King of Battle and Blood (Adrian X Isolde #1)(59)

I twisted beneath him, desperate to feel the release that would come with his mouth on my swollen clit and his fingers deep inside me. Instead, his hands came down upon my legs, pressing my knees into the bed. The open air teased my heat, and I felt manic and frustrated as he lingered there, so close to my center.

Then his eyes fell to the nest of curls at the apex of my thighs.

“So fucking beautiful,” he said, and he dipped his head to lick my clit. My head rolled back as he caressed it again before dipping into my slick heat.

“Yes,” I breathed, and Adrian chuckled, increasing the pressure of his tongue. When he added his fingers, I vaulted off the bed, my shoulders pressed into the mattress, my hips surging forward into his thrusting fingers. Adrian moaned at my reaction, and his mouth closed over my sensitive nerves, sucking and teasing until the sounds coming out of my mouth were no longer within my control. I had given myself over to him, a weapon to be wielded. He kept pressure on me, kept driving inside, building me up and up and up, and I climbed with him, my insides humming and twining, my muscles clenching and knotting, and when the release hit, I screamed with the rush of it. It was like he had fed off my essence, but somehow, I was better for it. Brighter.

I was still catching my breath as he climbed back up my body and kissed me hard on the mouth. And though I felt completely weightless, I bent toward him, bound to his direction. He shifted behind me, his chest to my back. His hand drifted behind my knee, and as he opened me, he slid inside. One of his arms cradled my head, the other gripped my leg, and as he began to move in slow, sensuous strokes, I held his gaze. I couldn’t look away. I studied every part of his face—the way his hair clung to the perspiration on his cheek, the way the blue of his irises seemed to consume more of the white while he was inside me, the way his teeth clenched with each deepening thrust.

Then Adrian kissed me again.

A bruising kiss that kept going as he moved, and I was left feeling the effects of something I did not understand. A heavy wave of emotion built inside me, burning my eyes, and I realized that we had crossed a line into something that felt too close to lovemaking. I had been too caught up in this moment, in the feelings Adrian drew to the surface of my skin, to stop it.

We couldn’t have this. We were enemies. We were supposed to be angry, our intimacy a fight, a battle won, or a body conquered. This…this was tenderness. This was sweet and lush and…intense.

I froze at the thought, and Adrian did too. One of his hands cupped my jaw, the other splayed across my stomach.

“Isolde?”

I never thought I would beg to be called Sparrow, but to have him speak my name, thick with lust and an undercurrent of affection…it frightened me.

I couldn’t do this. I was already a traitor to my people. I would be nothing…nothing if I let this progress.

“Stop,” I said and pushed away from him.

All at once, he let me go, and I climbed out of bed, needing to put distance between us. I crossed the room and slipped into a robe Violeta had left.

“Did I do something wrong?” Adrian asked.

“You should leave,” I said. I kept my back to him. I couldn’t look at him, or he would see the tears gathering in my eyes—tears that were attached to emotions I couldn’t explain.

There was a long pause, and then the bed creaked as he stood and dressed.

“At least tell me,” he said before he departed. “Tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

I shouldn’t have looked at him then, but it was the desperation in his voice that caught me off guard, and no matter how chaotic I was feeling right now, I couldn’t let him think he had harmed me.

Even as I met his gaze, a thickness gathered in my throat, and I could not clear it before I spoke.

“No.”

After I answered, he looked away. I thought that perhaps it was shame that turned his head.

He bowed.

“Good night, Queen Isolde.”

With those words, I had gotten what I wanted—a wedge driven between us—and as he closed the door to my room, I crashed to the floor.





Thirteen


I rose early the next morning and dressed. My options were limited to the gowns provided by Adrian, all of which were tight and heavily embellished. I would have to speak to him about providing me with something I could train in regularly, though at the moment, the thought of facing him at all sent me into a spiral of confusing emotions. Perhaps I could convince Ana to communicate my need for something that included a place for my blade, even as I worked it into the bodice of my gown. I left my cuffs on the table by my bed. This dress, a high-necked, sleeveless gown with a minimal flare, would not serve to hide the weapons.

Violeta and Ana had arrived. Violeta carried a tray with bread, butter, jam, and tea. Ana followed behind, dressed in a structured silver dress that moved like liquid as she walked.

“We thought you would prefer breakfast in your room,” Ana said.

“Is there no formal breakfast?”

In Lara, my father dined with the court every morning and evening; the only meal he took on his own or with me alone was lunch. It was almost ritualistic—he rose, dressed, and dined. After, we would take a walk in the garden.

“Among vassals, yes,” Ana explained. “But they are rarely joined by Adrian or the noblesse.”

She did not need to tell me why. I could guess the reasons for their sporadic visits.