Page 23 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
I am sorry for your loss, he thought. Did I tell you that yet?
Yes. I’m already sick of hearing it. Are you here out of pity? I asked. Or did you learn anything new?
We’d used each other like this for a year. He only ever came when he had news. He didn’t make social calls.
His hand lingered a moment against my ass, rolling and squeezing my flesh. Then, slowly, more slowly than he knew I liked, he slid his hand down my backside, pushed aside my undergarment, moved between my legs, and buried his fingers in my folds.
Nothing new, he thought, beginning to work me from behind.
If you’re here out of pity, I don’t want it. Despite my angered thoughts, I was shamelessly rubbing back against him, urging him to the place where I wanted him, needed him.
I don’t do pity, he thought, as the pad of his finger found its way to my core. He pressed down before drawing a circle around it. You know that well.
I gasped, rocking my hips back and forth, seeking more friction as my arousal coated his fingers. Even then, tears brimmed in my eyes, the grief for Father suddenly hitting me. Alongside the betrayal of Arianna. And the truth of the Afeya. And Lyr’s true identity.
I felt like my heart was squeezing in on itself.
Not now, kitten. No crying. You’ve had too many thoughts in your head tonight. And there’s been far too many in mine. Tomorrow, we’ll look for more answers. Tonight, we relish in the darkness, the silence. Tonight is for peace.
The sound of his belt unbuckling and clattering to the ground beside the bed fought against the distant voices running in the back of my mind: Rhyan and Lyr talking in her room; Meera falling into a dream; a Bamarian sentry on patrol grumbling about the cold.
“Shhhh,” he said, a rare moment of speaking out loud. No more thoughts. His thumb circled my core as one finger thrust inside, then two.
He groaned audibly at my wetness, pulling out his fingers to untie the strings of my underwear and tug the material away from me.
But I wasn’t ready to succumb. I wasn’t ready to stop talking—or whatever the hell this was. My questions were circling my mind unceasingly. I rolled off the bed onto my feet and looked down at him, as my dress fell back around my legs.
A cocky smile spread across his lips. I thought you said no games tonight. He reached forward, pulling aside what remained of my gown, exposing my breasts.
I’m not playing a game.
You never look at me. He raised an eyebrow in question, cupping me as his thumb brushed over my nipple. What exactly do you want? He squeezed until I gasped from the mix of pleasure and pain.
Heat pooled between my legs, but I pulled back from his touch.
It’s not about what I want, I thought. But what I need. What I need to know. How could she have gotten this past me, gotten hold of the elixir without my knowing? How could I have been blind to my father’s murderer being right under my nose? To not have been tipped off to the plan even once? She didn’t work alone, she hasn’t for decades, and yet not one person thought this in front of me.
I knew many had wanted my father dead. I’d been forced to the point of sickness to listen to idiots fantasize about all sorts of cruelty, all manners of ending his life and even taking mine and my sisters. But these thoughts had been merely fantasies. Nothing more. Blaming the arkasva for daily inconveniences and taking out one’s anger and frustrations by thinking about killing the arkasva was very different from forming a coherent plan and having the means to see it through.
Tell me, I demanded.
He rose from the bed, stalking toward me. In one swift motion, he was upon me, spinning me against him, his cock straining through his clothes and pushing against my backside.
Morgana, I came here tonight for one thing and one thing only. Now stop this. I already told you I suspected. Now I don’t suspect. His fingers pressed into my hips. Now I have confirmation. Now we know. We have more information than we did yesterday which we can use to our advantage. And now, if you want to have any chance of getting more done here, we move on. His thoughts hardened, growling in my mind like a dark shadow. How do you want me?
I want you, answering my Godsdamned questions!
I’m seconds away from finding another tonight. He pulled up my chin, his lips smashing against mine. He tasted like wine, and already I was dizzy, barely able to keep my body from responding. But tonight, I want you. He tightened his grip on me. No more games. Now tell me, how do you want me? This time, the thought was demanding, desperate. His need pulsed through his thoughts, and his aura wrapped like a blanket around us.
My own need was answering his. I was finished holding back, finished prolonging my suffering without reward. I was finished listening, finished seeing, finished thinking.
Hard. I closed my eyes. Rough.
Good. He pulled his hand back, and the room was silent save for the sound of his clothes being removed—fabric being untied, loosened, and shucked off. Then his full body was pressed against me, all broad, defined muscle, warm, almost god-like in strength and build. He grabbed hold of my dress straps and pulled them off my shoulders.
There was a sudden tug, and I gasped over the sound of ripping fabric. My dress fell in two pieces to my feet as cold air hit my spine and shivers danced between my legs.
You weren’t going to wear that again, were you? He laughed the thought, his warm body covering mine, his calloused hands running down my arms, the hair on his legs tickling the backs of mine.
