Page 105 of The Crowned Queen

But she moaned, her hips rolling desperately to meet his thrusts—and Loren knew he was in danger of embarrassing himself catastrophically after he’d worked so hard to make her beg.

“I won’t take it away this time,” he promised, working his thumb over that tight bundle of nerves.

She tried to answer, whatever she’d meant to say lost in a desperate sob. The shadows still held her wrists pinned above her head, her hands opening and closing as she thrashed in their grip, burgundy hair escaping her braid and sticking to her sweat-slick skin.

“Let her go,” Loren told them.

They obeyed instantly, unwinding from her wrists. But they didn’t retreat, instead skimming over her skin. Araya gasped, her freed hands flying to grip his forearms as those shadows rolled over her nipples, stoking the fire Loren was building higher.

“I have you,” Loren told her, his thumb still working relentlessly. He relished the bite of her nails, her hands clutching at anything she could reach. He pushed her higher and higher, until her breath came in sharp, broken gasps and she clawed at his shoulders in desperation.

But this time, he didn’t stop.

Araya clung to him, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as she clenched around him. Loren cursed, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood as he worked her through every shuddering wave until she sobbed his name and grabbed his wrist, collapsing in a twitching mess beneath him.

Loren leaned over her, brushing the damp hair back from her face. Her silver eyes were glazed, her lips swollen and every muscle in her body loose and trembling. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

“One more,” he said, gathering her into his arms.

Araya’s shook her head, her entire body shuddering as he shifted their positions. Her knees landed on either side of his hips, their bodies still joined as he leaned back against the headboard.

“I can’t—” she protested, her voice hoarse and rough.

“You can.”

Loren gripped her hips, rolling her against him. He kept the pace slow. Gentle. His hands guiding her just enough to tease them both until she made a frustrated sound against his throat, jerking against his hold.

Loren let her go, twisting his fingers into the sheets as she braced herself against his chest to find the angle she wanted. Her brow furrowed, her eyes drifting shut as her hips moved faster and faster, taking what she needed from him.

Not yet. Loren locked his jaw, steeling himself against that growing pressure at the base of his spine. Not yet, not yet⁠—

Araya’s breath stuttered, her rhythm faltering as she clenched around him with a soft, broken cry.

Now.

Loren gripped her hips, driving up into her one, twice—gasping her name into her hair as she dragged him over the edge with her.

Araya collapsed against his chest, gasping for breath. Loren held her there, slowly tracing each thick ridge of scar tissue across her back as her heartbeat and breathing slowly returned to normal.

She made a soft sound of protest when he shifted her to the side. But she didn’t open her eyes, her breathing evening out again when he tucked the blanket around her and slipped out of bed.

The bathing chamber was exactly as he’d left it, down to the neat stack of folded cloths beside the basin. Loren turned the tap more out of curiosity than anything else, raising his eyebrows when the pipes groaned and coughed, a trickle of warm water flowing into the basin.

Twenty-five years later, and the hot water still worked. A testament to fae craftsmanship.

He wrung out the cloth and returned to the bedroom. Araya lay where he’d left her, one hand loosely curled against the pillow. The tie for her braid was long gone, her deep red hair a tangled mess behind her. She stirred slightly when he sat down beside her, curling toward him with a drowsy murmur, but her eyes didn’t open even as he pulled the blanket back. By the time he’d cleaned them both up and set the cloth aside, she was fast asleep, one hand curled loosely under her cheek.

The responsible thing to do would be to go back to the others. But Loren couldn’t bear to wake her. Not yet. He dimmed the aetherlamps, pulling the blankets up over them both. She fit against him like she’d always been meant to be there—her back against his chest, his arm draped over her waist—the sound of her slow, steady breathing filling the quiet of the room.

You should rest too, the shadows murmured.

“I know,” Loren said. But he didn’t close his eyes. Moonlight crept across the far wall, illuminating stones that were far older than he was. “She believes we can win here. Is she right?”

The shadows were quiet for a long moment. So long that Loren thought they’d dispersed, scattering to the corners of the room rather than answering him.

We don’t know, they admitted finally. There is great power here, but…

But that power had cost his mother her life. And now it might cost his mate hers.