Page 60 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“And you’ve been an overprotective dick for days.” She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “What’s your damn problem?”
“You!” he bellowed, hating the way she shrank back from him. It was almost impossible to draw breath around her, muchless concentrate. “You’re my problem, Ever. You’ve been my problem since the first time I saw you.”
Careful, he warned himself.
“You’re insolent, spiteful, and annoying as hell.” His hands slid higher, the beaded fabric of her bodice rough against his palms. “Half the time you look at me like you want to slit my throat, and I’m quite certain you hate me.”
“I do hate you.” There was no conviction in her words, just a catch in her voice.
A sliver of awareness.
“But you’ve got a face that radiates fury, and even when you’re scowling and spewing your constant loathing, all I want to do is kiss those fucking lips of yours until you forget how to speak.” He stared into her eyes, searching for something he knew he’d never find. “I have wanted you foryears. A lifetime. But I won’t…”
Atlas tipped his head forward, so his helmet touched lightly against hers. “But I won’t touch you, because you’re off limits to me. I took a vow to Veros that I’d protect you from everyone.”
Including himself.
That vow had carved out a piece of his heart.
Because he’d known then, even though he’d refused to admit it, that he’d given her up. He’d given up hismatein a promise to his best friend, and in turn, he’d lost a part of his soul.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
A vow was a vow.
Everinne stared at him, and in her eyes he saw a glimpse of a world just out of his reach. Those pools of turquoise glittered in the glow of moonlight, the golden swirls drew him in, ready to drown him.
She leaned forward, reaching for the waistband of his pants. “Then let me touch you.”
Nineteen
Everinne was the queen of bad decisions.
And taking the Prince of Prava’s cock in her hand was definitely a bad decision.
After all, she hated him. Because eighteen years ago, he’d brought her to orgasm in a room full of nobles at the palace. To make matters worse, it had been her first one. Oh sure, she’d had sex with plenty of other males before, but none of them had ever delivered to the extent Atlas had. And the bastard hadn’t eventouchedher.
That moment replayed in her mind—the way she sank back against the far wall of the parlor, her fingers curling into the draperies until she thought she’d tear them from the window. The way she cried out, gasping, unable to contain the waves of pleasure crashing into her so her toes curled and her knees softened. She’d been left panting, chest heaving, while raucous laughter echoed in her ears. Atlas hadn’t even spared her a glance.
She’d been humiliated. Absolutely mortified.
The ridicule followed her around for months on end. She’d been teased relentlessly, called the prince of pleasure’s whore. The stain of embarrassment had branded her. Anywhere shewent, she was followed by smug, sidelong glances, or overly obnoxious jeers meant to insult her further. Females called her a pathetic harlot, males thought of her as an easy fuck. She spent many lonely days curled up in a chair on her balcony, watching the world pass by without her as Starysa’s skies bled from sunrise to sunset.
But for weeks on end, at night when she was alone in her bed, she would replay the sensation of his magic pulsing through her. Over and over.
Gods, she’d never felt more alive.
Atlas had never apologized, and she’d never forgiven him.
Now it was her turn to be in control. She’d drag him over the edge, coax him until he was spent, then walk away and not look back.
Everinne slowly unbuttoned his pants, the bulge beneath the taut fabric thickening beneath her touch. With the final button undone, Atlas’s cock sprang free.
More than ever, she wished she had that visor pulled over her eyes, because she knew without a doubt they betrayed her. He was far larger than she imagined, not that she tried to imagine the size of his shaft very often, but nothing could have prepared her forthat. She half expected him to be pierced, at least according to the rumors she’d heard, but she was actually quite astonished to find him unadorned.
Atlas leaned back on thevolt, propping his hands up on the seat behind him. “Something wrong, Wildheart?”
Her head snapped up, her blood thrumming beneath the intensity of his gaze. The helmet he wore obscured almost all of his face, only his eyes were visible. Those endless depths of green flecked with gold. They weren’t mocking. They weren’t even cocky. They were hungry.
