then he’d probably have left after. I’ll take this unpleasantness over that one.

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