Page 32 of Glass Hearts

“Please, have a seat, Arabella.” He points to the other leather chair across the small table.

I sit, feeling a bit nervous. Archer has always set me on edge.

Not because I am afraid, but I worry about getting lost in his intensity.

His observational gaze feels like he can read me.

Like he could call me on my half-truths and lies.

“What are you looking for in the history books? I don’t think you will find any more of those romance books in this section,” he jokes.

He gives me a sweet, playful smile. My heart skips a few beats. It takes me a few moments to gather my thoughts, shocked at his friendly and flirty tone. Is this a trap?

“I-I am looking for more history of the Isles. I had a very basic self-taught education. Just picking up used books from my stepsisters. So I thought, what an opportunity to have access to a place like this!”

“You never went to school?”

“I did for a little while, though when I became fifteen, Bernice would rather I focused on my chores.” I shrug, and this turns his easygoing face back into that icy furrow in his brow. Shoot.

He gets up and heads to the bookshelf. He picks up three large leather-bound books and places them on the table that is between us as he sits back down. Shamelessly, I may have checked out the wind prince, appreciating his hard-edged beauty.

“Try these. And if you have questions, you can come to me.”

“Thank you, Prince Archer. Though I am sure you have other pressing matters than educating the help,” I tease.

“I don’t mind helping you, Arabella.”

I nod, not sure what else to say to his offered help.

He doesn’t say anything as we stare at each other. I think he isn’t going to say anything else, so I plan for my awkward escape. As I get up, Archer reaches for my hand before I can pick up the books he offered.

“My brothers seem to be crazy about you. They told me about why you do what you do. I apologize for being a cold bastard. I don’t trust easily… I also don’t want to see my brothers heartbroken. And, darling, I can see you destroying us.”

“I don’t want to hurt them. But I don’t want to be hurt either,” I whisper back to him.

So many unspoken words linger between us, his large hand still cuffed around my wrist gently. But neither of us makes a move to do anything more. He lingers closer, he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looks from my eyes to my lips.

A librarian scurries by, breaking the moment and us apart.

“Have a lovely evening, Arabella.” He grabs my hand back, placing a folded piece of paper in my palm from his pocket, and places a kiss on the top of my hand.

He takes his blazer, book, and coffee and leaves.

Turning back to me once more before he leaves the library, leaving me in his really confusing wake.

I unfold the piece of paper. The smooth edges and charcoal shades depict a drawing of me, smiling. It makes me look so beautiful and happy. It is signed, Archer Everheart.

My heart skips a beat as I sit back down in the corner, enjoying being wrapped up in his lingering fresh cologne.

* * *

After many hours of reading, even during dinner, much to Lo’s disapproval, I decided to do some late-night baking.

My stepmother will have to be back soon, so the curse doesn’t effect her.

And the castle will be back to being chaotically packed.

It seems to be the perfect time to bake a few goodies for my princes, and for my ladies’ sleepover tomorrow night.

I pad to the kitchen as quietly as I can. Still in my sleepwear and robe. I should have changed into different clothes, but I would have baked in my sleep clothes back home. So why change a good thing? Comfort should always come first.

I enter the empty kitchen, only lighting a few candles and the large oven. I don’t want anyone coming in, curious why someone would be in the kitchen so late.

Margie gave me the go-ahead, but I don’t need to upset the council people.

I decide to bake some of my mother’s cinnamon chocolate brownies, two batches. It’s a simple recipe I can do in my sleep since my recipe book is still back in my shed.

I gather all my ingredients and tools I will need. Adding each ingredient, I hum to myself while the batter comes together beautifully. I pour the batter into the baking trays and place them in the oven, setting the magic-infused timer for thirty-five minutes.

A clearing throat startles me. Grayer looks like sin, shirtless in lounging pants, leaning against the open kitchen door. I swear the man has an aversion to shirts—not that I am complaining.

“Duchess, I was surprised to find you in the kitchen so late baking. I hope this wasn’t a request from someone?

” He leaves the doorway, approaching me with catlike grace, sly and confident.

With his strong arms, he traps me on the island, leaning closer until I felt the soft brush of his nose against my neck.

