Page 35 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood (Tales So Wicked #2)

Harrow’s fingers dig into my hips as he thrusts inside and stills.

My body spasms as he fills me, his dick jumping with every spurt.

I sag, but he stays pressed inside me as an aftershock has his hands tightening and body flexing.

Liquid drips down between my thighs. Is that mine or his?

I don’t have it in me to care. His shadows lower me to the comforter the same moment he empties me.

I have never been so satisfied. Or so tired.

I lie on my stomach, cheek sinking ever deeper into the bed. My ass is throbbing. There’s a whoosh of air. Harrow vanishes from my peripherals. I’m too exhausted to protest. Less than a minute later, he reappears.

His weight settles next to my hips on the bed. The first touch of his lips to my burning skin makes me jump.

“I’ve got you.” He trails his lips across both raw cheeks. His fingers follow, using the map of kisses to identify the sorest parts. Something melts into my skin.

“What is that?” I don’t even recognize my voice. I must have been even louder than I thought. Harrow was right. The shadows shielded our sounds from the guards outside.

“Comfrey salve. I raided the greenhouse apothecary.”

My mother grows some of the highest-quality medicinal ingredients right here in the castle. The vibrant purple clusters of bell-shaped comfrey flowers are one of the best remedies for inflammation. “How did you know to use that?”

When he laughs, the sound is as light as air. The edge of coldness and tension he usually carries with him has vanished. “I’ve been around a long time.”

His graceful fingers are surprisingly delicate as he rubs the soothing salve across my skin, still planting a kiss before each application. Kiss, salve, kiss, salve. He repeats the actions until he’s covered every bit of reddened skin.

There’s an almost instant relief. The throbbing beneath my skin dulls. My eyes are already drifting closed when the next sensation arrives. Harrow uses a damp cloth to get rid of the mess between my thighs, carefully moving me to a dry spot on the bed when I’m clean.

I’m barely aware as a blanket is pulled up my body and settled over my bare shoulders.

Harrow combs his fingers through my hair. “Is that better?”

“Mmhmm. Thank you.” The words are soft. So soft that I’m unsure if I truly spoke them aloud.

“Sleep.” His lips find mine and I do just that.

Harrow lies on his side, propped up on one elbow as he runs his fingers up and down my arm.

He had to leave soon after our encounter, but he returned within the hour.

If he’s away too long, bad things happen in the Underworld.

I dozed off and awoke to find him wrapping me in his arms and pulling me close.

The conversation in the hours since has been filled with the questions and answers we’ve both needed.

“The first time you resurrected something, it was yourself?” Harrow’s white-blond hair lies haphazardly across his forehead and eyes, lending him a casual charm that deprives him of all his usual menace.

“Yes,” I tell him. I raise my hand to touch the scar out of habit.

Harrow catches my fingers, pulling them away and kissing each knuckle.

“I wasn’t trying to. It was just like everything went cold.

I blinked, and I was staring at stars. So many stars in an endless black sky.

Different from the ones I see every night.

Always changing color. I blinked again, and I was looking into the faces of my parents. ”

“Stars?” Harrow searches my face. “You were in my realm?”

“I suppose so. I was dead, at least temporarily.”

A pained expression passes over his sharp features. The look is gone just as quickly as it appeared. “What about the animals?”

“I didn’t know I could bring back the animals at first. I found a baby bunny in the forest, maimed and on the verge of death.

I just held it and cried, wishing there was something I could do.

Eventually this sort of static energy started tingling through me and the bunny woke up.

I screamed and the baby squeaked and raced away.

I thought it was a fluke. It took several more experiences to convince me I was the one bringing them back. ”

“Can you resurrect people?”

I toy with a golden tassel on the edge of the comforter. “I’ve never tried. I’m not sure how I would practice. Dead people don’t appear as often as animals do. Honestly, I’m not sure I’d want to be touching human corpses even if they did.”

