Page 16

Gluttony

“This fruit is shaped like your head.” “It looks nothing like my head.” “It does. Gluttony, look. See, if you turn it? That’s your nose.” “I think I’m offended.” “You’re right, the fruit doesn’t deserve that.”

He tempts me in a way no one else ever has. I want to get my hands and mouth all over him, and I don’t know why. Sex has never interested me. Kissing, touching, being that close to another person? Fuck no. I’d rather fight someone.

But this man? This Fae ? The urge to touch him is strong. Impossible to ignore. Fighting isn’t what I have in mind.

Bared to me like this, he’s a delicacy that makes my mouth water. And the way he responds to me? I could watch it all night. A tremor runs down his entire body as I slide my palm over his chest, down his side, and around to his inner thighs.

“I—we’re—” He gasps when my knuckles graze his hard cock. He’s not very big and will fit perfectly in my hand, like it’s made for me to hold. It’s jutting forward, it hovers over his stomach, begging for a touch. For my touch. What will he feel like?

What will he taste like?

“We’re what?” I ask huskily. The first touch of his silkiness is heady, soft and hard in equal measure. Heavy. He’s unbelievably sensitive, every slide causing his body to twitch under me. It feeds my own hunger, my cock throbbing in my pants.

He arches into my touch, small hands clutching at my shoulders. I squeeze at the top, twisting my wrist, and our eyes meet. The sight of lightning in his gaze shocks me to my core. What the fuck?

“We’re what?” I demand to know. Why does he wield my magic? That’s not Fae. They don’t have that power.

His lips part, fingers digging in. “I’m king… I was.”

He still is, I’m sure, even if he no longer has a court to rule over. No doubt the other Fae still look to him. The three that joined us earlier certainly do. “I’m aware.” So many lies hidden in this pretty package. Somehow I’m still drawn to him, still want him. I can understand Wrath and Lust a little more. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Because you’re—” His breath hitches. Interesting. The vein on the underside of his length is extra sensitive right at the base. Rubbing over it with slow, steady swipes of my thumb causes his nails to graze my shirt, like they’re trying to rip through to my skin. If he wants me naked, then he better answer my questions. Neither of us are leaving this room until I get what I want. Then I’ll make him feel good.

“I’m what, Saeran?”

“You’re my consort.”

I freeze, sure I heard that wrong. “Consort sounds an awful lot like husband.”

One single nod, and my entire world tilts.

“No.”

He doesn’t respond.

My limbs shake as I surge back, out of reach and off the bed, staring down at him with heaving breaths. “I would remember that.” I would remember that. Husband implies so many things. Familiarity. Sex. I would remember having sex with this creature. Not to mention it implies love. An emotion I can’t fathom outside of my family.

“They took your memories. All of yours.”

“All of ours,” I repeat. “You mean my brothers.”

“Yes.”

“Who is ‘they’? No one besides Pride has that power, and he didn’t do it.” If he tries to say that Pride had anything to do with any of this, then our conversation is about to get a lot more unpleasant. I trust Pride. He would never do that to us under any circumstances.

“He didn’t,” Saeran agrees. “It was the Light Fae. They took everything from us, from me , in one night. And then somehow made it so that none of you remember the important parts of your past.”

Not surprising. They’re the ones that attacked that night; it makes sense they’re the ones who are behind erasing everything and changing the trajectory of our future. “That was… a long fucking time ago. If we were really that important to each other, why have you stayed away so long? Why didn’t you show yourself? Why did you lie to me?” That doesn’t sound like married behavior to me.

“It’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it.”

“I can’t.”

The word husband plays in my mind on a loop. Husband. Husband. We’re married. Too difficult a concept to accept. “King-consort.” That sounds important. I’ve never been interested in leading or being in the front of the masses. I like mess, destruction, and murder. I come in the back with the guns and kill everything that moves. I don’t mingle, and I don’t help people. Lust is the face of the Sins for a reason. He’s much better at public relations. There’s no way I ruled over an entire court with him. No one could make me palatable enough for that. “Us. You and me. Together?”

Another single nod, fear and desire swirling in his eyes. And my lightning. “It’s more than just marriage, isn’t it?”

He looks at me like I know him, but he’s a stranger to me. He watches me from the shadows, gives me gifts, touches me with meaning. Carries memories that I no longer have. He’s more than that. We are.