“No, I wanted to bake. It’s been too long since I have been able to. Might as well take advantage of this large kitchen with endless ingredients and tools.”

“I missed you today. How much time until your dessert is ready?” He gets even closer to me, the heat building up not just from the oven.

“It will take about thirty-five minutes for my brownies,” I reply breathlessly.

“Hmm.” He gently cups my cheek, inches apart from my face, frustratingly not kissing me yet. “Unfortunately, I am too impatient to wait. So I will have to have a taste of my favorite dessert first.”

He finally kisses me, my arms wrapping around his torso, needing him closer. I tilt my hips just enough to feel the full press of him against me, hard and wanting, and still, he holds back. His breath ragged. His eyes flicker with hunger, but he reins it in again, jaw tight with control.

I know he feels it. The heat between us. The fire that’s been building all damn week.

And still, he kisses me like I’m made of glass.

My frustration spikes, raw and aching. I don’t want to be cherished. I want to be devoured.

“Grayer,” I whisper, curling my fingers into his back, tugging him closer. “Stop holding back. I need to feel you. I want your darkness.”

He goes still, just for a second. A crack in his armor.

Then it shatters.

His mouth crashes onto mine, no more hesitation, just hunger. His hands slide down to my thighs, lifting me onto the counter with a roughness that makes me gasp. He presses into me, and this time, he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t restrain himself.

And gods, I don’t want him to.

He unties my robe, breaking the kiss as he takes in my sleep clothes.

“Duchess, I will buy you new ones, but these are getting in the way.” I don’t register the pocket knife until I feel the cool, blunt edge of the blade on my skin and the cut on my top.

He eviscerates my shorts next, exposing every inch of my body.

Except my scarred back, as the shirt and robe still hang open.

I sink my claws into him and bring him back in for a brutal kiss, conveying how much I need his touch, as he pushes closer to me between my legs.

“Arabella,” he sighs into my ear as he starts to kiss down my aching body. Anybody could walk in at this moment, seeing the prince lower to his knees. My heart quickens at the thought. He continues his slow kisses down my body.

“Grayer,” I moan.

He shoots me a devious grin and just when I think he is going to tease me like he had last time, he he dips down in a rush.

The cold press of his tongue ring sends a jolt through me, sharp and electrifying, and then he starts to move.

Circling, flicking and sucking. Until my breath is a broken mess of gasps.

I grab onto his thick, dark hair, grounding myself as pleasure hits in wave after wave. He groans against me; the vibration pulsing straight through my core, and gods, it’s too much—not enough—all at once.

He doesn’t let up. Not when I tremble. Not when I beg. He keeps going, one hand anchoring my hips as I fall apart under him, hips twitching, thighs clenching around his head. My climax crests, sharp and blinding, stealing the air from my lungs.

And still, his mouth lingers, drawing out every last tremor, savoring me like I’m his favorite sin.

He rises from the ground as I pant through my orgasm.

His kisses turn sweet, allowing me to float down from the clouds to meet him back in this moment.

I allow my hands to roam down his chiseled chest. My hand drifts lower, to the sharp cut of his hips, taunting and perfect.

I curl my fingers around his waistband, sliding down with purpose.

“Arabella,” he growls, “why must you torture me, darling?”

Instead of answering, I lean down, still on the counter, to slide down his pants. His large erection springs free, and I can’t help but lean back, taking it all in. He is larger than I expected, and the piercings give me pause.

“I know you can take it, love.” He smiles as he lines up his cock to my entrance. “Once I am in you though, I don’t think I can be sweet and tender. You make me want to lose all control.”

He inches in, and I look at him. “Don’t be gentle,” I say as he fully thrusts into me. I let out a large groan as I get used to his size, feeling each and every piercing. So foreign, yet so right.

“Are you okay, love?”

“More than okay.” I grab his hair and give him another brutal kiss. “Now fuck me like you mean it, my dark prince.” This snaps all his restraints as he sets a brutal pace, thrusting into me. It’s the edge of pain and desire. He kisses my neck before he bites in the same spot.

“Fuucckk, Duchess. This pussy is so tight and wet for me. So perfect. I need you to come again for me, Duchess,” Grayer moans.

He reaches down to circle my nub. My body builds up, ready for my peak.