Page 88 of The Demon Court

Ah, but he’d angered her. He couldn’t imagine why. Being a consort was a true title in this kingdom, and one that many women had fought each other for. He couldn’t count how many of his bedmates had shown up with missing handfuls of their hair while a bruise formed on their cheeks. But they had won their little battle, and he always took the winner to bed.

Now, he couldn’t imagine Selene fighting for him. Ever, really. If she did, then she would win. If she didn’t and wore the mark of another woman, he was uncertain what he would do. Some ugly feeling bubbled up in his chest and he was ashamed to admit he would protect her, no matter the cost.

He needed to distract himself from these thoughts. They were unlike him and thoroughly terrible for him to even consider.

Lust laid the dress out on the bed and turned toward her. “If you would be so kind.”

She arched a brow. “And do what?”

He twirled a finger in the air, indicating she should turn around.

“I know if I let you undress me, we will be late.”

“I told you I was practicing restraint,” he replied with a chuckle. “Trust me, little moon. I’m all too happy to see you undressed, but I’m also quite excited to see my people. It’s been a long time since I’ve left the castle.”

“But you’re always wandering about.” Confusion wrinkled between her brows. “I haven’t kept you in the castle all that long. Have I? I’ll admit, all the days have blurred together.”

If she would not turn, then he would have to move around her. Lust stared down at the back of her dress and frowned down at the hundred buttons all down her spine. “Ah, Selene. They’ve locked you in a prison.”

“Every gown should have finer details that prove its value.”

“Spoken like Minerva’s daughter.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder before he attacked the buttons with as much gusto as he could. It took a while for him to unbutton them all, and even then there were more layers underneath.

There was another dress underneath this outer layer. At least six crinkly skirts that made his hands itch after he touched them, and then there was another pale layer of underclothes that he wouldn’t recognize if someone held a sword to his throat. Each layer was more frustrating than the last.

“If you wanted to bundle yourself back up in sheets, why did you not just do that?” he grumbled as he yanked the last ribbon free from her underclothes.

“I am dressed the way I was raised to dress,” she replied with a laugh. “Are you quite finished yet? I think we’re actually going to be late.”

“Because you insist on dressing like an onion!”

“An onion?” She whirled on him, holding the last layer to her chest before it fell to the ground. “Are you telling me I smell?”

He leaned in close and inhaled deeply. Peppermint. She always smelled like peppermint. “No, you smell fine. But the amount of layers on your body is absolutely disgusting. Now let me dress you.”

They were going to be late if he wasn’t careful. So Lust did not stare at the luscious swells of her breasts or the way she banded an arm around them while a lovely blush dusted them pink. He absolutely did not let his eyes linger on the curves of her hips or the rounded bottom that made him want to bite it.

Or perhaps he did. At least a little.

Lust efficiently set her into the red gown that wasn’t so revealing that she’d be uncomfortable, but also made sure that she wouldn’t stand out as someone other than who they expected. The red fabric was painted like a leaf, wrapping once around her throat before it created arching shoulders that then twisted around her torso, weaving back and forth to her hips where it fell like a wave to her feet. The fabric was very sheer, nearly see through, but thick enough in all the places that would make her blush. No one could see the outline of her nipples or the shadows between her legs, but they certainly would see the long lines of her legs and that tempting valley between the top of her bottom and her spine.

“This is indecent,” she said when he finished, staring at herself in the mirror.

“You look lovely.” And if his voice was a little deeper than before, he tried to hide it with a press of his lips against her bare shoulder. “Now sit down. We can’t have you going out with your hair down like this.”

“I thought you liked my hair down.”

“I do.” He wanted to see how far she’d let him go, so he wrapped the length of it around his fist, once, twice, three times. Then, gently pulling, he forced her head back to look at him. “But you hide behind it when it’s down, and I want them to see your pretty face.”

The breath caught in her throat. She stared up at him with bright eyes, and then he noticed the taste of whiskey and peppermint on his tongue.

So she liked it when he used her hair like reins. How interesting.

His cock grew painfully hard, and it took every ounce of his control not to say fuck everyone who waited for them. He could bring her back to that bed and lay her out like the offering she was.

But he couldn’t do that, so he let her hair go, and she meandered over to the vanity where she sat down. “You can call for the servants, but it takes a while for them to come up.”

“For what?” He leaned around her and picked up the brush. “We have no need of them.”

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