Page 62 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
The scent of him enveloped me, crisp and sharp in my lungs. His gaze raked over my face, pausing at my lips, then returning to my eyes with hunger barely held in check.
"What do I want to do with you?" His voice dropped to a rough whisper, each word deliberate. His gaze dragged down my face, lingering on my mouth before slowly traveling lower—to my throat, my collarbone, the rise and fall of my breasts. "Do you have to ask?”
My breath hitched. Heat bloomed low in my belly, spreading through my core.
A slow smile spread over his features as he stared me down and enunciated each word, his nose almost touching my cheek. “I want to claim you as my wife. I want to shove you harder against this wall so your feet don’t touch the ground and make you whimper and moan against my hand as I am the only thing holding you up. I want to feed you pomegranate seeds and kiss your forehead and then whisper the most filthy things in your ear. I want to make you forget everything except my name and my body, my hands and my hardness as I make your world collapse and explode. I want to hold you and know you. I want to wake beside you each morning and hear you laugh and scold me about the fertilizer and the soil depth and the water levels. I want to lavish you with luxuries and share the quiet moments. I want to age with you, raise children with you, make memories with you, and become better with you in every way. But there is justoneproblem, my beautiful sweet little thorn.” He clicked his tongue as he tilted his head. “I have no pomegranates.”
“Well….” I swallowed hard as I stared up at him wide-eyed. “I guess you can’t do anything then.”
A feral grin spread over his face. “Really? Then what is this?”
Just like that, his mouth was on mine.
The kiss was fierce, claiming, all-consuming. Though his lips were cool, the heat between us was anything but. I gaspedagainst his mouth, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss as one hand slid from the wall to cup the back of my head. His fingers threaded through my hair, angling my face to his as he devoured me.
My hands flew to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his robe as if it were the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. Every nerve in my body sang, every thought scattered like leaves in a storm. There was only him—his taste, his scent, the way his body pressed closer until the hard planes of his chest pressed against me.
His hands slid down to my thighs, lifting me as he shoved me harder against the wall. I gasped, my back pressing into the cool marble as my feet left the ground. Instinctively, my legs wrapped around his waist, my arms circling his neck as he held me pinned between his body and the stone.
"That's it," he murmured against my throat, his lips trailing kisses along my jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below my ear. "Hold onto me."
My fingers tangled in his hair, dislodging his crown slightly. I didn't care. Nothing existed except this moment, this man, this overwhelming need that had been building between us since—since when? Since he'd called the garden mine? Since he'd cradled me bleeding in his arms? Since he'd looked at me like I was precious? Since I’d slapped him in the face with my shoe?
His hips pressed forward, pinning me more firmly, and I felt every inch of him against me. The hardness he'd alluded to was very, very real, and the thin layers of fabric between us did nothing to hide it. A whimper escaped my throat before I could stop it. No wonder he’d been amused I’d called it a little thorn.
He nuzzled me and traced a line up my throat to my cheek with his nose. “In all of the years and all of the blood moon cycles I have endured, I have envisioned its conclusion in a thousanddifferent ways, but it never once occurred to me that I might love the queen I chose.”
I reached up, tracing one of the deeper scars on his cheek, needing something to tether me to the moment as I stared at him in awe.
The word hung between us, suspended in the moonlight like something fragile and impossibly precious. Love. He'd saidlove.
"You—" My voice came out strangled, barely a whisper. "You actually love me?" I’d never believed love had to take a long time to develop, but that time was what proved its endurance and strength. Yet to hear him speak it of me…I’d never thought someone would love me like that.
"I do." He nuzzled my jaw and kissed me slowly. “Once I knew, I knew. There’s no sense in pretending otherwise.”
My heart stuttered, then raced as if trying to escape my chest. His lips moved against mine with aching tenderness now, a contrast to the fierce claiming of moments before. I kissed him back, pouring everything I couldn't say into the press of my mouth against his—all the fear, the hope, the impossible feelings that had grown between us in such a short time.
"I love you too," I whispered when I pulled free, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess them. But they were true. Somewhere between the terror and the blood and the pomegranates, I'd fallen for this scarred, fierce king who'd kidnapped me and then looked at me like I wove the stars and painted the moon.
His eyes closed, and something in his expression cracked open—relief, joy, happiness all at once. "Say it again."
"I love you." This time stronger, more certain. "I love you, Vetle."
He kissed me again, slower this time, savoring. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I opened for him, letting him explore. The kiss deepened into something languorous andthorough, as if we had all the time in the world instead of mere hours before the curse either ended or consumed us all. “Let me make you my wife now,” he whispered in my ear, his breath making me shiver.
His words sent a jolt of heat straight through me. I nodded against his mouth, unable to form words as his lips claimed mine again.
His knee pressed between my thighs, spreading them wider where they wrapped around him. The pressure was deliberate, purposeful, and when he shifted his weight forward, his thigh rubbed against my center through the thin fabric of my gown. A gasp tore from my throat.
"That's what I want to hear," he murmured against my lips. His hands gripped my hips, angling me so that each subtle movement of his leg sent sparks of pleasure radiating through me. "Every sound you make is mine."
I whimpered, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he did it again, the friction maddeningly perfect and not nearly enough all at once. The marble at my back was cold, but I was burning, every nerve ending alive with sensation.
"Vetle—" His name came out breathy, desperate.
"Tell me what you want, sweet wife." His mouth traced down my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His knee pressed harder, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that made my vision blur. "Tell me, and I'll give it to you, my queen."
"You," I managed, my head falling back against the stone. "I want you."
