"Tonight," he said, his voice a rough promise, "I worship."
He knelt before her.
The sight of him—the powerful king, the warrior—on his knees between her spread thighs sent a thrill so sharp it was almost painful through her core. He placed his hands on her knees, pushing them wider, opening her completely to the night air and his gaze.
He leaned in, but didn't touch her with his mouth. Not yet. His breath washed over her, warm and humid, a teasing prelude. She trembled, her hands finding purchase on the cold stone behind her.
"Kael…"
"Shhh," he whispered, his eyes holding hers. "Just feel."
His head dipped. The first touch wasn't his tongue, but his lips. A soft, closed-mouth kiss pressed to the very apex of her thigh, high and intimate. Then another, lower. A trail of searing kisses along her inner leg, moving with infuriating slowness toward her center.
She whimpered, her hips giving an involuntary little jerk. He held her firmly in place, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Impatient."
Then, he finally let his tongue taste her.
It was a long, slow, flat stroke from bottom to top, through her slick folds. The sensation was electric, a jolt of pure, undiluted pleasure. The cool water lapping at her calves, the rough texture of the stone beneath her, it all faded away. There was only the hot, wet, perfect pressure of his mouth on her.
Oh, gods.
He established a rhythm, languid and deep. His tongue was an artist, painting pleasure across her nerves. He licked into her, tasting her deeply, then focused on the tight, aching bud of her clit, circling it with maddening precision.
Her back arched. A strangled cry escaped her. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair, not to guide him, but to anchor herself as the world began to spin.
He groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her most sensitive flesh. It spurred him on. His hands slid from her knees to grip the undersides of her thighs, lifting her slightly, opening her even more. He feasted on her.
The contrasts were everything. The chill of the night air on her heated skin. The solid, unyielding stone beneath her. And the relentless, hot, living warmth of his mouth and tongue, working her with a focus that felt utterly devotional.
He was relentless. When she squirmed, he held her tighter. When she cried out, he answered with a deeper, more hungry stroke. He learned her body's language in moments—the way her inner muscles fluttered when he flicked his tongue just so, the sharp intake of breath when he suckled gently.
"Yes… right there… please…" Her pleas were fragmented, torn from her by each expert lap of his tongue.
He obeyed, zeroing in on that exact spot, applying steady, rhythmic pressure. Pleasure coiled, tighter and tighter, a spring wound to its breaking point. She was babbling now, words without meaning, her head thrown back to the star-strewn sky.
He slid two fingers inside her, curling them upward as his tongue continued its devastating work on her clit.
The double sensation was too much. It was everything. The coil snapped.
Her climax tore through her with a violence that stole her breath. It was a silent, screaming wave of pure sensation, radiating out from her core until her very fingertips tingled. Her body bowed, rigid, as the pleasure pulsed through her in hot, relentless waves. He didn't let up, drinking in every shudder, every contraction, his tongue gentling but never stopping until the very last tremor had subsided.
Slowly, he withdrew his fingers. He placed one last, soft kiss on her quivering flesh before lifting his head.
His lips and chin glistened in the starlight. His eyes were black with desire, his breathing harsh. He looked utterly debauched, and more beautiful than she had ever seen him.
She was boneless, trembling, held upright only by his hands on her thighs and the stone at her back. She could only stare at him, her chest heaving.
A slow, wicked smile touched his mouth. "You taste of starlight and sin," he rasped.
He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, his own arousal evident and straining. The water in the pool sloshed as he stepped into it, the liquid rising to his waist. He never broke her gaze.
He reached for her. "Now, come here."
His voice brooked no argument. It was the king's command, but it was the lover's invitation that made her move. She slid off the edge, into the cool, embracing water. It came up to her chest, raising goosebumps even as her blood still sang from her climax.
He pulled her to him, her soft curves aligning with the hard planes of his body. The water made every movement slow, sensual. He kissed her, deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue. It was profoundly intimate, a claiming that went beyond flesh.
His hands slid down her back, over the curve of her rear, lifting her. She understood, wrapping her legs around his waist. The water supported her weight as he guided himself to her entrance.
He pressed inside in one smooth, endless glide. The water created a subtle, buoyant friction, making the slide feel even more decadent. She was still sensitive, still pulsing from his mouth, and the fullness of him was an exquisite, stretching pleasure.
He began to move, a slow, deep roll of his hips that made the water ripple around them. His forehead rested against hers, their breaths mingling.
"Mine," he growled, the word a low, possessive vibration against her lips.
"Yours," she gasped, tightening her legs around him. "Only yours."
The water parted around them as Kael stood, lifting her with him. Rivulets streamed down their heated skin, cooling instantly in the night air. Elara clung to him, her arms around his neck, her body pliant and boneless from her climax in the pool. He didn't set her down. Instead, he cradled her against his chest, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back, and carried her from the bathing court.
His muscles, hard from holding her in the water, didn't even strain. Water dripped from them both, leaving dark trails on the pale marble as he moved through the silent villa. His breathing was still heavy, his eyes fixed on some distant point ahead, his jaw set with a single-minded intensity.
She nuzzled into the hollow of his throat, breathing in his scent—clean water, night air, and pure, male want. He is carrying me, she thought, the simplicity of it making her heart clench. The king, bearing his lover to his bed. It felt like a dream, stolen and secret.
He shouldered through a curtain of woven silk into a chamber. It was dominated by a vast bed, piled with cushions and soft linens, bathed in the same silvery starlight that filtered through a high, open window.
He didn't lay her on the bed gently.
He placed her there, in the center of the soft expanse, with a possessiveness that made her breath catch. She sank into the bedding, her wet hair fanning out around her. He stood at the edge, looking down at her, water beading on his shoulders and chest, his arousal still proudly erect.
