House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(114)

He shakes his head, then leans over and replaces his finger with his tongue and licks every dark corner of my mouth as though to rid me of the flavor he put there. More for me.

As he plunders my mouth, I think of the one and only time I put my mouth on a man. I don’t want the memory, and from the growl that lashes my mind, neither does Lore, but it surfaces in spite of my best efforts to drag it back into the boxes of souvenirs my mind holds.

I wish I could toss away the key to that particular box.

I hated my first time, and I’m suddenly worried I may hate my second time also. What if I hate the act? What if it hurts? I don’t want it to hurt.

Lore pulls away, and those molten eyes acquire a cold shine. “Let this be the one and only time we discuss your first time, Fallon.”

“I don’t—I’d prefer not to—”

He thumbs my cheekbone. “I’d prefer not to either, but you need to know that if it hurt, it’s because he was a selfish prick who didn’t bother readying your body.” A nerve twitches beside his eye as though this conversation is killing him. “It’s not the conversation that makes me angry, but the man who put this fear in your eyes. You’ve nothing to be afraid of. Nothing. And if at any point you experience any pain, you tell me to stop, and I will fucking stop. You hear me?”

I gape at him, a mix of humiliation and affection swelling beneath my breastbone.

He cups my burning cheeks, tilting my head higher. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His hands fall to the straps of my dress and he thrusts them off my heaving shoulders.

As the deep black V of fabric collapses down my arms, freeing my breasts, I ask, “Do you trust me, Lore?”

His eyes flick off the tightened peaks of pink flesh pointing at him. “You are my mate, Fallon.”

“I’ve been your mate for some time now, but you didn’t trust me before.”

“You’re right. And it was small of me, but being an ancient ruler apparently didn’t prepare me for the bitterness of your rejection.” He coasts his palms down my arms, hooking the fabric, and dragging it lower.

The bodysuit is so tight that it sticks to my waist.

“What was the name of the woman who spoke ill of this body?”

“What?”

“You mentioned someone had the audacity to make you doubt how spectacular you look.”

“I’m pretty certain I never mentioned this. At least, not out loud.”

“Give me her name.”

“Lore, she doesn’t matter.”

“Anyone who hurts you matters a great deal to me.” He sets his long fingers on either side of my rib cage and, thumbs pressing into the twin runnels framing my abdomen, his hands climb back up the length of my torso, halting beneath my breasts.

“You make me feel beautiful. Shouldn’t that be all that matters?”

His pupils shrink in their metallic pools. “I’ll let it go this time, but if anyone ever makes you feel less, mo khrà, I will ruin them. With or without your consent.”

“I doubt anyone will dare. You are quite fearsome.”

He smiles as though that was the greatest compliment I could’ve ever paid him. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, I was going to use this marvelous dress”—he lowers his lips to my collarbone and licks a line from one end to the other—“to fleece you of more sweet nectar.”





Fifty-Five





As his mouth kisses one sensitive nipple, his hands seize the stretchy sides of my bodysuit and tug them up. I hiss as the fabric quarries my intimate lips. He lifts his head to peer up at my crimped brow, his breath warming the coolness of the kiss he applied to my pebbling flesh.

He pulls on the suit again, and the fabric moves against my wet flesh, digging against the throbbing nub. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to my other nipple, then flicks the tightened bud with his tongue, stealing a ragged breath from my lungs.

My hands land in his silken locks just as he begins to rock the fabric. When he flicks his tongue against my nipple, more air hisses between my clenched teeth.

“Lore,” I gasp, tugging on his hair to drag his head away before he can bruise my too-sensitive flesh. “I’m not sure I like my breasts touched.”

He lifts his head and kisses the bone between the swells of creamy flesh. “We can explore that some other time.”

“Thank you.” I must be close to my monthlies because I feel like weeping that he listens to me.

“Please never thank me for listening to you, Little Bird.” He kisses my mouth with such tenderness that a tear spills over and beads down my cheek.

When it hits our joined mouths, a rumble forms in his throat and his fingers close so hard around my bodysuit that he yanks it against my crease, all but lifting me off the floor. I suck in a breath at the sharp burn that he follows with a frenzied seesaw that hitches up my pulse.

I will murder Dante.

After you murder my clit?

He stops so suddenly that a yelp tumbles from my mouth.

Don’t stop.

I feel his brows bend as he tentatively starts using the fabric to titillate my skin again. The rhythm soon makes my head fall back and my back bow, and I’m reminded of when he started a fire, clicking and rubbing those two stones together. He’s kindling a fire now, inside of me, igniting flames that scamper into my stomach and billow up my spine.