Page 16 of The Manticore's Human Queen
My cock hardens, straining against my tattered pants, sparking a primal growl in my chest.
Her eyes meet mine, wide and forest-green, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “Tarek,” she whispers, her voice trembling with unspoken desire, “you shouldn’t say such things.” Yet her gaze lingers, betraying a longing she can’t name, a spark that threatens to consume us both.
My control, forged through years of war and loss, frays like worn cloth. The elven salves she risks her life to bring knit my wounds with unnatural speed, restoring my strength. With it, the manticore’s urges awaken—a fierce need to claim the woman who anchors me in this filthy cage.
Her quiet courage, her terrified desire, dismantles my defenses. I memorize her: the way she tucks golden hair behind her ear, the faint frown when she thinks she’s alone, theintelligence blazing in her eyes. She’s not just my charge; she’s my mate, a truth burning in my soul.
The distance between us torments me, a pain I can no longer bear. Her unspoken longing mirrors my own, a dangerous fire flickering in this prison’s shadows. The sweet scent of her hair, the warmth of her breath, is a poison sweeter than any wine. I endure a shattered leg, this cage’s humiliation, the despair of Osiris’s fall, but her nearness, separated by cold iron, is a new hell, my erection throbbing as proof.
“I should go,” she says, turning away.
I catch her wrist, my grip gentle but firm, her pulse racing beneath my thumb. “Tarek,” she gasps, her eyes flying to mine, gold flecks glinting in the torchlight. Her “don’t” is a plea, but her body leans closer, drawn to our forbidden fire.
“I want you, Annelise,” I say, my voice rough with truth. “I see your desire, feel your tremble—you want me too.” Her protest fades, her eyes admitting the beautiful, terrified truth she can’t speak.
I tug her wrist, and she follows, trance-like, her face inches from mine through the bars. The iron is a cruel, irrelevant barrier, her skin radiating heat, her eyes a constellation of gold. The world—cages, cruel masters, impossible odds—narrows to this moment.
Our lips meet through the bars, a hungry, desperate clash, teeth and tongues colliding in a dark, exotic storm. The kiss is a battle, tasting her fear, courage, and desire—a nectar that sets my blood ablaze. The manticore within claims her, my erection pulsing with need.
I pull back, my forehead against the cold bars, my body taut with desire. Her swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and dazed eyes fill my vision, tenderness crashing through me. “I won’t take you fully here,” I vow, “not in this cage, but as my mate, under a free sky.”
Annelise trembles, her eyes alight with want, my restraint fueling her courage. “You’re right, Tarek,” she whispers, her lips brushing my ear through the bars. “But you’re a mad beast if you think I can’t claim you now.”
Her words unravel me, a moan of surrender escaping as she kneels, the grime of the floor coating her knees. Silently, she turns, her hands moving with deliberate grace, lifting her silk dress inch by inch. The fabric whispers up her thighs, revealing pale, luminous skin, an offering that stops my breath.
She bends forward, pressing her ass through the bars, vulnerable yet commanding, a vision that threatens to undo me.
“Lick me, beast,” she whispers.
I move forward, my tongue tracing her rim, slow and reverent, savoring her forbidden heat. Her soft whimper pierces the silence, her body shivering, teetering on the edge. Her lady-like composure fractures under this dark intimacy.
I deepen my licks, exploring her with exotic hunger, each stroke a silent vow to worship her. Her fingers grip the bars, her breath hitching, a muffled cry escaping as pleasure builds, sharp and overwhelming. Her release crashes through, a trembling, tearful wail echoing off the damp stone, her body quaking as if she might faint.
She slumps on the dirty floor, her breath ragged, my heart pounding, my erection still straining. She pulls down her silken skirts and glances at my cock, still throbbing against my trousers. Her eyes widen at its size, bulging against the thin fabric.
“That’s for you,” I say, turning my back to her.
20
ANNELISE
Ireturn to my chambers floating on a current of fierce, defiant joy. My body still hums with the memory of Tarek’s touch, a secret, sacred fire that warms me from the inside out. In the filthy darkness of his cage, I have claimed something I never knew I possessed: my own power. My own choice.
The moonlight streaming through the tall, arched windows seems brighter tonight, the silken sheets on my bed less like a shroud and more like a river of silver. I look at my reflection in the mirror, at my swollen lips and the wild, bright light in my eyes. I do not see a victim. I see a conspirator. A rebel. A queen.
The door to my chambers crashes open, the sound a violent splintering of the peace. I spin around, my heart leaping into my throat, as Zisk, my elven governess, sweeps into the room. She is a tall, severe figure with hair the color of spun silver and eyes like chips of ice. She has overseen my "education" since I was a child, a process that has involved more lessons in silent obedience than in literature.
"My Lady Zisk," I begin, my voice trembling slightly as I try to regain my composure. "You are… unexpected."
"Silence," she snaps, her cold gaze sweeping over me in a dismissive, clinical appraisal. "Lord Renlir has instructed me to perform a final inspection. To ensure the Master's property is in suitable condition for the wedding night."
My blood runs cold. "Inspection?"
"Of course," she says, her lip curling with a faint, cruel amusement. "A valuable asset must be assessed for purity. We cannot have the young lord receiving damaged goods, can we?" She gestures toward the bed with a long, slender finger. "On the bed. Now. Remove your gown."
The command is so absolute, so devoid of any consideration for my own will, that for a moment, I cannot move. The warmth of Tarek’s reverent touch feels a lifetime away, a beautiful, fragile dream that is being shattered by this cold, brutal reality. My body, which I have just claimed as my own, is once again being treated as nothing more than an object to be examined and appraised.
"I said, now," Zisk repeats, her voice dropping to a low, menacing hiss.
