Page 39 of A Crown So Cursed
Her fingers tangled in his hair—soft as silk—as he lavished more attention on her most sensitive of places, her breath coming in quick gasps of pleasure.
For all its troubles, the world beyond this chamber faded away, leaving only the exquisite sensation of Málik’s lips and tongue against her flesh. He suckled, then lapped and kissed, sipping of Gwendolyn’s body, and all she could do was sit with her fingers curled within his locks, her world narrowing to nothing but sensation, as her body trembled with wave after wave of pleasure. Málik’s skilled ministrations brought her to the edge of bliss, and she cried out his true name as ecstasy claimed her—for the first time.
Málik caught her easily, rising with a throaty chuckle, and then tossing her back onto the bed—their bed—before laying down with her, his ice-blue eyes darkening with desire as they roamed her form.
“My beautiful, magnificent queen,” he whispered with affection.
The locket about his neck swung suddenly between them, catching the light, and Gwendolyn reached for it, her fingers curling around the warm gold. She brought it close, studying the etchings carved into its surface.
He smiled, a gentle warmth in his eyes. “Open it,” he said softly.
“Now?” Her voice trembled.
He nodded once. So she picked at the small lock until it yielded with a click. It fell open in her palm, revealing within a curl of golden hair.
Her breath caught. But Málik did not wait for words; his mouth lowered to the apex between her thighs, and his tongue danced along her flesh as Gwendolyn’s fist closed tight around the locket, snapping it shut as he drew gasps and shudders from her lips.
He’d kept a lock of her hair. All these years, he’d kept her close, pressed to his heart. The knowledge squeezed at her, sharp and sweet. Revelation swirled within her, an epiphany blooming like dawn after endless night. Tears pricked at her eyes as Málik’s touch stoked a fire within her.
“I feared I would never hold you again,” he murmured between kisses, his voice roughened by longing. “Never to taste your lips…the sweet nectar of your flower…” His words, low and fervent, sent heat spiraling through her.
“My heart never left you, Málik, even when our realms divided us,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. He rose at once, brushing it away with his lips before their mouths met again—a kiss soft, reverent, and trembling with all the yearning and relief Gwendolyn had carried, the ache of separation melting away like snow in spring.
He tasted familiar…
He tasted of her.
Her arms tightened around him, drawing him close as though she could merge their souls, and, as their kiss deepened, Málik’s fangs grazed her lower lip, eliciting a gasp from Gwendolyn.
The prick of blood, rich and sweet, ignited a primal need within him, she knew, and he drew back uncertainly, his pale-blue eyes swirling with a preternatural light.
“Let go,” she whispered, and he groaned low in answer, the sound one of pain…as though the act of restraint were tearing him apart from within. He was still wearing his leather breeches, so she understood it wasn’t their physical consummation he craved so much…only one more carnal.
“Let go,” she begged, reaching up, her fingers tracing the contour of his cheek.
“I will not lose you again,” he said, his avowal fervent. “Not to Lirael, nor to the Shadow Court, but there are things you must understand before I take what I desire from you…”
“I already understand,” she said. “I am yours,” she avowed, cupping his beautiful, chiseled face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over his high cheekbones.
“And you are mine,” she added as she pulled him down, their lips meeting once more. Málik’s fangs scraped her lips, only this time with intent, sending shivers of anticipation down Gwendolyn’s spine.
She wanted him to drink of her…
Wanted to drink of him…
She tilted her head, offering herself completely, and he scrambled backward. But just when Gwendolyn feared he would deny her and leave, he shrugged out of his leathers and stood for a moment, his eyes hazy with passion, still giving her fair warning. “We are beasts of another sort,” he told her. “But animals just the same.”
“I know,” she whispered, eager for what was to come.
“No less primal in our need…”
Gwendolyn nodded, and with another growl, Málik returned to position himself atop her. Only rather than be afraid, Gwendolyn gazed up at him lovingly, needing him desperately.
If he was a beast, so too, was she.
Naked and unashamed, he reached between them, brushing two fingers between her folds, then to himself, bathing himself with her silk, stroking himself as Gwendolyn watched…
He was magnificent.