For a long moment, he just looked. His gaze was a physical heat, drying her skin faster than the air.
"I want to see you on these sheets," he said, his voice a dark scrape. "I want to see your hair spread out. I want to see you marked by me."
He joined her then, not with a lover's sigh, but with a conqueror's descent. He kneeled over her, caging her body with his own, but he didn't lower himself. He just… looked. His hand came down, palm skimming from her collarbone, over the swell of her breast, her pebbled nipple, down the quivering plane of her stomach. He splayed his fingers over her lower belly, a warm, heavy weight.
"This is where I was," he murmured, his thumb making a slow circle. "Where I am. Where I will be again."
His touch drifted lower, through her curls, and he found her still slick, swollen, impossibly sensitive from the pool. He didn't stroke her. He pressed the heel of his hand against her, a firm, constant pressure that made her hips lift off the bed with a gasp.
"So responsive," he whispered, his eyes drinking in her reaction. "Even now. Your body remembers."
"It never forgets," she breathed, her hands coming up to slide over his slick shoulders.
He finally lowered his mouth to hers, but the kiss was not soft. It was a reclamation. Hungry, deep, all tongue and heat. She tasted herself on him, a musky, intimate flavor that sent a fresh surge of wetness between her thighs. He kissed her like he was trying to memorize the shape of her soul.
Breaking the kiss, he trailed his mouth down her throat, her sternum. He took her nipple into his mouth, suckling deeply, his tongue flicking the hardened tip until she cried out, her back arching. He moved to the other, giving it the same devoted attention, his teeth grazing just enough to make her whimper.
But he was moving with a new purpose. There was no languid exploration now. This was about possession.
He kissed his way down her stomach, his stubble a delicious abrasion on her tender skin. He hooked his hands under her knees, pushing them up and wide, exposing her completely to the cool air and his burning gaze. He didn't kneel between her legs this time. He shifted, laying alongside her, propped on one elbow.
His free hand stroked her inner thigh, then slid up to cup her sex. His fingers parted her folds. "Still so wet for me," he observed, his voice thick. "Even after I've had you."
He dipped a single finger inside her, curling it. She gasped, her inner muscles fluttering weakly around the intrusion.
"You feel different," he said, watching her face as he slowly pumped the finger in and out. "Softer. Hotter. Used."
The crude word, spoken with such reverent awe, made a blush heat her cheeks even as a fresh wave of desire pooled low in her belly. He added a second finger, stretching her gently. The fullness was exquisite, a reminder of what was to come.
"I can feel you," he growled, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "Pulsing around my fingers. Begging for my cock."
"Yes," she admitted, the word a mere sigh. "Please, Kael."
He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, his eyes locked on hers, and the sight was so erotically charged she felt dizzy. "My taste," he said. "On you. On me."
Then he moved. In one swift, powerful motion, he flipped her onto her stomach.
Elara gasped into the sheets, the sudden shift sending a thrill through her. She felt him kneel behind her, his hands spreading her thighs, pulling her hips back until she was up on her knees, her face pressed to the linens, her rear presented to him. The position was deeply vulnerable, utterly exposed.
His hands gripped her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh. She felt the broad, blunt head of him nudge against her entrance from behind.
"Look back," he commanded, his voice strained. "Watch me take you."
She turned her head, cheek against the sheet. Over her shoulder, she saw him—the powerful line of his torso, the intense focus on his face, his hand guiding himself to her. The visual was devastating.
He pushed in.
The angle was different, deeper, more. He filled her in one relentless, slow thrust that stole the air from her lungs. A choked moan escaped her. He seated himself to the hilt and held there, his body trembling.
"Mine," he gritted out, the word a vow.
He began to move. Long, deep, punishing strokes that dragged against every sensitive inch inside her. Each thrust pushed her forward, her breasts rubbing against the sheets, the friction a secondary torment. He set a steady, relentless pace, one hand remaining on her hip, the other tangling in her hair, not pulling, just holding.
The sound was obscene—the wet slap of their bodies joining, their ragged breaths, her muffled cries into the bedding. Pleasure, sharp and bright, built with every driving penetration. He was hitting a spot so deep she saw flashes of light behind her closed eyelids.
"Kael… I can't…"
"You can," he grunted, his rhythm never faltering. "You will. Come for me. Let me feel you."
His words, his unyielding possession, tipped her over the edge. The climax ripped through her without warning, a convulsive, shaking wave that clenched around him violently. She screamed into the sheets, her body seizing as pleasure detonated in her core.
Her contractions milked him, shattering his control. His thrusts became wild, erratic. With a guttural roar that seemed to shake the room, he drove into her one last, final time and held, his body bowing over hers as his own release poured into her, hot and endless.
He collapsed forward, his chest plastered to her sweat-slicked back, his weight pinning her to the bed. They lay like that, joined, panting, utterly spent. The only sound was the ragged symphony of their breathing.
Slowly, he softened and slipped from her. He rolled to the side, but immediately gathered her against him, turning her so her back was to his front again. His arms wrapped around her, one hand coming to rest possessively over the mound of her sex, as if to keep his claim sealed inside her.
They were both slick with sweat and other things. The sheets were damp and tangled beneath them. The night was beginning to pale at the edges, the deepest black softening to indigo.
He nuzzled her hair, his lips brushing her ear. "Dawn is coming," he murmured, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and satisfaction.
She pressed back against him, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart against her spine. His hand shifted between her thighs, his fingers idly tracing her swollen lips. A soft, oversensitive gasp escaped her.
His touch stilled, but didn't withdraw. "The sun will find us here," he whispered, a dark promise in his tired voice. "And I will still be inside you."
---
But far away, in the heart of the capital, Lucien stood at the window of the war chamber, the city lights flickering below.
Maren entered quietly.
He didn't turn.
"She's not done," he said.