Page 82 of Heart of the Summer Queen

Then his mouth is hot on my breast, tongue swirling over my painfully hard nipple, and all objection melts away. In this moment, there’s nothing but the barrage of sheer pleasure he is waging upon my body.

“Elaric,” I whimper, straining against his grasp. The calluses on his palms graze the soft flesh of my wrists.

Elaric’s eyes flick up to my face for a fleeting moment, mouth still on me. He smiles against my skin, and then his undivided attention returns to my breast, savoring and nipping.

His fingers press into me, harder, as if to punish me for testing the strength of his grip. Then he curls them until he reaches a delightful spot deep within me, and my thighs tense, clenching together. He edges them back out with his knees, forcing me open wider than before, and I decide I may as well be chained to the mattress with how I’m so helpless against his might.

And just when the tension is rising to a crescendo, he releases me.

My wrists are freed, and his lips leave my breast. Even my legs are granted a second’s respite.

Suddenly, I fear the same will happen as last night. That he’ll pull away and storm off, door shuddering shut behind him as he finds a table downstairs to spend the night rather than our bed.

But as I exhale, I notice the heady desire in his eyes and realize my fears are mistaken. He has no intention of pulling away tonight. No, his expression makes it abundantly clear he’s barely begun with me.

A cry escapes me as his head lowers to my thighs. As his tongue slides down my swollen core in a forceful movement which leaves me trembling for more.

He repeats the motion—slower and crueler. My cry turns to a whimper, legs quivering. His hand bears down on them,preventing me from rising, but this time, I don’t struggle against him. The whirlwind coursing through me tangles all my thoughts.

Then his fingers return inside me, the gesture so unexpected that I shudder.

“Do you remember,” he says, his breath brushing over my wet folds, “a few days ago, when you tried to pull me out of that bathtub?”

I nod. How could I ever forget that incident?

“It took every ounce of self-control not to claim you there and then on the icy floor.”

A moan tears through me.

“Would you have let me, Adara?” He finishes his question with a teasing lick to that taut bundle of nerves, and I can hardly remember what he asked me. Then his teeth nip that same, deliciously sensitive spot. I buck uncontrollably against him, realizing now how utterly at his mercy I am.

“If I had just slid my hand up your skirts and touched you like this”—his fingers bear deeper into me, emphasizing his point—”would you have said yes?”

I don’t know how my mind is functioning well enough to say, “It sounds like that incident has been on your mind.”

“For so many nights,” he says, “it has plagued me.”

“How inconvenient.”

He lets out a sigh and now seems so serious I’m no longer certain he’s jesting. “You don’t understand what torture it is to dream such feverish dreams night after night, only to wake in a lonely bed.”

I pause, thinking of my own incessant longing for him, and decide that I likely understand much more than he realizes.

“I wanted you so badly that it almost drove me to madness. Twice, I nearly lost all reason and scarcely stopped myselffrom barging into your chambers and taking you as a husband should.”

“Perhaps you should have,” I whisper, despite knowing from his expression how dangerous that is.

A growl rumbles in the back of his throat, and then his mouth is back on me, hot and demanding. His teeth grazing, his tongue alternating between caressing and punishing. And while his mouth works to a frenzied rhythm, all I can think about is him storming into my room in the middle of night, uninvited. The surprise as he grabs me, unapologetic and unyielding.

I imagine it to be like that first night, when he stole into my room to grant me that frozen kiss. Except there would be no frost. Just insatiable heat. And he would tear away the thin silk of my nightgown as ferociously as he tore off my tunic before. The fabric would be thinner and flimsier and would likely rip. And he would claim me there and then, surrounded by the remnants of my nightgown, with the same hungry, possessive look in his eyes right now—

“Elaric,” I cry out, not caring who might hear.

Everything within me tenses, like a spring drawn too painfully tight. And then his eyes glint with such triumph that all the tension comes undone. I might say his name. Quietly or loudly—I’m not sure. Pleasure washes over me in such violent waves I lose my entire being to it.

I’m vaguely aware of him grabbing my waist, flipping me over, and pushing me down so that my cheek is pressed into the flimsy pillow that was supposed to be a barrier between us. Betweenthis.

His fingers run down my backside, tracing my curves, and then he squeezes so hard the air rushes from my lungs.

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