Page 41 of This Cruel Fate

“Occasionally.” Adonis switched to the other nipple, giving it a quick bite. “What was I right about?” He swirled his tongue around, her skin left feeling hot and cool, and then repeated. She moaned, a pathetic, submissive mewling that drove her mad. She was losing control, and it was thrilling and debasing all at once. She fisted both hands into his hair, pushing him down her body, needing him to supplicate to her.

“I am using you,” she ground out.

Adonis leaned back on his knees, pulling her panties down her legs. “Our childhoods were fucked up, Xolia. What do any of us know about healthy relationships?”

So rarely did he call her by her full name; it did a funny thing to her heart. The sincerity of his voice sobered her partially of the lust-driven madness. “But I went to therapy. I’m not supposed to be broken anymore. I thought I was past this.”

He eased a finger into her with a sigh. “You’re not broken. I think you spent too long convincing yourself that there was only one way to be free of the past. Only one way to be happy.”

His words and ministrations wracked her body and soul. All she could manage in response was a hitch in her breath.

“If that version of freedom wasn’t making you happy, maybe you should change your definition of freedom.” With his free hand, he freed his cock from the confines of his boxers.

“But—”

He slid into her with one smooth thrust. “Xolia. Stop talking. Please.” His voice was strained.

She nodded in response. They moved in unison, setting a steady pace. Xolia canted her hips to meet his. He kissed her thoroughly. The sounds of smacking skin filled the air.

Sweat pooled on their skin, and Adonis wrapped his arms around Xolia and rolled them over so Xolia was on top. She took the control he so willingly offered and relished the way all of his attention was on her.

He gripped her hips, his eyes tracking each bounce of her breasts. Fire coursed through her. This was what she needed.

Adonis used his left hand to rub small circles against her clit, bringing a new wave of arousal from Xolia. She shuddered against him, driving him to pump wildly into her. It was frenzied, the culmination of all the chaos of their reunion since the gala—the lies and truths between them.

She broke against him, his name falling from her lips. Adonis followed suit, emptying himself into her.

They remained connected while they gathered their breaths and composure. Once the chill of the room crept over her again, she slid off Adonis and collapsed onto the bed. He wrapped her up in his arms, head resting on her chest. Xolia threaded her fingers through his hair.

“I’m going to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Take the job. I want to help Peter, and…” Xolia shifted closer to Adonis, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

“And?” he prompted.

“And I miss it,” she said. “Feeling powerful. Like my life mattered.”

Adonis shifted to his side, resting on an elbow. “Then take it. I’ll help you.”

“I’ll help you, too.”

He smiled, leaving Xolia to wonder about the nature of their partnership. It was better than an apology or an empty promise that they wouldn’t use each other anymore. They would. They would have to if they wanted to accomplish anything. It was a security that Xolia hadn’t felt in all the years since the rebellion. Neither Marshall, Rowan, nor Krista had any stakes in Xolia’s life other than their feelings. Or court mandates.

Mutually assured ascension and destruction was so much better. It mattered more. Xolia hummed, seeking warmth under the covers. Adonis pulled the comforter over them, and she rested her head against his chest until sleep pulled her in.

Chapter Eighteen

Xolia awoke in the dead of night. Even the light of the moon had waned since she’d fallen asleep. Adonis had an arm slung over his face and the other around her midsection. Carefully, she moved his arm and left the cover of the sheets. She shivered, and she immediately searched the dark and drafty room for clothes of any sort. She found his closet, which was sparsely stocked but she was able to find a soft T-shirt that she slipped into. The door next to the closet was a bathroom, which she went to next. Feeling slightly refreshed, but still groggy, she padded out of his room to the guest room she had used earlier.

Her phone rested on the nightstand, plugged in and charging. Xolia pulled it from the charger and went through the notifications. Marshall had called and texted her, asking if they could talk and where she was. He told her how much she hurt him, and that she should’ve told him sooner that there was no hope for their relationship. While they would need to talk, he wasn’t quite ready to see her again.

She didn’t bother responding to him and ignored hollowness in her chest and instead went to Peter’s contact information. I accept, was all she typed out and sent to him. He had been so secretive about talking to her that she didn’t want to send any potentially damning information, in any form, that could be traced.

Xolia sighed, thinking about what life as the vice chancellor of Ris would look like. She would oversee the small Senate, ruling over the decisions they couldn’t come to an agreement on. Peter would consult her over any choice he had to make. The possibilities made her giddy. It would be better than being a lieutenant in the war. It would be exponentially better than wasting her life away in the decrepit office building that housed the Bureau. Rowan would have no control over her.

Xolia found herself smiling at her phone screen like an idiot. Peter hadn’t even responded yet. They still had an entire campaign to run. There was an election to win, but just the prospect of it was enough to fill her with a lightness she hadn’t felt in years. Domesticity and anonymity weren’t for her, and it was time to stop pretending they were.

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