Page 125 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
“Until I tire of hearing it,” he says instead. He shifts over me, pinning me to the mattress, until his cock teases my entrance. It’s rock-hard again. “Five.”
He feeds me his cock inch by inch, and I quake all over.
The duvet is wrecked. My mind is wrecked. Seth’s special brand of dual magic has forever ruined me for other men.
He’s the only thing grounding me to this earth, thrusting all the way in and out, over and over again, but excruciatingly slowly. He praises every gush like his favorite fetish is watching my juices drip from his cock before pushing back in.
By the end, he doesn’t even have to move. My body obeys the slow drawl of his voice, clenching and pulsing until I’m begging for mercy. Until I’m drunk on a string of orgasms I’ve completely lost count of. Until he’s all but painted me with his seed.
Everywhere but inside, where I could absorb it, no, he revels in the sight of me covered in ropes of his cum.
I’m gasping for breath by the time he’s done, and yet I feel like I could cry from the loss. I’m usually the kind of gal who sends a man packing after I’ve had my share, but I find myself already daydreaming about our next time—about how it’ll feel when he uses my mouth and comes deep in my throat. How much I’ll enjoy the next round.
“Fuck, you really know how to create an addiction.”
He smacks a kiss on my belly button. “I love you, witch.”
I curl into his side and sigh, hiding my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling him deep. He smells like soap and musk—and a new scent we’ve made together. He traces his fingers up and down my spine. I snuggle closer and pray he’ll be patient enough to stay—because I can’t say it yet. But I feel it. I’m terrified by how much.
I wakeup to an awfully cold and empty bed and slip on the fitted black clothes I find in a drawer and fix my hair as much as I can without using magic. Stopping by the hearth, I press aquick kiss to Percy’s shroud and tiptoe out of the guest quarters to explore.
The tower of the fortress is only narrow at the top five floors, and it begins to widen as I descend. When I reach the first broader level, two large double doors stand wide open. I expected guards—or Willow herself—to stop me from wandering alone through the castle, but I enter the bibliotheca without a hitch.
The long, diamond-shaped windows offer an unobstructed view of the bay below, where workers bustle along the docks, loading crates into ships. I stride deeper into the room.
At the heart of the stacks, where tables and desks once stood, dozens upon dozens of spinning wheels—of every size, style, and material—are arranged in neat rows. The original furniture has been shoved into a corner and stacked to make room for the map. Only one table remains upright, cluttered with a thick, geodesic Shadow mask, electrodes, rods, fluxes, woodcarving tools, and transparent cases filled with materials and fine wires.
I graze the edges of the mask, the likes of which I’ve never seen. Shadow masks are usually thin and elegant, molded by shadows themselves, but this looks like a piece of metal that was beaten to submission by a hammer. In fact, many of the materials and instruments are new to me.
This must be where Luther and Willow tinker with their jewels. They use metal to mount the gems and fuse them to their bodies, which demands some serious craftsmanship and expertise. But some of the gear can’t be explained by that alone. A few half-finished spindles lie in a separate box, while one sits at the center of the worktable, inlaid with amethysts and gold.
“Lady Eros. I see you’ve found my collection.” Luther greets me as he enters.
He says the title with a hint of impertinence, like he’s above such things but plays the game for my benefit. There’s no anger or suspicion in his tone for finding me away from my bedroom.
“Just call me Devi.”
“Alright, Devi.”
Against all odds, I’m not a prisoner, though I didn’t see any mirror, so there’s nowhere to go.
I brace my hands on my hips, contemplating his rather peculiar collection of spinning wheels. “Seth told me you want to vanquish death?” I say, keeping my voice from sounding too judgmental or doubtful.
“You just lost someone dear to you. Wouldn’t you do anything to get him back?” Luther says softly, walking to the nearest wheel to pry off the spindle.
“Death is part of life.”
The corners of Luther’s mouth quirk. “Only because we allow him to be.”
He walks to the working table and sets down the spindle.
“Don’t listen to Luther, he’s very angry with Elio.” Willow says, prancing into the room like a mystical creature crawling out of the ether. She drums her fingers across Luther’s fitted black shirt in a teasing fashion. “Are you trying to rope my friend into your experiments?”
Luther doesn’t answer her question but holds my gaze instead. “In our world, there are only two types of rulers. The ones that try to double down on the mistakes of their predecessors—usually a parent—and the ones that challenge the status quo in order to provoke change.” He sits at his workstation, turning his focus to his current project as he adds, “You’ve always been a destroyer of traditions. You would fit well within the tides, so why don’t you join our ranks?”
I suppress a smile. “You never stop pitching, do you?”
He slips on the geodesic mask and lights a solder rod with a grin. Flashes of light and flame dance across the worn metal. “I never give up on anything before I’ve succeeded.”