His lips tremble, and he reaches for the sheet to cover himself.

No .

Yanking it out of the way and off onto the floor so he can’t reach it, I climb back onto the bed. Straddling his hips allows me to crowd him, my palms flat against the wall on either side of him. “You don’t get to hide from me. After everything you just told me, there will be no hiding.”

“I—we—we can’t,” he says brokenly. His hand lifts as if reaching for me and then drops. His cock is still hard, glistening pre-cum at the tip. Still responding to the heat between us that hasn’t dissipated. We could be talking about the weather, and I know it wouldn’t make a difference. There’s something electric here, uncontrollable, a natural disaster.

Is this why I’m so drawn to him? Some part of me recognizes him? The idea that there are parts of my past that I don’t remember enrages me. It makes me want to raze entire cities to the ground, find who did this to me, and tear them limb from limb. They’ll regret touching me and my brothers. Regret ever thinking that we wouldn’t find out, that we won’t exact our revenge when we do.

A single tug is all it takes to have Saeran under me. So much smaller than me, helpless.

His clear blue eyes glisten with desire. The points of his ears have curled a little. Wings trapped under him.

Not helpless. The Fae never are.

Will he let me do whatever I want to him anyway? He’s done nothing but indulge me at every turn.

My hand travels down his side, and his back curves, lips parting on a sigh. He responds like he hasn’t been touched like this for an age. Maybe he hasn’t. He said he belongs to me. Has he waited all this time and not allowed anyone else to touch him?

Satisfaction roars through me. Mine . Just like his gifts. I get all of them, and I want more. Everything.

The word husband rolls around in my mind. Husband. The idea of marriage is foreign. I dislike anyone outside of my immediate family—and sometimes that’s touch and go. I have no time for the pursuit of idiots, and having them fawn over me like they do over Lust disgusts me. A pathetic attempt to get to power they’ll never have.

But this Fae? It means ownership. And I’ll take the most precious gift he’s given me: himself. Why would I turn that prize down?

A strangled cry tears from his throat when I take his cock in hand again. He’s throbbing, leaking and eager. A red flush runs from his cheeks all the way down his hairless chest. Fae are always pretty, like porcelain dolls with teeth, doomed to be a siren lure to the other species of the world. Coveted, revered, and feared all at once.

And this one has given himself to me. Freely. A trophy for my shelf. An addition to my hoard. The diamond among the ashes.

Centerpiece. Perfection.

Mine.

Every stroke of my wrist and slide over his cock is written all over his face. “ Please ,” he begs. The word settles over us like a blanket, the torment a tangible echo. He’s asking me to stop, and he’s asking me not to.

I won’t stop.

I’ll see his face when he comes. When I make him come. It’s mine too, and I’ll have it.

“You like that?” Holding the back of his neck, I force him to look up at me, hovering over his body and controlling his every move. Controlling him .

“Y-ye—” He moans low in his throat, eyes closing and his hips jerking into my touch, seeking more.

“Lift your legs. Cradle my hips—yes, just like that. Very good.” My cock fits nice and snug against his ass, and he pushes down on me, hip movements desperate and greedy. My groin clenches, and the need to be inside him, feel him stretch around me, is almost unbearable. What will it feel like? He’ll be the one to show me.

“We’ve done this before.”

It’s not a question, not really; I know the answer. I want him to say it out loud. Admit it.

“Y-yes.” Another moaned word. Exactly how I want to hear it.

His ass is soft and pliant in my palm, and a squeeze elicits a whimper. I do it again just to hear the sound. And then again. He’ll sing for me. My beautiful siren. “I’ve been in here. Look at me, Saeran.”

Lightning flickers across the blue, and his hands flex on my forearms.

“You love me.” It’s implied. Or perhaps not. Marriage can mean an alliance of sorts. A business transaction. I’ve never been surer in my life of the fact this isn’t like that. Not with the way he looks at me. I want to hear him say it. Give me a real truth among all the lies he’s told me.

He hesitates before saying, “I do.”

It’s not good enough. They’re not the words that I want.

I drop closer, covering him completely and pushing him firmly against the bed, bracing myself with a forearm beside his head. It gives me a better angle to roll my hips and add pressure against his ass while still allowing me to keep a hand on his cock. Nails dig against my back as he cradles me to him. I wish I’d taken my clothes off so that I can feel him skin to skin.

