Page 102 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
“It would be horribly inappropriate, for example, if I fucked you right now, when an innocent girl has just decided to die for everyone.”
“The worst kind of inappropriate,” she whispers, as my hand surges over her breast and tugs down her neckline. I duck lower, taking her nipple in my mouth with a hungry moan. Gods, I’ve missed touching her, tasting her.
“Fin,” she gasps, as I pull her dress down farther. “They could come in here.” She glances at the door of the smoking room.
I lap delicately at her nipple in reply, and she whimpers. “Never mind, I don’t care. Touch me, Fin—gods, touch me—” Frantically she pulls up her skirts and seizes my hand. I barely have time to retract my claws before she shoves my fingers into the warm, soaked depths between her thighs.
My thumb caresses her clit while my fingers slide deep, stroking her inner walls. She’s trembling, aching for comfort, and I am wretchedly desperate for her—for only her, ever. I draw my fingers out of her, delighting in the soft suck of her body as it attempts to hold me inside. Quickly I shift her on my lap so she’s facing me, and I unfasten my pants with desperate haste.
Clara adjusts, rising on her knees and then sinking onto my bare cock. I cry out helplessly as I’m gloved in her heat—it’s a shrill sound, a sharp whine of need I can’t hold back. The tiny bars along the underside of my length make every bit of stimulation so much more intense.
Clara’s lashes are wet, her cheeks scarlet. She takes my jaw, pulls my face to hers, and kisses me. Her breath is a haze of hot longing, her tongue a lash of silken fire. “Together, whatever happens,” she says raggedly.
“Together.” My voice breaks as she rides my cock harder. I grip her waist, lifting her when she rises, the two of us synchronized, straining, feverish, yearning for release—her fingers tighten on my shoulders—a thrill bolts through my cock, my balls jumping, throbbing as jets of my cum flow into her. Clara sets her forehead to mine, sobs cracking from her lips as she shatters around me, her pussy spasming, convulsively at first and then more softly.
“Fin,” she breathes. “Fin, we’re despicable. How could we… ahh..” She moans as she sinks down deeply onto me again. “Fuck.”
I take her mouth, swirling my tongue over hers. Gently I pull her dress back into place, covering her breasts. But we don’t separate, not right away. We stay locked together, our bodies humming with the echoes of the music that is ours alone.
31
When the door of my cell unlocks, I’m convinced I’m dreaming. I even pinch myself to be sure I’m awake.
A disembodied female voice speaks to me, explaining that she’s human, and that she used magic rings to turn invisible and to unlock the door.
It sounds like a child’s tale. A human, walking around freely, unaccompanied, in the house of the Rabbit and the Cat?
But then she tells me her name—Clara—and says Master Drosselmeyer sent her to rescue me.
Leaving myHistory of Faeriebehind, I hurry out of the cell, and on the way upstairs Clara turns visible again. In hushed, hurried tones she explains a little about herself and the Seelie Fae she arrived with—Finias, she calls him. She points him out as we enter the foyer. He must be the pink-haired asshole Caer mentioned.
Clara and I pause, listening to Finias and Riordan conversing. And that’s when I know, beyond any doubt, that it’s all true. The Eater of Hearts, the doom of Faerie—everything.
Riordan stares at me when I offer myself as the vessel for the curse-breaking water. Caer’s face flushes, his eyes wild.
Clara seems deeply invested in my safety. How odd that I know nothing about her, and yet she has braved many dangers for my sake. I feel sorry for making her cry, and I wish I knew how to help. But the handsome pink-haired faerie picks her up and carries her off into the house, hopefully to comfort her.
And now I’m alone with the stiff, stone-faced Riordan and the incredulous Caer.
“This isn’t going to happen,” Caer says emphatically. “Riordan, tell her.”
“It’s my choice,” I say. “And it’s the only way.”
“Fuck that.” Caer’s voice shrills. “Riordan—Riordan, you asshole, say something. Tell me you aren’t really considering this, not after everything. Say something, or I swear I’ll rip your ears off, you fucking blockhead—”
With a baleful hiss he leaps at Riordan, claws extended, teeth bared. He slams into Riordan’s shoulder, writhes around him like a snake coiling swiftly around a post, clawing red lines into the other male’s skin. He bites deep into Riordan’s shoulder, and Riordan comes to life, snarling at the pain, his own claws extending. He jams all the nails of one hand into the Cat’s neck and with a mighty heave, pulls Caer off his back and flings him through a doorway, into the ballroom with the checkered floor.
Caer lands on all fours, screeching his rage. He launches himself at Riordan again, and the two of them go down in a thrashing tangle of long limbs, bloody claws, and glittering teeth.
Anxiously I move into the ballroom while the two of them wrestle and snarl, their sharp nails shrieking against the tile floor as they grapple.
I consider trying to break up the fight, but this is no squabble between children. If I intervene, I might easily be skewered or slashed by accident, and I need to stay pristine if I’m going to be given to the Queen tomorrow. So I stand by quietly, watching the surge of Riordan’s back muscles as he punches the Cat’s face—watching Caer wriggle free and coil around the other male, his tail lashing as he carves a new set of grooves into Riordan’s bare flesh. Riordan lets out a roar, answered by a yowl of vengeance from the Cat.
“You don’t care what happens to her!” Caer screams. “You don’t care about me. You care about no one but yourself, and your precious research, and your spells—”
“You idioticchild!” bellows Riordan. “I care about everyonebutmyself. Why in the god-stars do you think I’m agreeing to this? To save us all—to saveyou, you fucking moron—” He pins Caer down again, securing a chokehold. Caer bucks, but Riordan is firmly seated astride his hips, and he can’t get up.
They’re both panting, chests heaving, eyes locked. Something shifts and tremors in the air between them—a taut desperation, a swell of unspoken emotion.
