Page 53 of Fated to the Wicked King

“Tell me you want me,” he commanded.

My body was quickly becoming liquid. The sight of this powerful man on the floor before me, desiring me, was fogging my mind. I strained to focus. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Everything’s irrelevant.” His grin tilted up, a glint appearing in his eyes as his warm touch moved higher, bracing me open.

Wide eyes darting around in alarm, I tried to catch my breath. “You can’t do this here. Someone could see.”

His response was entirely arrogant. “Why should I care if someone sees me taking ownership of what’s mine?” He cracked a smirk, then dipped his head to press his lips between my legs.

“I’m not—oh god⁠—”

He gave a slow lick before pushing his tongue as deep as he could go, his groan of delight vibrating inside me as he explored my innermost core.

With a groan, I covered my face with one hand.

What if someone came up these stairs? It was too narrow for anyone to go around us. I didn’t even know where they led. I only hoped that this was an abandoned stairway that was rarely used by anyone.

The king suckled on the tightened bud at my center. I couldn’t help but let out a long, keening moan, my ragged breaths seeming to excite him more.

My fingernails scraped desperately against the wooden window frame behind me as I dragged in another trembling, shuddering breath. If I even let myself touch him back… It would expose more than I was willing to concede.

Not ceasing his attentions, the king eased one finger inside and withdrew slowly, before adding another. He pressed deeper into my space.

My heart pounded in my chest, in my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut at the intensity of the overwhelming sensations continuously washing over me, at the searing knot of heat in my lower belly. “Oh, god⁠—”

“Look at you, Allie,” he coaxed, tone dripping with pleasure and triumph. “You are so sweet. So sweet everywhere.”

Every touch made me shiver. He knew exactly where to touch me, how to move, and what I needed. He was precision and expertise—taking me to heights I knew I could never reach without him.

How could he possibly think I would want any other man? I couldn’t stop my brain from flooding with the memories of being with him. Everything felt so familiar. The way he held me, his whispered words, the intense pleasure that kept building and building.

“Rabb, please⁠—”

Another deep groan pulled from his chest. “Yes. I never want anyone else to say my name, Allie. Just you. Never does it sound as lovely as when you moan it out loud, as when I devour all of you. You are mine.”

He moved his fingers in a set rhythm as his mouth and tongue kept moving within me.

With one more stroke, I let out a strangled cry. Heat crashed down on me like a wave, leaving me breathless, trembling—absolutely shattered.

With a satisfied smirk, he watched as I rode the cresting wave of unbridled ecstasy, visible pride on his face. I was sure my entire body was flushed red, eyes half-closed, my mouth open in a soundless scream.

He tugged my skirts back down. With the most nonchalant air, he straightened up. “Fix yourself. I hear the prince has formulated a plan.”

Seventeen

DISCREPANCIES

The road into the village of Emberstead, in the remote outskirts of Lucerne, was too narrow. We had to leave our horses at the foot of the mountain before the path wound higher through the pass. Snow lay in uneven drifts along the stone walls and beneath the bare-limbed trees.

The village was tucked into a hollow of the mountainside, small and weathered and nearly swallowed by winter. Roofs sagged beneath layers of snow, shingles patched and re-patched over the years.

My breath ghosted white into the bitter air, and I tucked my fur cloak closer over my lab coat. I’d made sure to change back into my own clothes before we left the castle.

I tried to keep my gaze ahead, to keep my thoughts rigidly elsewhere, but I was all too aware of the crunch of the king’s boots behind me, the shape of him in my peripheral vision, the way his presence seemed to press against the cold itself.

I didn’t know what was infuriating me more. The fact that I had let him touch me again and liked it, or the fact that he was carrying on like nothing even happened—again.

I focused on Sophie’s white wool and fur, her golden hair braided beneath a hood dusted with snow, as she drifted subtly from one side of the road to the other.