Page 3 of Royally Hacked Belle & Flame
“It’s bad luck!” I hiss. “Get out, get out!”
“Is that a human thing?” Dessa asks, her brow wrinkling. “And you think we’re the ones who have weird superstitions.”
Completely ignoring my panic, Daemon pushes off the door frame and crosses the room in two strides. He grips my waist and pulls me toward him, kissing me firmly. Instinctively, I reach up, twining my arms around his neck to pull him closer.
“Excuse me,” Odessa says after a long moment. “I should not have to watch my brother maul my best friend. Get a room.”
“This is our fucking room,” Daemons says with half-hearted annoyance. “You get out.”
“Yeah, go maul your own bond.” I grin. “It’s been at least an hour since Kastian got to feel you up. He’s probably in withdrawal.
Dessa sweeps toward the door, grinning wickedly. “You know what, maybe I will.”
“I guess I’ll go too,” Aurelia says, rising from the window seat and moving toward the door.
I glance over at her. Her expression is mild, but something in her tone sounds slightly gloomy. I open my mouth to ask if she’s okay, but before I can, Daemon recaptures my lips, and I hear the door snap shut.
Daemon kisses me hard and messy, one hand in my hair and the other taking a scenic tour of the small of my back. The gold fabric of my dress crinkles as he slides his hands up my sides, careful not to prick himself on the pins. A tiny moan escapes my lips, and it’s honestly a miracle I don’t burst into actual flames with how hot my face is getting.
Finally, Daemon pulls back. “I missed you, Peaches.”
I sigh. I know what he means. We sleep in the same bed, but I feel like I haven’t seen him all week. Between running the court of Vernallis, granting all the pre-wedding wishes, and final preparations for the wedding and the Yule celebrations, we’ve barely spoken to each other.
“We need a vacation,” I comment. “I guess it’s a good thing we’re taking that honeymoon.”
The Fae don’t do honeymoons, but when Daemon realized it meant we could leave for several weeks following and not be bothered by anyone, he launched a campaign to convince the entire court that honeymooning was an important cultural practice for humans, and to not do it would offend me beyond repair. I definitely didn’t feel the need to correct him.
He hasn’t told me where we’re going yet—it’s a surprise—but I don’t even care. We could stay in this room for two weeks and that would be fine, just as long as we don’t get interrupted.
Daemon nods fervently. “Two more days. It’s the only damn thing I’ve been looking forward to for months.”
“Oh, so you’re not excited about marrying me; you’re just excited for the honeymoon?” I tease.
He growls low in his throat and nips at my ear. “I keep telling you, we’re already bonded. We don’t need to get fucking married.”
I roll my eyes. He does keep saying that, and I know he means it as a good thing. In Daemon’s head, we’re already as committed to each other as it’s possible to be, and the wedding is just a difficult and expensive complication. I’d probably agree with him, except that we need to get married so I can officially be the queen of Vernallis…and maybe there’s a tiny human part of me that wants to be committed in a way that I grew up dreaming about.
Before I can voice any of that, Daemon lifts me, bridal style, and carries me over to the bed.
“Careful,” I hiss. “The seamstress didn’t even want me sitting down in case I wrinkled this dress. You’re going to ruin it.”
“It would be worth it to get to tear it off you,” he says, lips brushing against my bare shoulder.
“It would not!” I yelp. “This took months to make. If you ruin it now, we don’t have enough time to get another one.”
Daemon flashes me a wolfish grin, then moves with deliberate slowness to deposit me onto the mattress. The gold-laced skirt pools around me like a puddle of molten sun. “Fine. Keep it on, then,” he purrs.
I open my mouth to protest, but he’s already sinking to his knees at the foot of the bed, hands braced on the mattress, eyes never leaving mine as he slides his torso between my legs and then—God. He disappears under the yards of shimmering fabric.
His hands find my ankles and slip upward, tracing a path over my skin, up my calves to my thighs. I feel his lips follow the same path, his breath fanning over me. My pulse jumps when his lips touch the inside of my knee—just a feather-light kiss—and when he drags his tongue up my inner thigh, I gasp, and grip handfuls of my gauzy skirt until my knuckles go white.
I feel Daemon smile against me before he drags the flat of his tongue right over my soaking wet lace panties.
My hips jerk, involuntary, and the friction of the fabric combined with the heat of his mouth just makes everything more intense. The sensation is enough to short-circuit my entire nervous system. Every muscle in my body burns, waiting for the next touch, the next ruthless flick of his tongue.
He alternates between gentle, teasing licks and firmer, more insistent pressure, never letting me settle into any kind of rhythm or sanity. Every time I gasp, he grins broader, like he’s collecting all my desperate noises to play back later when I least expect it. I lace my fingers so tight in the gold skirt that my knuckles crack, and my head is already spinning, vision going hazy at the edges.
Daemon hooks his fingers through my panties and yanks them off before pressing another searing kiss to my core.
