Page 27 of Vows to a King
Jemima spiraled first, thrown into a maelstrom of pleasure, shattered and broken, her muscles contracting and milking his fingers in rhythmic pulls that made her eyes roll back in her head. A bone-deep satisfaction and languor suffused her but she couldn’t let it keep her from watching him.
As if he was thinking the exact thing, Adonis said in a gravelly voice, “Give me your eyes, Jemima. Stay with me.”
The black of his eyes ate the blue, and taut lines pulled at his mouth. His fingers covering hers pulled at his shaft in fast, brutal strokes. Then he roared, throwing his head back, his olive skin shining with sweat, his lips slackening, his tapered hips pumping greedily. It was a stunning sight. And would remain only hers for the rest of their lives, Jemima decided with a possessive instinct she’d never known before.
Hot spurts of his release coated her skin. She spread her fingers over his panting chest, loving the hard thud of his heart under her fingers. “You look exquisite, Princess, painted in shades of me,” he said, rubbing his release into the curve of her breast.
Jemima felt branded, owned, possessed.
In the dark gleam of his eyes, she saw the same intense instincts that flowed through her at how hotly they had exploded together.
Reaching down, his mouth found hers in a fast, hungry kiss and Jemima knew that the Devil Prince was already carving a place for himself in her life, her thoughts, and maybe even her untried heart.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ADONIS DIDN’T REMEMBERwhen or if ever he had held a lover like he was holding Jemima, or if he had even stayed with one after satiating his base impulses.
But then, before he had decided on proving to himself that he would stop the path of self-destruction just to spite his father, he had been an angry, aggressive, reactive animal with little common sense.
Only when he had stopped sleeping around with anything that moved, and stopped drinking, and doing foolish stunts just to feel something, and fully focused on building his career, had he, for the first time in his life, known his true self. Until then, he had been nothing but a construct, like some horror hall of mirrors, reflecting nothing but reactive, destructive behaviors, designed to court his father’s approval, then his attention, and then to provoke shame and anger in him.
All of which he had succeeded at enormously.
Honing self-discipline and control and focus had become another daredevil stunt, another way to test himself, because without it, he would have imploded.
And when control had slowly become a growing muscle and he had begun rebuilding himself from all the twisted pieces of his self-worth, he’d been filled with disgust and pity at his previous behaviors.
He had been no better than a child, even at twenty-five, desperate for his father’s affection and approval. While he knew he hadn’t fully cured himself of the disease, he’d gotten rid of most of the symptoms through distance and by hardening his heart.
He had been at his healthiest—physically and mentally—when he’d been thousands of miles from his father and Thalassos. Still, it had been the life of an ascetic, because his mind operated in binaries, in all or nothing. He had no deep connections to anyone.
The last thing he’d expected when he’d returned, especially without the comforting buffer his brother provided between him and his father—was this kind of respite amidst the chaos.
And yet… Jemima was here, in his arms, soft and sated and real. More real and giving than any relationship he had had in his life.
The unhealed part of him still didn’t trust her fully and neither could it come up with some devious reasoning behind her actions.
“You’re off somewhere again, Prince. Not that I’m complaining.”
Her whisper was thready against his forearm, though she didn’t try to move out of the cradle of his thighs. When a cool breeze flew in, carrying the night’s chill with it, she shivered. Adonis rubbed his palms over her bare arms and pulled her tighter against him.
“But since you aren’t restless or frothing at the mouth as you were at this morning’s meeting, I shall happily take credit for it.”
The minx was damned good at reading him right and then provoking him. “If you have a question, Princess, I’d always prefer you ask it than speculate on my motives. The entire world already paints a picture of me that pleases itself and had no basis in truth.”
She scooted up on the chaise longue, rubbing that delightfully round ass against his groin. A groan rumbled up through his chest, his cock all too ready for action again. He gripped her ample hips none too gently and bent his mouth to her ear. “Two more days, Jemima. Try teasing me like that then.”
Her breath came in raspy huffs as she said, “How will you punish me?”
“I will simply lift you and impale you on my sword, Princess. And then I’ll make you ride me, as I intend to be a lazy, arrogant king. Maybe I’ll have a mirror installed against the opposite wall and watch those luscious breasts bounce as you make yourself come.”
Tilting her head into an awkward position against his neck, she looked at him upside down, the thick curves of her lips damp and trembling. The amber of her eyes glinted brilliantly, desire shining through like a flame inside her. “You think you scandalize me?” she said, digging her teeth into his chin with a casual intimacy that floored him. “All it does is fill me with eagerness for our wedding night.” Her hands swept over his body, stroking, pinching, constantly touching.
As a child, as a teenager, as an adult, touch had always been his primary need. And he’d always been denied it or had sought it in the worst ways possible.
That this woman who had come into his life through a cruel twist of fate would grant him the thing he had always craved…felt too good to be true, or real, or permanent.
Christos, he couldn’t let her entangle him into believing that this was anything more than passion and partnership at best. He had been her choice under the worst kind of duress just as he was Thalassos’s. She had only wanted him when he was a challenge, as a stolen memory for one kiss. Not two weeks later, she’d bowed her head, accepting her betrothal to his brother.
