Page 46 of Prize for the King
“If you don’t, I’ll have to work harder to earn your trust. I didn’t intend to command you just now. You are my queen, and you will do as you choose. I only want you to know you can come to me with anything, and you will be welcome.”
I sigh, confused beyond measure, and Magnar presses another kiss to my cheek, this time closer to my mouth. My breath freezes in my lungs, and I grip his shirt harder, my heart suddenly pounding. He pulls away a little, his face still so very close, eyes lowered and focused on my mouth.
His breath is fast, light, and when his tongue darts out to lick his lip, pointed and purple like Arvi’s, a small, startled sound tears out of my throat. Magnar’s eyes flicker up to mine.
“Would you hate it if I kissed you?” he asks, voice calm and low,face soft.
“I-I don’t know,” I confess, watching his lips. They glisten faintly with wetness, plush and soft, and dark blue. My heart stumbles, launching into a gallop of breathless exultation. Magnar hums thoughtfully, then lowers his face, his lips barely brushing mine.
The kiss is not even a kiss, just a disturbance of air between us, and I’m ready to burst. My veins fill with something light and fizzing.
He pulls back, watching me curiously. “And now? Do you know?”
I swallow, my throat tight. Everything else disappears, and it’s a relief so powerful, I sag into Magnar with a shaky sigh. “No,” I admit. “You should… Maybe try again. So I find out.”
“Yes, my queen.”
I gasp, and his warm lips press to my parted ones. I breathe in his air, and he moves gently, mouth against mouth, chaste and sweet. I don’t know what to do, so I lie in his arms, lips parted as stars explode behind my closed eyelids.
When he pulls back, I let out a little whine of disappointment. Magnar’s breath is unsteady.
“Did you hate it? Tell me.”
I force my eyelids to lift, shivering when I see how dark his cheeks are, how bright his eyes. “No,” I whisper. “Not at all.”
“Good.”
His hand buries in my hair, messing up my bun, but I don’t care. He brings his lips to mine for the third time, and I reach up shakily until I grip the back of his head, determined not to let him pull away. When Magnar kisses me, I move my lips in return until they slide against his in an intimate caress.
His hold on my hair tightens until hairpins fall out with a series of clinks against the stone floor. His tongue licks my lip, warm and a little rough, and I open wider in a gasp of shock. He slides in, and his taste fills my mouth, warm and spicy. I grip his hair in desperation,trying to keep up, even though his kisses steal my breath away, and it’s wrong, not like in the books, but I don’t want to stop.
He brings me closer, arm tightening around me until I’m pinned to him, and his tongue retreats, his lips devouring mine, deeper and deeper, until I keen into his mouth. He plunges in again, just for a taste, and retreats, and this time, I follow.
When my tongue timidly enters his hot mouth, he makes a low, growly sound, a bit scary but delightful. I squirm, lower belly pulsing, and he brings me closer yet, squeezing me so hard, I can barely breathe. His tongue is rough, hard and pointy, and I don’t mind it at all when I lick it, so very curious, so enthralled.
I feel a prick, a bit of sharpness, and pull back. Magnar grunts and thrusts his tongue in my mouth, but I don’t move anymore, dazed and distracted when I think,teeth.
My hold on his hair loosens, though I don’t let go, and he pulls away, breathing hard. His eyes are darker, the silver swallowed up by his pupils. He looks a bit mad, his teeth bared, and I stare at them, thrilled and baffled. My tongue was just in his mouth, right there. His tooth pricked me.
It wasthrilling.
“And now?” Magnar asks, abrupt and demanding. “Did you hate it?”
I laugh, wondering why he has to ask since it’s obvious. “No, my king.”
XIV Bed
He closes his eyes and leans his head back, lowering me into his lap. My bum settles on top of poking hardness, and his hips buck into me. He grunts, tightening his hold in my loose hair until I feel a delightful pulling along the back of my head.
“Fuck,” Magnar breathes, his eyes still closed. “Eight more days. Nine, if we delay any more. I thought going to war was hard, but this is even harder.”
I catch myself wanting to nod in agreement, because at this moment, waiting for more kisses and more caresses feels like torture.
But then I remember what Avinia said, and I focus on the shape I feel under my bum. Oh, it’s large. I have no clue how a thing like that is supposed to fit inside without hurting me, and so I tell my body to calm down.
I should try to run. But then… where would I even run to?
He gave me time to grieve my father, I remind myself. This is Magnar’s sole reason to wait—he wants to do the right thing. And what do I do with his gift? Squander it. I should finally cry, mourn, get it over with. I should stop remembering the wrong things.
