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A smile lifts one side of my lips as I step closer.
Instinctually, the king spreads his legs to allow me in. His powerful thighs cradle my legs, and for a second, I lose myself, wondering what it would feel like to sit on one of them, to use the muscular surface to find release. I imagine what the hard ridges of those muscles would feel like if he tensed them against me, using his large hands to guide my body until I fall apart on him.
Would he urge me on, speaking in that husky tone while dragging me against him over and over?
"Elva." That exact tone, almost a whisper and nearly a growl of my name, escapes him. "What are you doing?"
His hands clench at his sides, his body at war against itself while he tries not to touch me even while I've placed myself precariously within reach. I reach for the hem of my skirt, slowly easing it up. His eyes track every movement, his jaw loose and breathing heavy. But even still, he doesn't make a move to reach for me.
His composure infuriates me and urges me further. Holding the skirt up, I ease one leg and then the other over him until I'm straddling him, the very insistent proof of his desire so close I could move only inches and have it pressed between my thighs, right where we both so desperately need it.
"Your Majesty," I taunt. "What's wrong?"
With a growl, his hands finally find where my legs meet my hips, the size of them overwhelming as he grips me hard enough to bruise. He pulls me flush against him, nearly forcing my control to completely slip.
I place both hands on his shoulders, careful of my placement. Whatever he is feeling right now could only be disastrous for me if I become exposed to it. It's written all over his face in the barely pinched brows and desperate clenching of his jaw. I'm unsure I could handle feeling it as well.
Completely frozen, he waits for me to act. To push him away, to move from his lap, or to rock back and forth on him and bring us both closer to the madness calling our names.
Instead, I lean in to whisper in his ear. For a moment, he stops breathing completely, like even too heavy a breath could break the spell he believes me under. His fingers flex against me, and every inch of his body against mine is taut with the control it's taking him to stay still.
Lowering my voice to barely above a sigh, I say, "Queen Maren needs us to speak with her. Tonight. Where you generally meet with the Syren Queen."
"What?"
I chuckle, the sound so filthy even to my own ears that I want to stay and explore this person that only this infuriating man can bring out of me. "You have spies in your castle, Your Majesty. The Fae Queen wants us to meet somewhere completely private."
When I lean back, his eyes are on mine, still cloudy with desire but fighting for lucidity. He licks his lips, staring at mine so hungrily as he moves me only slightly against him, drawing a small moan from me.
With a groan, he does it again, firmer, rolling his hips up between my legs. His eyes slip closed, and he lets his head fall onto the back of the couch behind him. After a moment, he moves his hands to my ass, gripping so firmly that I cry out as he stands.
Moving with an unearthly ease, he carries me like that into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. My heart rate picks up. This isn't part of the plan. This was just the way to deliver the news that we must leave. But now he's gazing up at me like I'm about to be his next meal, and I can only imagine that I look like prey right now, utterly confused and lost in his firm grip.
A heavy breath escapes him, and it's the last thing I register before he throws me, and I bounce onto his bed with a yelp.
"Don't. Move," he tells me, the grit in his voice leaving no room to argue. Not that I could even consider it right now.
He disappears into the closet, storming all the way there. When he returns, it's with a change of clothes for me—the first pair of my own clothes I've seen since I arrived, my favorite cold-weather outfit. Dense, soft pants, a long-sleeve shirt of the same material in the deepest green, and a fur-lined coat, the outside the same color with swirls of white and light pink.
Tossing it onto the bed beside me, he barks, "Get dressed," before disappearing back into the closet.
I bite my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing. I've never felt so powerful. He's pissed. If I could bottle this feeling and drink it every night, I would. While it's probably wrong to use his desire as a way to torture and punish him, it's definitely making my time here more entertaining.
I can't continue to do this indefinitely. Surely, I'm going to break before too long. But if I can hold out just long enough to fix everything, then I can go home and never think of this time again.
While I throw the clothing on, a lump forms in my throat. I clear it once, twice. Hoping it'll go away, but it doesn't. The thought of leaving this beautiful place for the grays and beiges of home does fill me with a sense of loss. I haven't seen everything there is to see here. I have yet to even put my toes in the sand or read about dragons, whatever those are.
Once dressed, the king orders from his closet, "Come here."
When I do, I'm met with a furious king and a closet full of the things I brought from home, alongside his clothing. I raise my brows, not asking the question, but he hears it all the same.
"I haven't gotten around to burning them yet. Here." He hands me a pair of black boots lined with some material I've never seen before. So blissfully soft, yet warm and dense, perfect for frigid winter nights, but it's only early fall. "It's going to be miserably cold. Put them on."
As I do, the king pulls on a closet drawer, a quiet click sounding nearby. He presses against the furthest wall with his shoulder, and to my surprise, it silently swings open.
"That's convenient," I comment.
He mhmms, not looking at me. Can't say I blame him. "Let's go," he says and darts into the darkness of the hidden entryway.
