Page 9 of Lord of the Hollow Court
“Have you,” she asked with a mischievous glint, “done it again?”
Braam cleared his throat as a trio of low fae entered, gasping and pointing at the decor. They barely saw him there, or noticed the divine Madeleif. He did not know such a thing was possible.
“Much rests on tonight, milady,” Braam warned her.
“Oh, you’re no fun at all.” Madeleif reached higher to pinch his cheek, then swept onward in a swirl of shining stars. He barely contained a grunt of surprised as her hand grasped his buttock on her way through.
This was not going according to plan. But if he was going to steal away with Madeleif, the confusion of the arrivals was the perfect time.
Braam raced after her, using the leverage of his cane to catch up. He seized her delicate wrist just before she could enter the parlor his servants had dubbed the Ghoul Room.
“Meet me upstairs,” he whispered.
Madeleif laughed, exposing the stunning length of her throat. She placed her hand to her neck. “A vampyre bite or two would go well with my costume, don’t you agree?”
With a sigh of regret at parting from her at all, Braam made his way toward the servants’ stair, far in the back of Hollow Hall. Madeleif would join him after a necessary delay to avoid suspicion.
This was not what he would define as perfect. But since the day he’d been gifted with her ladyship’s portrait, she’d always been his dream. And how could he say no to a dream? Her vanilla and honey scent clung to him as he worked his way to the back of the Hall.
Giddiness growing in his chest, he burst through the door to the servants’ hall, then drew up short. An odor assaulted his nose. It wasn’t unpleasant, specifically, but it jarred him. The scent was earthy and strange, entirely out of place with the spun sugar and honeyed fig scents of the fae.
Strange, he thought, and raced up the stairs as quickly as his degenerating hip would allow.
Chapter Five
Dark Love
It was that same hip—and now his knee—that impaired him as Madeleif lay before him, urging him on in their second coupling. It had been years since they’d had an entire night to themselves; Braam hated that they must rush, must hide, and remembered the beauty of the last time she’d stolen away to be with him for a week. He’d walked with her proudly through Hollow Hall and took her to his bed without hiding the fact. She, in return, had been loud enough to wake the entire Hall—and had done such things to him that he nearly did the same.
“Let me help,” Madeleif said now, frustration showing in the twitch along her jaw. Using her High Fae strength, she rolled him onto his back. He did not complain. He almost preferred this view of her, of the hollow between her collarbones, her graceful neck—of all the places he most liked to kiss her.
She was incomparable, his Madeleif, from the way she rode him like an animal to the way she gazed at him, the way she touched him so eagerly, almost greedily. If her touch brought him pleasure, a moment later her sharp nails brought him a little pain, digging harder until he buckled and bled.
She left him marked each time, her nails leaving crescents on his body, his lip bloody. He didn’t care, didn’t pine for the days when she’d been tender—she could be still, when they met for longer. But on a night like this, when it was clear to them both that there was too little time to waste, he lived to please her. The thrill of her wanting him, of her body against his, was almost an agony. There could only be one remedy, and that was more of her, however she’d have him.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered.
“Say I’m yours,” she answered between strident moans.
“You are,” he said, just as breathless.
“Say it,” she urged, brandishing her nails. “Say all of it.”
“You’re mine, Madeleif.”
Except she wasn’t. It was only when she raked her hands across his chest and tipped her head back in a howl of ecstasy that Braam could forget it, enjoying the feral rhythms of their bodies. Somehow, no matter how many times they slipped into bliss together, it could never be enough. His hip hurt enough to cry out, even as he felt he would burst.
“Lie to me,” she screamed at him, breasts bouncing as another climax neared.
But the order clouded his thoughts, his pleasure slipping away like the autumn daylight. He could think of nothing to say. He never could. His mind was both emptied by pleasure and desire and strained by her demand. And his damned hip—
“Say it,” she shouted, nails catching his skin. When he reached his hand for her, she slapped him away. They went on like this, her hands on him, her claws preventing him from touching her until the glorious end. Sex with her pushed every boundary every time, and drove him positively mad for her.
But it wasn’t enough. Even after his release, a longing within him went unquenched, some mote of dissatisfaction that made him risk his body’s wrath and return his hooded gaze to her. Madeleif was watching for it, her back arched as she stretched in a feline pose. She licked her lips, baiting him. Reminding him that she had not yet touched every part of him tonight, and insisting their ardor was as fresh as that first time she’d pulled him into an empty parlor in Lindendam, pushing him against a wall and yanking his trousers to his ankles before he could figure out why this was so foolish, or how easily anyone could walk in.
“We shouldn’t,” he managed as her hand slid up his thigh, beneath the tails of his shirt.
“No, you sweet lordling, we very much should,” she replied with a sharp smile.
