Page 151 of Jewel of the Assassin

She waves to all of them, blowing kisses. My Queen. How she can go from sweet to regal and confident at a moment’s notice, I’ll always love. And then, my favorite: spitting fire and curses, humping, and begging like the dirty little slut she is. Just for me.

The road climbs, curling through the pines, my jaw set. Every tree, every stone is mine to command, but for the firsttime in my life, I feel what it means to protect something more precious than all of it. She notices the tension in me. “Roman, what is it?”

“Nothing,” I murmur, hand tightening on the wheel. “Everything is right.”

And then the trees part. At the island’s peak, glass glitters like a jewel, our retreat. A domed igloo of steel and crystal, glowing with soft golden light.

“Roman! Oh, God, it’s beautiful. You’ve never brought me here before.”

“It has been waiting for us, Maya Valya. Waiting for you to grace it with your presence.”

I park, but before she can step out, I’m at her side, sweeping her into my arms and carrying her across the threshold.

Her eyes sparkle. “Such a gentleman.” She kisses my cheek.

A gentleman and a sick fuck of a sadist-dom.

Inside, warmth greets us, glass walls opening to the horizon. The sea crashes far below. Above, the last streaks of sunset bleed into indigo, stars pricking the dark. Soon, the Auroras will come. And tonight, this kingdom of ice and fire belongs to no one but us.

Once she’s on the bed, I don’t give her time to admire the view. That will come soon. We have another matter of business and pleasure here, another surprise to come—one I spent months planning.

Her breath hitches as I remove the heavy coat, shrugging it off her shoulders. My movements are almost robotic as I remove her clothing one by one. Her lips part, her eyes filled with soft questions, but I know she’s noting my hardened jaw, the sharpness in my eyes, and the tension in my muscles. She doesn’t protest when I rid her of everything. She still takes my breath away every damn time. So exquisite. More so with the crown brand, the soft silver lines of old scars on her breasts, belly, and thighs. A tapestry of them on her back, both silver and faded red.

Her nipples stiffen, and I know it’s from more than the cold. But I don’t touch her. Not yet. Instead, I drape the heavy faux furcoat around her body. The white of the fur accentuates the loveliness of her skin, pale and flushed with a rosy pink, those sweet buds turning more erect. Subtle wetness glistens on her upper thighs, so close to her cleft.

“Roman?” she asks softly, lowering her brows, not needing to finish. She’s simply confused, not hurt.

“Not a word, Valya. Patience,” I warn, take her hands, and bring her to a stand.

She gasps, eyes lighting up with wonder. I turn, approving of the ribbons of ethereal light cutting through the sky. Nature has perfect timing.

Valentina clutches the edges of the coat as I lead her to a side door in the igloo and down a short staircase leading into a tunnel. A tunnel of pure ice.

“Oh, Roman! It’s like a dream,” she swoons so beautifully, it takes all my willpower not to thrust her up against the nearest ice wall and pound into her.

Frost shimmers along the tunnel walls, a soft, bluish glow from the Northern Lights seeping through cracks in the ice overhead. My boots crunch against the packed snow floor as I lead her deeper inside, our breaths pluming into silver wisps. They curl like phantoms, vanishing in a moment. The air smells faintly of clean ice and salt from the distant sea.

She shivers, and I don’t mind her slipping her arms into the coat. As long as she is prepared, full access whenever I desire. The edges cover most of her breasts, but not the swells. More slickness grows along her pussy. I kept the wool leg warmers with their slippers on her calves and feet. Red. Like a sexy flare upon her legs.

The passage opens, and I hear her soft gasp before I see it reflected in her face—the little castle of ice. The frozen walls glitter as though diamonds have crusted them. Ice arches stretch above our heads like a vaulted cathedral. And in the center, on a dais of crystalline frost, awaits my throne. A throne sculpted from solid ice. Its edges catch the light, throwing back splinters of green and violet, as if the Aurora itself had been captured within it.

I built it to be cold, unyielding, a reminder of the empire I’ve shaped here in the silence of the Bering Sea.

I guide her closer. Then I sit, my body sinking against the unrelenting chill, and pull her onto my lap. She trembles, but it’s not from the cold—it’s from me, from the way I hold her as though she belongs on this throne as much as I do.

Her gaze lifts, meeting mine, and in the reflection of her wide violet eyes, I see everything—the glass igloo above us, the sea crashing against the island cliffs, the stars burning holes through the night. But here, in this frozen hall, it’s only us.

Only my kingdom of ice. And my queen in my lap.

And without hesitation, no words, I pull my raging hardness out of my pants, lift her hips, and stab my cock straight up into her pussy.

“Oh!” she moans, tipping her head back against my shoulder because she did not expect this. At least not so soon. Just as I’d planned. Fucking love the scent of her perfume. While she has many loves—and excels at them all—I’ve learned perfume-making is one of her top favorites.

I breathe in the floral notes for the impending spring. Wisteria, white sandalwood, Damascus rose, and frankincense.

Then, she squeezes, her fleshy walls so hot, so wet, so tight for me every damn time.

“Stop.” I slap her thigh. “No wiggling.”