Page 124 of Fated to the Frost King

The cold stone contrasted with his blazing skin, and I let out another gasp that had his hands clenching around my hips.

He deepened our kiss, his tongue chasing with mine as if this was a dance we were already familiar with. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, arching against him to close the space between us even more.

Somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, I knew why this was a terrible idea, wrong on every discernible level, and paving an inevitable path of destruction for us both.

But his lips slid to my neck, hot breath skating over my skin in a blend of delicious heat and friction, and I shoved those doubts into a chasm in the back of my mind where they could burn for all I cared.

His hand grazed the swell of my breast, and a curse slipped between my lips. He did it again, firmer this time, and I threw back my head to give him more access, running my hands along the perfect lines of his shoulders.

He nipped at my skin, his free hand skimming along my thigh, slowly, languidly. A question from a male who only ever issued demands.

There was only one answer my body would give.

I parted my thighs, and he chased away the distance, his fingers teasing closer and closer until I felt like I was going to combust from the anticipation.

The mana ignited between us like it was issuing a plea of its own, flaring with an intensity that bordered on pain. The kind of pain steeped in pleasure.

Draven brushed a knuckle along my center, his other hand toying artfully with my breast.

Something swelled up within me, dark and dangerous and demanding, begging to break free. The mana hummed betweenus, pulled taut to the point of breaking along with my self-control.

No.

His thumb was next, carefully exploring, caressing, until stars lined my vision. I dug my hands into his shoulders to brace myself. The sharp edges of my nails carved into him, leaving the barest trail of blood along his skin, and the sound he made nearly undid me, entirely.

Shards.

No. No. No.

What was I doing?

I knew better than to pretend like this was real when it never could be. He was the Frostgrave King, and I was the bastard born bride sent to punish him—to punish us both.

Maybe we both deserved it, but I wouldn’t push us over that precarious edge. Especially not when the entire kingdom would pay.

“No.” I said the word aloud this time, hating myself for it.

Draven froze, his face still buried in my neck, his hands on my skin. For several stilted heartbeats, the only sound was our harsh breathing, unnaturally loud in the silent estate.

“You want me to stop?” his voice was low and rough, and my body arched in response.

No. Never stop.

“Yes.” I forced out the word.

His ring vibrated against my skin, and another sigh escaped my lips, equal parts desire and frustration.

Shards damn it all.

He pulled back far enough to study my features. His eyebrows were raised, his perfect mouth twisted somewhere between arrogance and need.

Need.

“I need you to stop.” The words came out a whisper, but this time, they were true.

No, I didn’t want him to stop, but I did need him to. His gaze darted to his ring, but I knew that it stayed resolutely still.

He backed away further, lifting his eyes back to mine.

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