Hold me, she doesn’t say aloud. She doesn’t need to. Lior’s body is molding around hers, embracing hers, cradling hers. There is an intimacy that she had never before imagined or experienced, and she wonders why she has held out for so long. Twenty years, she muses, but it was all worth it – this is worth it. The way his body heat rushes across her skin and how his breath combs through her mane and forelock. She cherishes it with her eyes lazily half-lidded, a small grin stretching across her lips as she continues to press into him.
He says her name, and her body churns with excitement, but she doesn’t move even the slightest. Instead, she merely whispers, ”Don’t let this end.” This has been a burden to her thoughts, a constant idea and consideration that she never planned to happen, but her curiosity and the temptation rose with her heartbeats until she could no longer retain herself. It was becoming almost unavoidable, especially with the broiling anger held toward Stillwater. His memory is fleeting now, a shimmering figment that is lessening its grip on her. It brings her solace, cradling into the safety of Lior while forgetting the turbulence of Sylva’s newest King. A hum of satisfaction vibrates throughout her body as her eyes shut to savor this moment.
”You’re mine,” she murmurs into the fire of his black skin, his body temperature kissing her lips as the words tumble out, ”Only mine.” Because she cannot – will not – share. For the moment, she disregards the odor of the females he has mingled with as of late. They are nothing; they are irrelevant and amount to nothing close to her. No, they can never be quite like her – not the powerful Queen that holds him so tightly now, both against her side and in the palm of her hand. They are scum, she tells herself, as her lips trace along the length of his brawny neck, her fiery eyes opening to drunkenly enjoy this time together.
|
