Page 34 of The Demon King's Unruly Mate

“Keep your hands on the throne,” he ordered, his breath hot against my skin.

He bent his head to press a slow kiss against the inside of my knee. Then another. Another. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, savoring the sensation of his mouth working its way higher along my thigh. He stopped just short of my center, switching to the other leg and repeating the same torturous kisses.

By the time his tongue stroked across my folds, I was trembling with need. He swirled slowly around my clit, then slid lower to tease my entrance. Every flick of his tongue drove me higher, pushing me closer to the edge.

I clutched the arms of the throne, resisting the urge to grip his hair and hold him there until I shattered completely. He continued to torment me with lazy strokes, coaxing little moans from my lips that grew louder with each passing moment.

He chuckled against my flesh, sending vibrations rippling through my core. “You taste amazing, my queen.”

My only reply was a desperate moan as he plunged two fingers inside me. My hands flew to his horns as I cried out, unable to hold back any longer.

And then there was nothing. No heat, no lips or tongue or hands. I forced my eyes open, searching for him. “Kaz...”

He’d drawn back, a wicked smirk on his lips. “I said to keep your hands on the throne.”

I whimpered, arching toward him, seeking more contact. “Please.”

“Hands on the throne,” he repeated, his tone laced with steel. “Or I stop.”

My nails dug into the arms of the throne. “Yes, my king.”

A low purr of satisfaction rumbled in his chest, the vibration running through me as his mouth found my center once more. This time he didn’t hesitate. He licked and sucked and fucked me with his fingers, driving me relentlessly toward orgasm. My muscles tensed and my toes curled, the pressure building until I thought I would explode.

“Don’t stop,” I gasped. “Kaz... Please...”

And he didn’t. My world dissolved into blinding pleasure as his mouth worked magic between my legs. I bucked and writhed in the chair, but he held me in place with firm hands on my thighs.

And mine didn’t leave the throne.

I cried out as my release slammed through me, scattering any last coherent thought. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over me, pulsing in time with the movement of his tongue. He lickedand lapped at my skin as I rode out the aftershocks, drawing out every last shudder and quiver until I collapsed boneless in the throne.

“Was that devotion to your satisfaction, Your Majesty?” he asked, planting a soft kiss on the inside of my thigh.

I hauled him to his feet, capturing his mouth in a fierce kiss that tasted of me and him together. “It’s a start,” I said against his lips. “But I believe we’ve only just begun.”

I pushed him back onto the throne, already working at the fastenings of his suit. The jacket came off first, then the shirt, revealing the expanse of his chest that never failed to make my mouth water. Red skin stretched over defined muscle, ridged with scars earned in battle, protection, and training. He was beautiful. Powerful.

Mine.

The force of that thought stole my breath. I traced my fingers over a scar near his heart, remembering that first day in the audience chamber. The instant pull I’d felt toward him, before my father spoke a word of arranged matings. Before duty tried to claim what was already written in our blood.

“I felt it then,” I admitted on a whisper. “When you walked into my father’s court.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes, chased quickly by something tentative and delicate. He cupped my cheek gently, brushing his thumb along my lower lip. “What do you mean?”

“The pull.” I dropped my hands to my thighs and slowly bunched my dress higher. “It was never just politics. Never just duty.” I planted a knee outside of his thigh, then the other, kneeling over his lap. “You were my mate from the start.”

His hands found my hips, holding me steady, not moving, just... touching. He canted his head back and stared up at me with molten golden eyes. His fingers shook where they gripped my hips, the smallest tremor against my skin.

“I thought I was losing my mind,” he said. “Wanting the daughter of the king whose heir I’d just killed.”

“Wanting the princess you were being forced to claim.”

“Not forced.” His fingers tightened. “Fated.”

The air rushed from my lungs at the simple truth spoken aloud. All our layers had been peeled back, the masks dropped, the armor shed. We weren’t trapped anymore. This was choice. This was freedom.

This was love.

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