Scarred (Never After #2)(86)

He catches me by the face, my chin held in his grip as he continues to jerk himself off. I’m malleable beneath him, a willing servant begging for every drop.

His face scrunches up and I can see the moment his balls pump, the vein in his cock pulsing as the cum pushes up through his shaft and explodes from his tip, showering me with his orgasm. I moan, the hot liquid pouring onto my skin, and when he drops to his knees, I get on all fours and crawl toward him, remembering the fire in his eyes when I did it before, diving down and swallowing him whole, small spurts of his cum spraying down my throat.

He groans, his hands gripping my hair as he spasms against my tongue, and I continue to lick him clean until he’s spent, softening in my mouth.

Finally, I slip him out of me, sitting back as I stare at him, warm and gooey love filling up my chest. He leans forward, tangling our mouths together so our breaths become one, and I lose sight of where he ends and I begin.

“Don’t shower before you go to him tomorrow,” he demands, pecking my lips between words. “I want him to smell me on your skin.”

I nod. I’ve felt loyalty before; it runs through my veins deep. It used to beat for family, for duty. For my people.

But with Tristan? I would light myself on fire and revel in the burn if I knew it would please him. It’s a scary feeling, but one that I embrace, because he is my king and I am his queen and together we will rule the world.

He moves from beneath me and stands, grabbing his pants and stepping into them. I move also, walking over to the hook that has my night robe, and grabbing it. Before I can put it on, he slaps it out of my hand, wrapping his arm around my waist and lifting me up as he walks us toward my bed and throws me down.

I bounce when I hit the mattress, and he smirks, crawling between my legs, his hands spreading them wide, tingles spreading up my body as he does. And it’s only then I realize he has a pen in his hand. The ink is cool as it bleeds from the tip of the ballpoint onto my skin, and my heart spasms in my chest.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Branding you,” he replies.

His face is serious; his eyes focused and hands weaving magic, and I’ve never been more attracted to this man in my life as I am with him lying between my legs and drawing artwork on my thigh.

“Should we talk about tomorrow night?” I ask, my stomach jumbling from anxiety at the thought of the plans we’ve made.

His jaw tenses, his movement faltering before he resumes drawing lines on my skin. “I’d rather not. The thought of it makes me want to tie you to my bed and never let you leave.”

My heart warms, knowing that he’s just as nervous as I am over what we’ve talked about. “Everything will work out.” I rub my hand over the top of his hair. “Tomorrow night, I’ll go to your brother, and convince him to take me to his quarters.”

His grip grows tight enough to bruise.

“And then you will be there,” I soothe. “Before anything can happen. And I will have slipped laudanum into his drink.”

“It’s too risky.”

“There is no reward, if you don’t take a risk, my love.” I reach down, my hand touching his cheek. “I trust you. I believe in you. Let me help you.”

He continues drawing, although he leans into my touch. “I don’t wish to use you this way.”

“It’s the easiest plan, Tristan. Please. I can do this. And before he can even blink, you’ll gather the rebels, and come find me.” My heart kicks in anticipation, sick and twisted excitement bleeding through my pores. “You’ll take what’s yours. And your people will be behind you, ridding you of any person who wishes to keep you from the crown.”

His eyes snap up. “Our people.”

Emotion swells in my chest. “Our people,” I correct.

He blows out a shaky breath and leans in, leaving a light kiss on my thigh, his fingers smoothing over it after, before he sits back, grinning at his art.

I push up on my elbows and stare down at what he drew.

It’s a heart. Not the kind that you see kids draw or the type that you would expect in paintings that depict love. This one is of the organ, blood dripping off its edges, and vessels running through the muscle. A thick chain wraps around its center and coils beneath it, a padlock on the end. I squint my eyes and look closer, realizing there’s writing on the lock.

Tristan’s Property.

I scoff, shoving at his shoulders. “Romantic.”

He lets out a small laugh, sliding up my body and pressing a kiss to my lips, his hand gripping my face. “For you? I’m barbaric. And after tomorrow, when we kill Michael and seize the castle, I’m going to fuck you while his spirit is still in the room, just so he knows you never belonged to him.” His other hand skims up the inside of my thigh, resting on top of the bleeding heart. “And then I’ll tattoo this on your skin, so you never forget I own you as much as you own me.”

I lean in and press my lips to his again, passion surging through my center and exploding through my pores until it wraps around us both. It’s intense and I’m not sure if it will lift us up or burn us down.

But either way, it consumes me.





CHAPTER 49





Sara B.





My nerves are at an all-time high. Before, when I was planning on killing the king, it was personal. And while it still is, now it’s mutated; tinged with devotion. As crazy as that sounds.