Page 72 of The Crimson Princess
“Not like this,” I whisper. “No.Notlike this.”
He stares at me for seconds ticking by before he slides up my body, the thickness of his erection settling between my legs. “How about like this?”
My fingers splay on his cheek. “Toren, I—”
His mouth presses to my mouth, and when his tongue slides deep and strokes, when his hands roam over my body, I moan with the taste of him, with the feel of him. I’m done trying to talk to him. I’m done fighting for words that will change nothing. This is it. This is us. And that’s all we have. His hand sweeps my breasts, a rough quality to the way his fingers pinch my nipple, and I wonder if he can be any other way with his enemy’s daughter.
I wonder why I believed there was anything else.
Anger blossoms inside me, all through me, and my fingers find his hair again, and not gently. A low sound escapes his lips and he kisses me again but I’m aware there is no fang, no blood. Damn him, it feels wrong. He cups my backside and squeezes, the thick pulse of his cock pressing inside me. There’s no slow and easy about it, either. He drives deep, fills me, stretches me and I arch into him, my hips lifting off the couch.
But this isn’t hard and fast.
He grinds and shifts, slow, so slow, and I’m panting with the way our bodies move together, as if we’re one. As if this is where he belongs, and where I belong, with him. His face is buried in my neck and I know he will bite me, and drink from me. I want it, I want it desperately, but it doesn’t come. He pumps harder and deeper, lifting one of my legs, and I lift the other, angling to take him deeper, and there’s nothing but the wildness that follows. Nothing more to give or take, not now.
There just isn’t.
I want this to end in bittersweet bliss at the same time that I never want it to end. I’m conflicted, touching him, aching for every touch of his hand. When it’s over, when we collapse together, it’s as if I’ve lost him, too, when he was perhaps the only comfort I’d found since my mother was ripped from my life. He was a façade,a dangerous façade. Grief has purpose and I’ve denied mine just as I’ve denied the truth of me and Toren.
But he knows.
That’s why he didn’t bite me. That’s why he didn’t drink from me.
We melt into each other, our bodies calming, but my mind is a frenzied mess. “I need to go back,” I say, shoving on his shoulders. “I need to go back to Ravengale.”
He pushes up onto his hands, his body still on top of mine, his eyes dark with torment. “Satima.” My name is a plea I barely understand. I don’t know what he wants from me anymore. The truth is, I never knew.
“I need to leave, Toren.”
“No.” He blinks us to his bed, me in front of him, and he wraps his naked body around mine, holds me close, one of his legs draped over mine. His lips are by my ear, his breath warm on my neck. “Not yet. Stay with me. I need you to stay with me.”
I need you.
Those words undo me, they hit nerves I didn’t know existed. I know my world needs me as a leader, I do, but on a personal level, I have no one. Just him. Right now. For a little longer. My body relaxes against him, and a blanket appears over the top of us. Toren nuzzles my neck and whispers. “I want you to come back to me. When this is over. Come back, Satima.”
When this is over.
Will it ever be over?
Chapter thirty
Thenextmorning,Iwake alone, and when I roll toward the window, the hint of light I find in the depth of the darkness outside tells me the three hours of sunrise is upon us. For a few minutes, I just lay there, replaying all that happened last night, my mind seeking a path to anywhere but war. The only solution is peace between my father and Toren. I have to convince them to sit down and talk, and while I have no doubt Toren is willing, my father is another story.
I throw away the covers, and by the time I stand, I’m no longer naked. I’m dressed, my hair fresh and clean, my clothes all black, my feet in sturdy boots. With iron determination as my weapon, I blink to the kitchen, next to the island, out of view of the table, and just in time to hear Stefan say, “You can’t ask that of her, Toren.”
Not about to lurk and listen, I step around the island and find Toren and Stefan standing in front of the table, facing each other, and when Toren’s eyes land on me, I sense his uneasiness at what I’ve heard.
“Ask me what?” I ask, my voice snapping like a band.
Stefan is quick to throw cover, quickly inserting himself to answer the question I’ve directed at Toren. “Not you,” he says. “Tabby.”
“What about Tabby?” I ask suspiciously, trying to pick up on his thoughts, but his mind is a steel cage. Either that or I’m simply not able to control my magic enough to pierce an ancient vampire such as Stefan’s will.
Stefan’s eyes seek out Toren’s and Toren lifts his chin at him. Stefan disappears, clearly ordered to depart. I close the space between me and Toren, and step in front of him. I don’t know why I burn to touch him with the same fierceness as I want to yell at him but that’s where we are and it’s all kinds of confusing. “What about Tabby, Toren?”
“King Alister will be calling on me in my royal chambers today. He and Tabby have an ugly personal history she needs to mend.”
“Do you know what happened between them?”
