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He presses his lips to my ear. “Give me the answer I want, and I’ll give you what you want.”

What had he asked me? Something about being his queen…

I should know better than to give in to Des’s bargains; they’re always weighted to his benefit. But pinned to the wall, with his cock buried deep inside me, I’m not exactly a strategic expert.

And Des’s thrusts have pretty much come to a halt.

“Yes,” I breathe, eager to resume where we left off. “Sounds great.”

Anything to get him to move again.

He smiles, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “Good,” he says.

His thrusts pick up, andsweet baby angels, this is everything.

Des releases my hands to scoop me against him. He pulls us away from the wall and moves us across the room. Flowers and droplets of water that still float in the air now brush across my skin as we pass them by. The room looks as though time itself has stopped.

“My future queen,” Des says as he gazes up at me.

I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him close. “Faster,” I whisper.

“Ever demanding,” he says.

Laying me down on the bed, the King of the Night rocks against me, each stroke stronger than the last. He drives himself deeper and deeper, his wings flaring out once more.

“About to come,” I say.

“Wait.”

Wait? I’m not sure I can. My climax is climbing up and up, and it demands to be released.

His hands tighten on me. “Now.”

That’s all the encouragement I need.

I shatter apart, my orgasm lashing through me. The sensation is made more intense when I hear Des groan, his cock thickening inside me as he pounds out his own release.

It feels like it lasts a lifetime as wave after wave of pleasure washes through me.

It’s not until several minutes later, once Des has slid out of me and the two of us lie in a tangle of limbs, that I remember his words.

What if I wanted you to be my queen?

Give me the answer I want, and I’ll give you what you want.

What had I just agreed to?

Chapter 41

I doze in Des’s arms, feeling his hands stroke my wings. I never used to be a fan of post-sex cuddling, but that was before the Bargainer became mine. Now I’m finding I have quite an appreciation for it.

The flowers and water are back in their vases, but now hovering above us is a thick sheet of parchment and five separate paintbrushes, which are all painting at once. Where Des found the brushes, or the parchment, or the five little ceramic pots of paint that rest on a side table next to the bed, I have no idea.

Just like when he first started making his art for me, I’m completely enchanted.

The painting is quickly coming along, though it takes me minutes to figure out what, exactly, the image is of. Eventually, however, I realize I’m staring at feathers, lots and lots of iridescent feathers.

“You’re painting my wings,” I whisper.