“Say it.”

He lifts his hips, rolling them. He’s leaking like a sieve, giving me an easier slide. I could use it, rub it against his hole, and bury myself inside him. I plan to. Once he complies with my demands.

“I—I can’t.”

Not acceptable. I’ll hear the words from those pretty lips, have them linger in the air.

Before he says a word, I swoop down and capture those lips, unable to resist. His moan reverberates pleasantly. He tastes like sugar and wine, sweetness and decadence. Not a combination that usually appeals to me. I’ll never have it again without thinking of him.

“Say it,” I whisper, mouths brushing.

“I love you.” The words sound like they’re being torn violently from him.

My fist speeds up, and he cries out, gripping me tight.

He’s going to say it again, and then he’s going to come for me, with my name on his lips.

His knees lift, heels digging into my back, urging me on and pushing my dick harder against his ass. He’s so close I can smell it, can feel it in the way he’s pulsing in my grip.

“Say it again.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore, repeating it over and over again for me. I never want to stop hearing it. I need it in a way I don’t understand. That doesn’t stop me from demanding it.

With a hoarse cry of my name, more a scream than a word, he comes all over my hand. His head presses back into the pillow, exposing his tense throat, mouth open wide.

He looks debauched, wrecked, an absolute mess. I have to know what it tastes like. Latching onto the pulse point at the curve of his throat, his very essence floods my mouth. More sweetness, like spun sugar, melted caramel, and glazed fruit.

I move up, our mouths meeting. He cries out, and I swallow every sound that he makes. They’re mine to do what I want with.

The second that I let him go, he drops back to the bed, limp and panting. He freezes when I go for my belt buckle, undoing it to pull out my cock. Before I can react, a blast of energy flings me across the room. I hit one of my bookcases, and the contents rattle and fall, my possessions scattering across the floor around me. None of it matters compared to the look of pain on his face.

“ What the fuck ?” I growl, getting to my feet, anger coursing through my veins. It only makes my cock throb harder. Is this how he wants to play it?

“We can’t,” he says, his voice both firm and trembling. He slides onto the thick carpet and grabs the sheet I discarded earlier, tugging it up and around himself. His wings, strangely brighter and no longer hanging uselessly, flicker as he speaks. “You and I will never happen again. What we had is lost. It’s gone .” The thickness of his voice tugs at something deep inside me. “Don’t touch me again.”

“Do you need a more romantic setting?” I ask mockingly. “Should I create something for you?”

“Your illusions don’t work on me.”

Of course, they don’t. They never have on the Dark Fae. Every other creature and species that exists bends to our will. Even the Light are vulnerable to us. But not the Dark. In a world of sharks, they’re the orca. Yet something in the way he says that makes me pause. “They don’t work on you, but you can see them, can’t you?” The lightning in his eyes, the orbs he creates. They’re mine, in more ways than one.

He doesn’t answer, his jaw tight. “Where are my clothes?” His hands clench around the sheet, and I viscerally hate the fabric. How dare he hide himself from me?

“Answer me.”

“I’ve answered enough.”

“You think so, do you?” I drawl. He’s barely scratched the surface of all the things that I’ll demand from him.

His gaze doesn’t falter even as his chin trembles. “I told you about our past out of courtesy. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that it means I care. I’m not here for you.”

A blatant lie. He fell apart too easily in my arms for there to be nothing left. Trying to convince himself? I have every intention of exploring him and finding out more of that past that I can’t remember. The idea of having memories taken from me is enough for fury to all but live inside me. Nothing is taken from me. I’ll have them returned to me if it’s the last thing I do. And the one who took them will regret the day they ever thought they could steal from the Demigod of Hunger.

“Your clothes are hanging up.” Right next to mine. Sharing a space I’ve never allowed anyone into. Knowing why eases some of the tension inside me. This isn’t some nameless attraction that came from nowhere. There’s real history there. A connection. Based on what Lust has told me about him and Deacon, if we’re anything like them, then there’s more than mere attraction at play here.

Saeran knows more than he’s revealing.

If I have to peel back every layer of his skin, make him beg for me, ache for me, in order to find out… His head rears back in real fear as a smile curves my lips. It won’t be a hardship.