Page 46 of A Bride for the Winter King
“Shush, or the whole town will hear you…” He smothers my sounds with his hand. “Fuck. You feel too good. I’m tempted to play with you all night.”
I smile against his palm, and for a moment, everything is perfect. I forget that we hate each other and live for his nextdemanding thrust—his next growly praise. Under his touch, I live for him and him alone, and it’s no longer the fever talking.
He stops, leaving me tethering over the edge. “Beg me for your release, little spider. Let me see the anguish on your face.” He brushes my hair away from my eyes with maddening care. “I’ll never touch you again after today and marry any of them but you. Are you hearing me?” The loving way he breathes the words is a stark contrast to their meaning.
He squeezes my breasts in turn, demanding an answer.
“Yes! You sly fucker, I hear you.” I rock my hips, desperate for him to finish what he started. “I need you to fuck me so hard that I’ll still feel you long after you’re gone.”
He wraps a hand in my hair and kisses the hollow of my neck. “Why did you have to go and say something so perfect? Now, I want to chain you to my bed so I can spendweeks inside of you.”
“Do it!” I taunt him.
The Winter King slams his hips forward, over and over again, and the climax comes about as violently as the sex. I sink my nails into his neck, the clench in my belly sharp and delicious.
My pulse swirls as he holds himself up against the mirror, following me right over the cliff of this suffocating, destructive lust. The glass cracks under his palm, and all the mirrors in the wagon burst in unison as he shakes from the aftershocks of his orgasm.
Broken pieces scatter to the floor.
My feet search for solid ground, my bones soft, and my muscles weak. Tears streak my cheeks. I’ve never felt so perfect…or so cold. The ecstasy leaves my body, replaced by a gripping sense of emptiness. A piece of broken glass cuts the flesh of my big toe, but I can barely feel it.
Morpheus help me. I craved this more than I’ve ever craved anything in this life. I let the King of Death, the reaper king andcollector of souls, the man who dispenses grief left and right like it’s nothing, touch my soul. And I loved it.
Shame licks my insides, almost as hot and debilitating as the fever was. I could cower inside a “magic made me do it” narrative and absolve myself from blame, but I know I could have stopped it. Morpheus knows Elio gave me plenty of chances.
I wanted it to happen. I wantedhim.
This man is most likely plotting with the woman who almost destroyed my family. He took my friends’ souls, my parent’s souls, and every other soul he damn-well pleases. And yet here I am, quivering in his arms.
Another voice inside me argues that it was worth it, but I can’t afford to trust that voice anymore. It just made me do something incredibly selfish.
Elio hides his face in my neck and groans like he doesn’t want to confront what he’s just done, either. He certainly didn’t want to have to look at himself in a mirror, because he destroyed them all.
He rests his forehead on mine and drinks the tears from my cheek with care. “It’s alright, little spider. It’ll be our secret.”
Chapter 18
Kiss. Marry. Kill.
ELIO
My bare feet hit the ground outside the wagon with a softthump, and Sara peels herself from the ground. The wet trail of salt on her cheeks tells me she’s been crying, but her voice is steady when she asks, “Is she dead?”
Sara fully expects to bury another body today, and I can’t pretend to be insulted by her assumption. Spies, snakes, and liars don’t survive for long in my court, and I’m more than comfortable serving as both jury and executioner when the time comes for traitors to be dealt with. But the usual criminals don’t quicken my heartbeat or turn my brain to a puddle…
I search the square, but there’s only us. “She’s alive,” I croak.
Freshly fucked, but alive.Did that even happen? The little shards of broken glass embedded in my palms confirm that it wasn't all a fever dream, and I button up my jacket. I should have given it to Lori as a replacement for her shredded shirt, but I couldn’t stand the thought of her ogling the distinct scars on my back.
What in the seven hells happened in there? I was so sure she was using magic to alter her appearance that I ended up kneeling in front ofher. I lost my grip, I?—
I was cruel, I was crude, I used her body for my pleasure and unveiled parts of me that had been locked away for decades. Broken, secret parts. I went back on my promise not to yield to the beast’s demands. It slithered away as I entered her, and yet the blackest shards of my soul yearned to touch her and make her mine anyway. I still can't believe how much she got off on my filthy mouth, each devious word causing her walls to tighten around my cock.
Stop thinking about it.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, at war with myself. “I need you to take her to your room.”
“My room?”
