Page 24 of The Traitor's Curse
Maybe I’d discovered the secret, other than that cock of his, to Benedict’s odd power over all of the men he rotated in and out of his bed, because if he looked at all of them like this—with his entire attention, with that focused warmth—then of course they’d be eager for more of it.
Swallowing hard barely cleared the lump in my throat, and my voice came out almost a whisper. “You told them all that I dedicate every moment to Calatria’s welfare. Of course, you lied. I delayed my meetings this morning to satisfy your lust.”
He leaned in, close enough that I could see the faintest tracery of amber in his gray eyes. No wonder they shone like metal, with that hint of gold within silver.
His smile held more than a hint of mischief.
“No, it’s nothing but the truth. Satiating me does serve Calatria’s best interests, because my command of the army ensures Calatria’s welfare. And my magic deters dishonest winemakers, which is even more important for drunkards like me, as you—no, I know you were trying to irritate me, but it almost made me laugh out loud. I’m not angry about it, don’t get all agitated—”
“I’m not agitated! And you’re incredibly arrogant if you really believe—”
Benedict’s mouth cut off any further words and any possibility of rational thought. Firm, and demanding, and both softer and rougher than I would’ve imagined. My lips parted for him as if he’d used his magic, and when he teased into me with his tongue I let out a helpless, humiliating moan at how perfect it felt, that intimate entry, the way he took me as if he had every right to anything I had to give.
He let go of one wrist to wrap his hand in my hair, cradling my head and tipping it the way he wanted me, plundering my mouth, licking into me, biting at my lips and then thrusting his tongue inside to claim me. I’d been telling the truth when I said I could still feel him inside me—or rather, the echo of him, the hollowness he’d left when he withdrew. I clenched around nothing, aching for him to fill me everywhere he could, in my mouth and between my legs, deeper, more than anyone ever had.
Benedict hadn’t kissed me this morning. I’d thought he wouldn’t want to.
I’d thoughtIwouldn’t want to, would have vehemently asserted that there was nothing I’d want less, but when at last he drew back, sucking on my swollen lower lip, he left me cold and wanting. He tugged on my hair to hold me in place as I whimpered and tried to chase his mouth with mine.
“Fucking gods,” he said, voice hoarse and rough. I forced my eyelids open a crack and found him staring at me, eyes burning, his jaw tight with—anger? Why would he be angry, when I hadn’t fought him at all? “You have the sweetest mouth when you’re not using it to talk,” he bit out, and let me go so abruptly I had to catch myself before I hit my head.
Benedict stood up and immediately reached for the placket of his trousers, cursing again as the massive ridge of his erection interfered with undoing the buttons.
A bolt of heat shot down into the pit of my stomach, my balls drawing up, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut again and bite my tingling lips to keep in a moan. Just the thought of Benedict fucking me on my own throne shouldn’t nearly make me spend in my trousers like a slut, but the image flashed through my mind, unstoppable, and…
“You can’t, and your curse can’t possibly need it this soon after this morning,” I gasped, clutching desperately at any shredof rationality I could find in my spinning head. I opened my eyes again. He’d made progress with his buttons, and the flushed, thick head of his cock had emerged through the gap, the tip gleaming.
Kissing me. He’d gotten into that state from kissingme, pinning me to my throne and taking my mouth.
Taking my mouth…taking my mouth. Because he hadn’t made any move to undress me, or move me from where I sat, or tell me to do it myself, and that suggested…oh, no. No no no.
“Using me that way won’t do a damn thing for your curse,” I protested, as he tugged his trousers open to reveal more of his hard, straining cock. Did he really think I’d simply submit to him like that, with no practical reason for it at all? “That’s not a part of our agreement.”
Benedict kept working on his trousers, still held together at the top of the gap by his heavy sword belt. Fully clothed, booted and cloaked, his sword and knife to either side of the opening he’d made for only his cock, he looked like a soldier on duty who’d taken an illicit moment to be serviced by…by a stable boy, perhaps, or a kitchen maid.
Or his liege lord, the duke in his crown and robes.
A fresh wave of dizziness nearly carried me sideways as that image flashed through my mind: how we’d appear right now if anyone came into the room, Benedict standing over me with his cock out, starting to lean down and put it to my waiting lips.
No, not waiting. I wouldn’t do it.
“I won’t service you like this,” I insisted, trying and failing to sound decisive and commanding. “Let me up. This is absurd.”
He glanced up at last, raising his eyebrows. “What’s absurd is that you’re arguing with me. Our agreement is that I’ll have you whenever and however I want. And right now, I want to fuck your pretty mouth.”
“You said between my legs, servicing your curse! Takeme…there’s no part of this that…” I stopped, thinking back, forcing myself to remember exactly what he’d said to me. Recalling precise wording was a skill I’d worked hard to develop over the years. “No,” I said, as it came back to me. “Fucking my—there’s no way you meant to include this in ‘and so on,’ Benedict!”
“You’ll never know whether I meant to or not, because it’s included if I say it is,” he said, and finally tugged the last button free, exposing his cock all the way down to the base.
Gods, it was thick. Not that it mattered. He’d choke me to death with his length before he got the whole thing into my mouth, anyway. Much better if he stuffed it into my hole, where he could force me open at his leisure without cutting off my breathing.
No, not better, not…oh, if I’d had time for lunch I wouldn’t be so lightheaded and strange. This was all Benedict’s fault. All of it. Maybe he had been the one to poison Fabian, just to maneuver me into this—but that thought fled as he braced one knee on the seat of my throne and one hand on the back of it, leaning in until his cock pointed directly at my mouth.
“It isn’t, and I won’t—let go of me!” He’d put his other hand around the nape of my neck, and I yanked away, flailing at his arm until he cursed, caught my wrists with both hands, and then pinned them over my head with only one, putting the other right back into my hair. This time he wrapped the strands around his fingers, holding me tightly enough that any attempted movement stung my scalp.
He pushed his hips forward, the tip of his cock brushing my lower lip, satiny and heavy. The scent of him hit me all at once: salt and bitterness, a faint note of soap, a hint of male sweat, heady and overwhelming.
“If you really want me to let go of you, I will,” he said, fingers clenching in my hair. “But your robes look like you’resmuggling a tentpole in them. You’re as pink as a peony, and I can see your heart beating in your throat. Come on and give it a lick, Lucian. Nothing but your tongue. Show me how much you want it.”
