Page 53 of Jailer to the Death God
The carriage we’re riding in is incredibly tiny. Two seats face each other, and the bulk of me fills one entirely. There isn’t much of a gap between the seats, either. I have to slant my long legs to the right so the Queen has room for her skirts on the left.
We’re not even out of the city yet, and already I’m feeling the horrible pressure in my chest, the clawing need to get out, to get free of this confined space. Since I dragged myself away from the Queen’s bed last night, I’ve been prey to a gnawing restlessness. My invisible chains grind into my flesh, into my bones, with a weight so dreadful I want to roar my pain to the sky.
Teasing the Queen offers a slight distraction. But it’s not enough. And when she turns her face away to stare out the window, without answering my last question, I can’t bear it. I can’t let the conversation die or I will go mad.
“You’re a liar, you know,” I tell her. “We’ll add that to your list of sins.”
“A liar?”
“You promised to ease the schedule and give me time for pleasure. Judging by that book in your hands, and what you said to Farley and the guards, you have not eased the schedule at all. If anything, you’ve tightened it.”
She winces. “I suppose I have. But what do you expect me to do? People are dying, and we can stop it. Every minute is more lives saved. How can we take a break, knowing that?”
Her earnestness, that bright sacrificial intensity in her eyes—it pierces my heart, burning there with an echoing flame. She will scorch herself to ashes in service to these people—deny herself every pleasure, every indulgence that makes human existence worthwhile. She will die for them, unworthy as they are, and they will forget her all too quickly. They don’t appreciate her enough.
She deserves more.
I reach across the carriage and take the planning book from her lap. Her fingers close on its edge, a small tug of protest, but then she lets me pull it away.
“Apparently this hour or two of travel is the only respite I’ll receive,” I say. “So I should make the most of it, and indulge in sensation and pleasure.”
Her cheeks, which have been growing delectably pinker as we spoke, are scarlet now. “And how do you propose to do that?”
“If we were in the palace, I could find someone with whom to pass the time pleasantly.” I stroke my jaw thoughtfully. “Unfortunately it’s only you and I in this carriage.”
Her slim throat moves, a nervous swallow. I cherish that sign of my effect on her. She’s not easy to terrify, this little Queen, but it seems that physical closeness or sexual references unsettle her, and I find that equally satisfying.
More satisfying still is the latent glint in her eye, the way she sucks in her lips and pushes them back out, wet and plump. She’s not entirely averse to my suggestion.
“I did promise you all the pleasures you desire,” she says, with a slow blink at me. “Since there’s no one else here, I suppose I shall have to keep the promise myself.Ifyou can remember that it’s a bargain being fulfilled, nothing more.”
“Anything more between us would be impossible and absurd,” I say.
“Entirely absurd,” she agrees.
I lean forward, and she does the same, her eyes hooding, half-closed, her lips parting to accept my kiss. With my mouth a breath from hers, I pause, enjoying the magnetic pull between us, the haze of eager breath.
“I like this part,” I murmur. “Just before we touch. It feels good.”
“It does.” The thin, soft skin of her lips grazes mine. “But this feels even better.”
She kisses me gently, her mouth pliant and relaxed. Delicately she takes my lower lip between her teeth and tugs it, sucking it a little before releasing it.
My dick reacts, a bold surge of heated blood.
“You’re skilled at this,” I tell her.
“I’ve had a few lovers.” Her mouth covers mine, her tongue teasing my lips open, sweeping across the edge of my teeth, gliding wet and slippery over my tongue.
My hand comes up, needing to touch her somewhere. I choose the back of her neck, where that pompous lord touched her last night. Possessively I cup her nape, rubbing my thumb along the soft skin just beneath her earlobe. She makes a quiet sound in my mouth.
We’re shifting closer to each other, her leg pressed against mine. My other hand finds her knee.
It’s not enough. A hot, roiling desire thunders through my bones, and I break our kiss, venting a short growl of frustration.
I need more. But I can’t ask her for more, not when she has already given all of herself to everyone else.
“You don’t like it?” Her voice is throaty, breathless. Beautifully sensual.
