Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked #2)(44)

He’d promised I would not mistake reality with an illusion when he touched me. He hadn’t been lying. The Sin Corridor, this realm, nothing could compare to the magic of him.

The next time he touched me, I involuntarily rocked my hips forward and he finally answered my silent plea. His fingers slid all the way in, and he gently bit down on my lip to quiet my gasp. Which only succeeded in driving me wilder.

“Take your pleasure, my lady.” I tentatively repeated the rocking motion. He watched me, his gaze burning. “Just like that.”

He captured my moan with his next kiss and I buried my hands in his hair, needing to feel more of him. Somehow I’d leapt up and wrapped my legs around his hips. His free arm easily secured me in place. The sensation of the warm bubbling water and the friction of his calloused fingers was enough to drive me over the edge with raw need. Instinct took over.

Our bodies pressed together, our tongues and teeth and mutual hunger pumping through my veins. I realized the magic of the world wasn’t creating this longing; it was enhancing what I already felt. And I felt more than I’d ever allowed myself to admit. I rolled my hips in time with each of his deep strokes. No longer timid in chasing the pleasure he was giving me.

In my fervor to experience all sensations, I slid down his body, accidentally brushing against his hardness. He moaned, the sound deep and rumbling. My grin was pure wicked delight. I repeated the motion and air hissed through his teeth. His kisses turned ravenous.

I steadily rocked up and down on his hand, against him. Heat was building to a crescendo within me, searching for release. His eyes were glazed from his own mounting lust, his fingers still buried inside me. I’d never seen him look out of control before. It only added to my pleasure.

“Emilia—” I silenced him with a kiss. Forget his room. I’d take him here. Now. My hand closed around his arousal and he groaned. “Demon blood, I need to—”

“Take me to bed. Now.”

The prince of Wrath, who would not be commanded by anyone, submitted to my order.

Without any more taunting or teasing, he magicked us, bodies half-tangled together, to his bedchamber.





TWELVE


Wrath’s fingers were still buried between my legs as he leaned us up against the door of his chamber, his breathing coming hard and fast. He’d missed the bedroom. With good reason. My hand remained wrapped around his impressive length. I kept caressing his silky-smooth skin, marveling at the way each stroke had him coming further undone.

It felt a little wrong to feel prideful at the moment, but I certainly adored the fact I was the reason the tight leash he kept on himself had finally snapped.

There was no other reason I could imagine he’d transport us into the public corridor connecting our suites. At least the gate closing off this wing was still down, and no one could travel near enough to see us. Nor would they glimpse much of me with Wrath’s massive body covering mine. Not that it mattered if they could see me.

I was too lost to the waves of pleasure building and cresting inside me to care where we were, or who was around. I wanted him right here. To hell with the whole Seven Circles. I was not married to Pride yet. Aside from his brief possession of Antonio, I’d never even met him. I doubted the devil would mind my taking a lover before our wicked vows were exchanged.

Ours was certainly not a love match. And if Pride did care, he certainly didn’t show it. There was still no letter, no invitation, nor acknowledgment of my arrival. The Prince of Pride was content in his castle alone, and, at the moment, that was more than all right with me.

Wrath kept kissing me, kept pumping those fingers while rocking against my unwavering grip on him, and I wanted nothing more than to bring this mighty creature to his knees with unrelenting ecstasy. This untethered, wild part of him was almost as intoxicating as his touch.

I’d never experienced something like this, so powerful and right. He was right. And I knew, with unending certainty, we were on the precipice of discovering how good we were together. Maybe we were always meant to end up here, lost in each other’s passion.

The sound of his pleasure mingling with mine was creating its own spell, and I was so close to shattering, so close to that power that was building and breaking and…

Pain erupted in violent torrents, stealing my breath. Ever in tune with my emotional shifts, Wrath stopped instantly, the euphoric spell broken. “Are you all right?”

“No.” I’d never hated a word more. “There’s a horrible p-pain.”

“Where?” His voice was rough, thick.

“My heart.” I let go of him and winced. “Blood and bones. It’s bad.”

“Come. I’ll send for a healer at—”

“I think it’s from the Horn of Hades.”

Wrath had been reaching for the handle to his room but dropped his hand. His attention shot to the amulet I still wore and he cursed the goddesses impressively.

Everything disintegrated into smoke and glittering black light. I hadn’t seen him move, but one moment we were naked outside his bedchamber on the verge of mutual release, and the next we stood, partially dressed, before a scarred wooden door in a tower.

Medieval-looking torches burned brightly on either side of it. I was almost as shocked by our location as I was about the ebony nightgown I now wore. The one that still did little to hide my form. Wrath had on black trousers and nothing else. Except maybe a slight look of concern.