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I did not answer but climbed onto his bed. It was tall and I felt clumsy as I struggled to keep hold of my ax, each sharp point digging farther into my skin. He did not move as I straddled him, just looked at me with those gleaming eyes.

I held my ax close to my chest. He did not try to take it, but he did frown as he observed the blood seeping between my fingers.

“You are wounded.”

I lifted my weapon over my head and held it there. I wanted to hurt him, but I also wanted to fuck him.

“If you are going to do it, aim for my head,” he said.

“Which one?” I asked. “The one I am looking at or the one between my thighs?”

“If you cut off the one between your thighs, you likely will not get what you came for.”

I lowered the ax a little. “I want to hate you.”

“I know,” he said, his voice quiet, and as he rose to me, he wrapped his hand around my wrist and his mouth collided with mine.

I lowered the ax, letting it fall to the floor. He gripped my face, fingers digging into my scalp. I held on to his forearms, unsure what I intended, only knowing that now I could not think beyond the pleasure of his mouth moving against mine, demanding my complete submission. I was ready for it. I opened to it, and when his tongue moved past my lips to coil with mine, I sighed into his mouth and my body relaxed into his. My arms slipped around his neck, and I crushed myself to him, relishing the feel of his arousal against me as I shifted closer, addicted to the way he made me feel—completely lost and not of this world.

Casamir broke away and his hands tightened in my hair. As he pulled my head back, he growled against my throat.

“You are poison, sweet creature. I want you in my blood.”

Then he sucked my skin into his mouth until a cry broke from my lips, and once it had, he pushed me onto my back and sat on his heels, staring down at me.

“Thank fuck for wicked fairies,” he said as his eyes skimmed over my body, veiled by the sheer robe. The longer he looked and did not touch, the more impatient I became, warmed and writhing.

I reached for the tie at my waist, but Casamir stopped me.

“Let me,” he said.

I held his gaze. “You have seen me like this before.”

“And it will never be enough.”

I stared, unable to fully comprehend his tone, but he spoke as if he were reciting an oath, sincere but forlorn, and it shifted something inside me.

I let my hands fall away and gripped the blankets beneath me as he pulled the tie and parted my robe. And though it hid nothing, he acted as if he had unveiled the most precious gems in the world.

He bent and pressed a kiss to my stomach, his eyes meeting mine for only a moment, burning like coals in the darkness.

Then he kissed me again and again, trailing down to my thighs. I fisted the blankets and arched my back. I would have rubbed my thighs together just for the sake of friction, but Casamir was between them, teasing me with featherlight kisses.

He smiled at my desperate writhing.

“Casamir,” I said, my chest so tight with anticipation, I could barely take in air.

“Yes, sweet creature?”

His voice rumbled against my skin.

“This is torture.”

“Ah,” he said, lips grazing the bottom of my stomach. “But is it good?”

“It could be better,” I said.

“Is that so?” he whispered. “How?”