Page 91 of Healer to the Ash King
He mounts the steps, sending his fire orbs up to float high above our heads. Then his warm hands close around my waist, and he’s lifting me bodily, placing me on the cushioned seat of the throne.
I’m speechless, my throat dry and my heart hammering violently.
The Ash King steps back to survey me, cocking his head. “Just one improvement. Remove the dress.”
My pulse stutters, but I rise and obey, removing my cloak first. I have to reach back awkwardly to undo the buttons of the dress.
The King doesn’t offer to help. His jaw is locked, and his eyes burn orange.
As I step out of the dress, I realize that I haven’t been fully bared to him like this before—at least not without a lot of smudged ash and seared places all over my body. Now there is nothing covering me. I stand defenseless, naked in the Ash King’s throne room.
A few weeks ago, I could never have imagined such a thing.
I am deeply grateful that neither my village family nor my friends in the Undoing can see me now.
“I’ve always wanted to fuck a woman on this throne,” the Ash King says. “Ever since I was about fifteen, when the idea first entered my head.”
I swallow hard. Of course that’s all he wants—to use me to fulfill an illicit youthful fantasy of his.
“Sit,” he says. “And spread your legs.”
When I hesitate, he lifts an eyebrow. “Denying me again?”
Narrowing my eyes rebelliously, I sit, with all the grace I can muster. Secretly I’m thrilled to be sitting on this masterpiece, in my dress or out of it. But I keep my legs pressed together.
He throws off his cloak and stalks nearer, his eyes hungry. “Stubborn village girl.” He places both hands on my knees and leans in. Silky white hair trails over my thigh. “Let me in, Healer.”
His nose drifts lightly against mine, his dark lashes sweeping up, then down as he looks first into my eyes, then at my lips. I’m breathing his air. Each tense breath of his is mine.
He could make me do it. He could be rough, like he was last time. But he simply hovers, his handsome profile, his scent, his skin, his body completing the command for him, tempting me to obey.
Heart pounding, I move my legs slowly apart.
He huffs a triumphant breath and moves back, taking in the sight of me splayed open on his throne. Frantic tingles of wicked euphoria trace along my clit, rippling through my belly, peaking my breasts. I shift my thighs farther apart and push two fingers between the lips of my sex, spreading them wide.
“Do I please Your Majesty?” I murmur.
He lifts his gaze from my sex to my face and says, “Always,” in a tone so tender I can hardly bear it.
He doesn’t remove his clothes.
He’s moving in, kneeling between my legs—
This cannot be happening.
The Ash King himself, His Royal Majesty, Perish the son of Prillian, Ard Rí of Bolcan and High Vanquisher of her enemies, is pressing his mouth into the heated center of me.
He touches his tongue to my clit, flicking the tip, and I whimper, arching against the polished back of the throne. He chuckles, a warm breath of delight, and begins to enjoy me in earnest.
Tenderly he explores with his tongue, dipping into every delicate seam, tracing each sensitive fold. He puckers his lips, sucking gently at my clit, then kissing me, over and over, every bit of my sex. There’s something desperate in the way he does it, a fevered ache that echoes in my own soul.
“I am sorry about today, Cailin.” He nuzzles into my sex, breathing me in, nibbling along my folds. Rince was never this eager—he preferred using his fingers, not his face—but the King seems to delight in pleasuring me this way.
I’m writhing, wide awake and flooded with sensation, every nerve alight, desire pooling at my core. He licks through the wetness and presses more suckling kisses to that perfect spot. I close my eyes, my entire consciousness focused on nurturing the bead of pleasure that’s condensing, brightening, right at the tip of my clit—he starts to flicker his tongue, a rapid patter against the sensitive nub. My thighs and belly are tightening—I’m coming—I’m coming on the Ash King’s throne, while he kneels at my feet.
“Yes, kitten,” he croons, rocking back on his heels to watch me pant and spasm. “Oh yes. Look at you, beautiful. You’re perfect.”
“I can’t bear it, I can’t,” I whisper, bucking as the ecstasy spirals through me. I need to be held, I need—I need him. “Please—please, Perish—”
