Page 62 of Healer to the Ash King
“Fight back,” he whispers. “Fight me, Cailin. Defend yourself.”
I jerk against his grip, but I’m not strong enough, so I draw more water, lashing his back with stinging whips of it until he lets go. The watery whips hover at my back, curling around me like protective tentacles.
“There she is,” says the King, pulling back, while his eyes burst into hot blue flame. “There’s the water goddess I’ve been waiting for.”
He attacks me with lashes of fire, slicing through my liquid tentacles—but each one reforms as quickly as his fire passes through it. I wrap both his ankles with water and jerk him flat on his back. Breath leaves him in a sharp grunt, and he looks so astonished that I laugh. When he meets my eyes, I swear there’s the ghost of a grin on his lips.
He rises, the fiery whips gone, and for a moment I think he’s done fighting me. But then his entire naked body begins to glow molten, like an ember stoked to fresh fierce heat. Even his hair is aflame, though it doesn’t burn.
Incandescent, white-hot with flickering amber edges, the Ash King stalks toward me.
I empty the urn and pull more water from his washstand. As he charges, I encase myself completely, head to toe, in a shimmering suit of water.
We crash together, fire and water sizzling into steam, both of us crying out with the pain of it. Somehow, when his heat and my water combine, I canhurthim. And that makes me strangely elated.
He collapses to the floor, gasping, weakened by an agony he’s not used to. I’m tangled with him, limbs lashing and struggling. We’re wet and scorched at the same time, hair dripping, breaths cracking sharp from singed lips. His cheeks are scarlet, his eyes bloodshot.
But his fire is out.
I look into his face, and I realize with sudden heat that I’m astride him. His erection is pinned between us, and since I’m not wearing anything beneath the nightdress, his cock is pressed directly against my bare center. That firm column of flesh rolling between my legs is so wildly stimulating that I inhale, sharp and tight.
The King goes very still under me. He’s been dismantled by our joint magic, his skin raw from the searing steam.
Very slowly, I angle my hips and rock forward along his length. My eyes close at the thrilling contact.
The Ash King lunges upright and flips me over onto my back with passionate force. The breath slams out of my lungs, and a line of sharp pleasure traces through my belly.
The heat of us hangs thick and humid in the air—lust and seared skin and the faint scent of soap from my bath. He’s breathing hard. Loops of his white hair have loosened from their knot, and they brush his cheekbones as he kneels astride me, his gaze devouring me with vicious intensity.
With exquisite control, he flakes my nightdress to ash. And now I’m naked, scorched in places from the steam, my skin beaded with water and covered with soot.
He doesn’t seem to care. He brushes aside the ashes and cups my breast, while a hiss of satisfaction leaks through his gritted teeth.
I knock his hand away and he recoils, startled regret flaring through his eyes as he allows me to sit up. His lips part—he’s on the brink of an apology.
Impulsively, trembling with a blazing lust I can’t quench, I seize both his wrists and pull his hands to my chest, pressing them hard over my breasts.
“I hate you,” I whisper, my eyes stinging with tears.
“I hate you more.” He almost kisses me, but he turns aside at the last second. His teeth scrape along my cheekbone, while one of his hands moves from my breast to dive between us, rough and eager, discovering the liquid need between my legs.
“Admit it,” he seethes, toying with my clit. “You want me.”
When I don’t answer, he pinches, just hard enough to sting.
I gasp and grip his shoulders, sinking my nails into his skin. I’ve been soft-hearted Cailin the healer for so long, healing my pain and that of others, soothing everything and everyone—and I love being that person, because she isme—but this wild thing of pain and passion is also me, and somehow it feels wretchedly good tohurtwith him.
The Ash King flings me backward onto the floor again. His body hovers over me while his fingers slither, quick and merciless and tantalizing, along my folds. His scarlet eyes blaze into mine. “Submit,” he orders. “Your body has already told the truth. Admit that you want me.”
I buck against his hand and lift myself on my elbows, pressing my breasts to his chest, my mouth grazing his lips. “Make me.”
“Gods-fuck.” His face wrenches with an expression of near agony before relaxing again. “I almost came just then, you rebellious village brat.”
“My apologies, Your Majesty,” I whisper savagely.
“Stop talking,” he chokes out. “Either I come all over your body or inside it. Your choice.”
I sink back against the tiled floor, spreading my thighs wide, pressing my ankles against the small of his back to pull him closer, lining up his tip with my center.