Harrow lifts his brows, nodding. “I don’t blame you.”

He traces his finger along the scar, prompting me to cover it again.

“This”—he pulls my hand away—“is a habit we must break. Along with these.” He gestures to my bloody and bitten fingers.

His mouth lands softly on each torn spot. My instinct is to pull back but he keeps a tight hold on me until he’s finished lavishing my fingers with attention.

“It appears I have many unsavory habits.”

His mouth moves from my fingers to my neck as he growls against my skin. “None as unsavory as me. I’m your worst habit now.”

That makes me giggle. “Unsavory is precisely what you are. No decent man would do those kinds of things with his tongue.”

Harrow grins, flicking his tongue out and wiggling it suggestively. My thighs tense at the memory of those motions against my core.

The smile drops, replaced by a dark smirk. He leans in, mouth roving along my neck. He stops when he reaches my scar. “Why do you keep it hidden?”

The question zaps the heat building low in my stomach. “So people won’t think I’m damaged.”

He pushes back far enough to be able to look deep into my eyes. “Never hide it again. Any man would be goddamned lucky to marry you and any kingdom would be all the better for having you as their queen. A scar doesn’t change who you are.”

I deflect, reaching for his lower back. “The same can be said about you.” His back goes taut. I briefly touch the scars before moving to his wings. “I love these.”

He opens his wings to their full width. They smack into my armoire, sending jewelry and perfume bottles crashing to the floor.

My outburst of laughter has him scowling. He growls, tucking his wings back in. “Think something’s funny, Roseheart?”

“You don’t fit in here.”

Harrow rolls on top of me, pinning me to the bed. His hand snakes between my thighs. “But I do fit in here.”

My body arches into him. “Damn you. You have got to stop doing that. If you never let me out of bed, I’m going to forget how to walk.”

“Well, when your legs have atrophied from lack of use, you’re welcome to rest them permanently on my shoulders.

” He flashes me one of his wicked grins.

Rolling off the comforter, he stands. This time he opens his wings more carefully.

His arms lift high above his head as he stretches, showing off his muscular torso.

His wings open fully in either direction before settling loosely behind him. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

“Thank you for all the feathers. They’re yours, right? From your wings? Not your birds?”

He nods. “Each one plucked with care. Care and a tinge of madness. What do you do with them?”

“They’re tucked away in my jewelry box.”

He locates the ruby-studded box and opens it. A smile lines his face as he sorts through them, running a finger along each in greeting. Harrow stops on one particular feather. Raising it to his face, he inhales deeply. The look he gives me sends heat rushing inside me.

“Lenore.” He lifts the feather up. “Care to explain why this has been between your thighs?”

Mortification fills me so full I may burst into a puddle and die. How the hell does he know about that?

“Uh, no. I do not care to explain.”

Harrow cocks his head. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

No, he shouldn’t have.

“Because not telling me was not an option. Let me rephrase”—he stalks toward me, still holding the feather—“tell me why this was between your thighs.”

“Can we drop this?” I squirm beneath the covers.

“No, I don’t think we can.”

“I was just messing around.” He raises his brows expectantly, leaving silence between us that’s so unbearable I finally break. “I wanted to see if I could make those things you did to me happen myself.”

Harrow smirks. “With a feather?”

I pull the sheets over my face. “This is mortifying.”

My eyes remain tightly shut as the sheet is dragged away. The bed dips as Harrow’s weight settles on either side of my knees. “Were you able to do it?”

“No. The guards startled me. I chickened out.” I can’t open my eyes. I don’t want to see that gorgeous face staring down at me while I’m poppy red.

Harrow’s hand slides between my knees, pressing them open. The soft touch of a feather against my inner thigh has my eyes shooting open.

“ No .”

“ Yes .” Shadows wrap around my ankles and wrists, halting my protests. Harrow’s grin is dangerously mischievous. “Let’s finish what you started.”