Page 70 of The Promised Queen
“I…” Her whisper trails like a feather over my skin as her lips brush my nose. “Love…” Another kiss, soft and lingering. “You, Devraj”
The words crash through me like a monsoon breaking over parched land. My name from her lips feels like a blessing. My breath stutters—I don’t think, I just pull her in and crush my mouth to hers.
It starts soft—aching, almost tender—but need hits like a storm, ripping through restraint. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging hard enough to make me groan against her lips. God, this—this taste, this warmth, the rhythm of her heartbeat slamming against mine—it’s all I’ve been starving for.
My palms slide over her back, AND she arches into me like her body has been waiting for this. A soft clink breaks the silence as her bangles slide down her wrists. The sound drives me insane. I trail my mouth to her ear, my voice low, rough. “May I?”
Her breath shudders. “Please,” she whispers.
That single word undoes me. I don’t wait. My hand cups her breast through the fabric, and I swear under my breath. I haven’t even seen them yet, and still she’s got me trembling like a damn fool. My lips find her shoulder as my fingers tug at the dori of her anarkali. She nods like these clothes are burning her alive—and God, I feel the same.
The strings come undone with one sharp pull. The soft rustle of fabric falling away is enough to make my chest tighten. I take a step back, just to look. My voice is a rasp when it comes out. “You’re not a queen, Rani-sa. You’re a goddess.”
She laughs softly, nervous and bold all at once, and her fingers move to the buttons of my sherwani.
“How desperate are you, Rani-sa?” I smirk.
Her hands freeze, then she tilts her head. “Let’s stop, then.”
I almost lose my damn balance. “Don’t you dare.” My arms are around her before the words are even out, pulling her flush against me. I breathe her in—jasmine and something that’s just her—and my voice breaks as I whisper, “I’m sorry, Meher.”
Her lips curve in a smug smile. “Who’s desperate now, Raja-sa?”
I laugh under my breath, helpless. “Always. Always desperate for you, Rani sa.” I take her hand and kiss her knuckles like the fool I am, because how did I ever think I could live without this?
The last buttons give way, and the sherwani hits the floor. Her palms skim my chest like she’s mapping every line, every scar, burning them into memory. When I push her gently back onto the bed, she goes down in a soft fall, hair fanning like spilled ink against the white sheets, and my breath just stops.
She is—everything.
My hands find her breasts, soft, full, and I lean down to taste her, slow at first, just teasing, until her breath catches, until her fingers fist in my hair and that sound—God—that sound tears through me.
Her bra loosens easily, and I press a kiss to the curve of her breast before taking her nipple into my mouth, sucking just enough to make her moan and arch off the bed. My hand grips her hip, feeling her tremble under me, and it sends fire roaring through my veins.
“I need you,” she whispers, broken and beautiful.
That does it. That shatters every last wall.
I strip what’s left between us with shaking hands. When I see her—wet, glistening, ready—I have to close my eyes for a second, because pride and hunger crash so hard I almost lose it. I stroke myself once, hard, groaning low.
“I don’t have a condom,” I manage, voice hoarse.
Her thighs part, slow, deliberate, and her voice is a ragged whisper. “Pull out… just—please, Devraj. I need you.”
Need. Her need. It’s the only command I’ll ever obey.
I line myself against her and push in slow, and her gasp slices the air. My head drops back as the heat of her wraps around me, tight and perfect and mine. “God… so tight,” I groan, almost undone by the first thrust. “So perfect for your Raja-sa.”
She tilts her hips, rotating in a way that makes my vision blur. “Meher…” Her name comes out like a prayer, like a curse. “Can I move?” I murmur against her throat, barely holding on.
Her nails drag down my back. “Please.”
I pull back, then sink into her again, harder this time, and the cry that leaves her lips nearly kills me. I find a rhythm—slow at first, savoring every gasp, every shiver—until I can’t anymore. My hips slam against hers, each thrust pulling a moan from her throat, and the sound shreds what’s left of my control.
One hand grips her hip, the other slides up her neck, tilting her head so I can see her face when I whisper, rough and raw, “No crown… no kingdom… will ever feel as right as this. As you.”
Her eyes flutter, a sob-laugh breaking from her lips as I kiss her hard enough to steal her breath. When I circle her clit with my thumb, her whole body tenses, and then she’s falling apart around me, contracting so tight I nearly lose it. Her legs shake, her nails dig into my skin, and she cries out my name like it’s the only word she knows.
I tear myself away just in time, groaning as release hits hard, spilling over her stomach and breasts. For a second, I just breathe—ragged, trembling—before grabbing the towel from her suitcase and cleaning her gently, careful, reverent.
