Page 75 of Claimed By the Fae Lord

Her body trembled as I teased and pressed, altering the pressure and rhythm.

Raina’s pleas turned into demanding pants. My fingers delved deeper into her wetness, pumping smoothly as my palm pressed into her hardened nub.

Lifting my head to meet her gaze, I found raw need. Without wasting another moment, I increased the speed and pressure, watching her pupils dilate.

“You’re going to come hard for me, aren’t you, flower?” I growled.

I reveled in the way she arched against me, seeking her pleasure. She cried out my name as I brought her to the precipice, holding her there for a precious moment, staring into her eyes.

The sound stirred something primal within me and I pushed her over the edge. And then she was shattering, her climax taking her in waves that crashed through her body.

Raina clutched onto me as if I were the only stable thing in a world spinning out of control. I held on tight, keeping her upright as she spasmed around my fingers until finally relaxing in my arms.

With a deft movement, I pushed the robe from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper of cloth. Her skin, pale and perfect, glowed in the dim light, and for a moment, I was lost in the sight of her, in the realization that I had never stopped wanting her—not truly.

But this moment was more than just lust to me. It was a raw convergence of past pain, present danger, and the undeniable connection that still tethered our souls together. A connection I was beginning to understand might never be severed, no matter how I tried to fight it.

Why was I still fighting it? She was the only female I’d ever wanted to call mine.

My hands, roughened from years of wielding steel, pressed Raina firmly against the cool wall of her room. The wooden slats behind her were in danger of igniting from the heat we generated between us, a fire that threatened to consume all reason.

Her breath hitched, eyes wide with an emotion I couldn't place. Was it fear, anticipation, or something far more dangerous?

Something like unquenchable desire.

"I want you so much," I admitted, my voice hoarse with longing as I leaned in, fully intent on claiming my frost nymphright there, against that wall, drowning out the memory of how the last time had ended.

But then she placed a hand against my chest, and like a ward against dark magic, it halted me dead.

“Liam, stop,” she beseeched, voice strained. “I—I can’t. I can’t be hate-fucked again.”

“That’s not what this is,” I replied in earnest.

“Please. I can’t.” Raina’s lip quivered and nearly undid me.

Her rejection–and why–sliced deeper than any wound I'd ever received in battle. I had come at her with all of my pent-up anger, resentment, and raw need before. Why would she think this was different?

Raina had deflected me with a mere touch, not because she lacked the desire. Oh, I could feel it radiating off her. She deflected me because of how I’d treated her.

I stepped back, speechless, knowing I needed to bridge the gap, but not knowing the words I needed to do it. The silence between us grew heavy, laden with words unsaid and deeds undone.

My mind raced back through the past two years, recalling the vile things I had said and done. Each word and action had been a dagger, and I had wielded them with merciless precision, aiming for her heart.

Now, standing before her, the self-loathing twisted inside me like a living thing.

"Raina, I …" The words caught in my throat, guilt and sorrow strangling them.

What could I say? That I was sorry? That I wanted her, not just her body, but her. Her laughter, her stubbornness, her quiet resilience?

Raina looked at me, and under her scrutiny, I felt the worst emotion of them all. Fear.

I knew I may have damaged us beyond repair. Not that she didn’t share any of the blame, but I was the one who had gone out of his way to inflict additional pain.

The air hung thick with the scent of jasmine from her bath, and the candlelight flickered along the walls as if to bear witness to our tumultuous history.

Raina stood there waiting for me to say something with her robe pooled around her feet, the soft white fabric a stark contrast to the dark maelstrom of emotions swirling within me.

The fact she hadn’t attempted to cover herself was not lost on me. It forced the fog out of my head and pointed me to the pinprick of light that I hoped was my future.

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