The Mad King (The Dark Kings #1)(90)

“My favorite Confucius quote.” She turned her cheek into his palm. “You saved me that day, Hatter. I always felt like it was your magic that saved me. I fell in love with you that day.”

The ice around his heart thawed. She’d called him and he’d answered. His chest ached as the sky broke open with radiance, netting them in its golden wash.

“Oh, Hatter.” She half sobbed and then started planting hot kisses on his face, his cheeks, his nose, and the fire that had simmered while she’d told her story roared back.

Gods, he wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted that other Alice. He growled, grabbed the back of her head, and slammed their lips together. No gentleness in this touch, he couldn’t. It’d been too long, and he’d been so empty. He needed this, her. Now.

“Yes, oh yes.” Her tiny moans drove him to distraction.

Her tongue flirted with the seam of his lips, and she tasted of sunshine. And magic. Magic? His heart’s blood sang in his ears. She was the one. She had to be. He could barely think. All he knew was he had to have this woman. This human mortal who’d cried out for him.

The Mad Hatter.

She’d not been afraid.

She’d wanted his touch.

He traced the curve of her neck; his fingers framed the hollow of her throat, thumb resting against it, feeling the frenetic beat of her pulse. He groaned, twining his tongue with hers.

His body throbbed, ached. He pushed back on her shoulders, laying her down, and she squealed. Alice glanced around. “Where are we?”

He’d not been aware he’d transported them until she’d asked the question. Barely pausing, he whispered, “My room.” Then he was kissing her again, tasting the sweet saltiness of her neck, licking the dip behind her ear.

She moaned, wiggled on him, and blood pooled heavy and thick in his cock.

“I want you,” he groaned.

Alice fumbled with her dress. She yanked, tugged, and then finally threw her hands out to the sides. “Just rip it.”

Grinning, he tore it and immediately was entranced by the sight of the red lace bra covering perfectly rounded breasts. His hand shook. “You are beautiful.”

Her lashes fluttered. “Touch me.”

He didn’t just want to touch her. He wanted to taste her. Lowering his head, he kissed the swell of each breast; his hands massaged their prizes before tugging the bra down. She had dark brown nipples, so pointed, so lovely.

He took one in his mouth, rolled it between his teeth, his tongue swirling over the tip. Her moan bounced around the room, her fingers desperate, yanking at the back of his head, tugging his hair. Sharp nails dug into his scalp, drawing welts, and he growled. Pain, and so much pleasure.

“I want to touch you, Hatter,” she pleaded.

All he could do was mumble. She pulled at his still-wet shirt. It stuck, refusing to slide up. In her frustration, she ground her center on his blood-engorged cock.

“Dammit it all to hell,” he growled, ripping the shirt off, unbuttoning his pants. He needed her hands on him now, needed her to end his agony.

She pushed his hands away and started shoving his pants down, using her feet to push down farther when her hands could no longer reach. He lifted her up on the tips of his shoes.

Never had he been this reckless, this wild to slake his lust. His kisses left a moist trail from her breasts to her navel. She bucked and lifted up with a soft ah.

“Too many bloody clothes,” he snarled and then chuckled when their clothes disappeared. In his rush to have her, he’d forgotten a few simple words could have made the process much easier.

Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief. “Well, that was easy.”

He kissed her, turning her laugh into a throaty growl. She wrapped her legs around his waist; the movement brought him against the heady wetness between her thighs. He clenched his teeth, trying to hang on, trying to make it special for her, not wanting to rush this, but knowing he was already so close.

Hatter crawled down her fevered body. For a moment, they stared at each other, the moment transcending more than carnality, more than a meeting of lust.

Two lost and broken souls meeting, discovering that in each other they’d found the missing half. Fall and spring, yin and yang. He breathed, she breathed. Both afraid to speak, to ruin the perfection of a moment suspended in time.

But time was fleeting and they both knew it.

He broke eye contact first. He didn’t want to get lost that way, couldn’t afford to. He licked his lips and froze when his gaze landed on the springy black mass of curls at the juncture of her thighs.

“Alice.” Her name, a whisper, a prayer—fell from his lips in a trembling voice.

Unabashed, she spread her legs, exposing her swollen pink pearl. His limbs felt too heavy, the air too thick. It was hard to breathe, to move. All he wanted to do was lie down and pet her, taste her.

“Hatter, please.”

It was his undoing. He lowered his head, inhaled, taking the heady aroma deep into his lungs.

“Please,” she whispered again.

The moment his mouth touched her clit, she hissed, rocked back on her heels, and squeezed her thighs around his face with a punishing grip.

He drew his tongue long and slow down her slit. She tasted of tart raspberries. Delicious. Hatter teased, running his tongue back and forth until she gleamed, wet with her dew and his tongue. When he heard her murmuring incoherently, he took her clit into his mouth and sucked hard.