Page 77 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
Raking his teeth lightly up the curve of my neck, he licks my cheek, marking my skin with my own blood.
I’m panting, inflamed, caught in the storm of feral passion he has unleashed.
“Be as loud as you want,” he mutters, grinning right before he kisses me.
The kiss roars through me, whirling my mind away into a glittering field of midnight stars, in which Fin and I dance alone. His tongue tantalizes mine, darting into my mouth before slipping away. He’s surging against me, and I don’t think he’s pretending anymore. The convulsive grinding of his hips against mine sends a flare of heat through my center.
He’s moving me, pushing me backward. My spine hits the cold surface of a stone column and I cry out, breathless. He braces one hand against the pillar, beside my head, so the drapery of his cloak partly conceals us both. It also cuts off part of my view of the Dread Court, for which I’m grateful.
“Legs up, darling,” he whispers. “Around my waist. Good girl. My brave, beautiful girl—fuck, Clara, I’m about to come in my pants. Shit.”
I gasp a laugh, ecstatic because he craves me that much, even here, among the madness and peril.
Quickly I help Fin unbutton his pants, and I free his pretty cock. My center is already aligned with him—I shift a ribbon aside, lift the bit of gauzy lace, and then he’s nestling into my folds, sliding deep into my warmth. He feels just as wonderful here, in the Court of the Rat King, as he did in the workroom, or in the forest. I suspect he would feel like this—like coming home, like safety, like comfort and beauty and bliss—no matter where we are.
“Scream,” he commands. “Scream for me.”
I’m not my sister. I’m the retiring one, the quiet one in the corner, the one observing, not being observed. I don’t like drawing attention to myself. But this is bigger than me and the privacy I usually crave. This isn’t only about my life, but Fin’s. So I scream for him. I scream while he fucks me against the pillar, brutally, mercilessly. He comes after only a few thrusts, and he roars with the force of his release, his hips driving me harder against the stone column, pinning me there.
I scream when he keeps thrusting, when he forces an orgasm out of me and it shatters through my body. I scream into his mouth while he holds me, impaled on his cock, his hands tangled in my hair, near my temple.
He breaks the hot torment of the kiss for a moment, and in that moment I say the words against his lips. “I love you.”
No more than a frenzied breath, but he hears me. His hand tightens on my hair, and he crushes himself against my body, his words hot and hoarse in my ear.
“Only you,” he grits out. “Only you, ever.”
An Unseelie with an exposed jawbone and six eyes sidles up to us. “If you’re done with her, Sugarplum, I’ll have a turn.”
“Does it look like I’m done with her?” Fin snaps.
He pulls out of me and slides his hand to the top of my head, grasping my hair afresh. Violently he spins me around, pushes my breasts against the column, and crowds in behind me. My front is partly hidden by the pillar, my back by his body and his cloak.
Incredibly, Fin is getting hard again; I can feel his rigid shaft poking my bottom. Thank goodness for his Fae stamina. As long as he can keep fucking me, I’m safe from anyone else.
The Unseelie male shrugs and saunters away.
Fin takes me again, pushing in slowly from behind, then assuming a punishing pace that jogs helpless moans out of me. I come on him again, shuddering, clutching the pillar as if it’s a lifeline.
“Another hour or two, darling, while I recover my magic,” he whispers. “And then we’ll give them all a real show.”
24
The tower Lir saw marks the head of a bridge across the Ravine. It’s also the location of a massive lift that can descend into the Ravine or ascend from it. At this time of night, the bridge lies empty, but the tower bristles with armed guards wearing rats’ heads.
The bridge will save us several hours. But how to get across without being caught?
If only Finias had packed invisibility spells. No such luck. But there are two more deflection charms, a spell for high wind, another for mist, and—I wince, trying to remember the jingle I taught myself to remember the available spells. It’s too dark to pull the guide chart out now, and we certainly can’t risk a light.
Deflection, reflection, mist, mire, and mayhem,
High wind, healing, mimicry and might—
“It’s so perfectly simple!” I gasp a laugh, nudging Lir. “A spell of might or strength won’t help against so many, but mimicry—that’s what we need. We just need to separate one of the guards and get him over here so we can look into his eyes. The effect won’t last long, but hopefully it will be long enough.”
“Separate one of the guards? Easier said than done,” mutters the Prince. “They always travel in packs.”
“What about when they need to piss or shit?” I point through the foliage of the bushes in which we’re hiding. They’re broad, shiny evergreen leaves, the perfect concealment. And there are more of the same bushes clustering around a ramshackle outhouse near the tower.
