Page 17 of Realms of Swords and Storms (Empire of Vengeance #3)

My mouth moved to her jaw, then down the column of her throat.

She tilted her head back, giving me better access, and I took full advantage, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse beneath my lips.

All my carefully constructed control shattered.

The fire I had been banking for weeks roared to life inside me.

I pressed her against the rough wood of the stall, my other hand tangling in the silken chaos of her hair, pulling her head back.

This was reckless. This was madness. And gods, I didn't care.

I kissed her again, tasting the faint sweetness of wine on her tongue, felt the frantic beat of her heart against my chest. Her fingers clenched the fabric of my tunic, pulling me closer still, her nails digging into my back through the thin material.

It was a collision of unspoken things, a raw and hungry claiming that sent fire through my veins.

All thoughts of the palace, of my father, of duty, burned away in the heat of her mouth against mine.

There was only this—the scent of hay and her skin, the surprising strength in her grip, the feeling of finally, finally touching something real.

I broke the kiss only to slant my mouth over hers again, harder this time, a groan tearing from my own throat.

I was devouring her, and she was letting me—no, she was answering with a ferocity that stole the air from my lungs.

One of my hands slid from her hair down the curve of her spine, pressing her flush against me, wanting to feel every line of her.

She arched into the touch, her hips meeting mine in a silent, desperate language that had nothing to do with words or status.

A deep, guttural rumble vibrated from the stall, a sound that seemed to shake the very stones.

It wasn't a threat, not yet, but a possessive warning. Sirrax. The dragon’s massive head lifted from the hay, and a puff of hot, sulphur-tinged air washed over us.

For a sane man, it would have been a signal to stop, to pull away.

For me, it was only fuel. The danger, the impossibility of it all, only sharpened my need.

My mouth left hers to trail a burning path down her jaw, to the frantic pulse beating in her throat. I tasted her skin, salt and sweat and something else that was uniquely Livia. "Tell me to stop," I rasped against her neck, my own voice sounding foreign and raw. "Tell me you don't want this."

Her answer was to thread her fingers into my hair, her grip tightening, pulling me closer. Her head fell back against the wood, baring her throat to me in a gesture of pure surrender that was anything but weak. It was a demand. "Don't stop," she breathed, the word a shattered plea.

The last thread of my restraint snapped.

My lips left hers, trailing fire along her jaw, down the column of her throat where her pulse beat like a trapped bird against my mouth.

She gasped my name—Jalend—and the sound was my undoing.

I pushed a knee between her legs, pressing her more firmly against the unforgiving wood, and felt her hips rock against me in response.

It was a purely instinctual movement, a plea for more that sent a jolt of raw possession straight through me.

My hand slipped from her spine, sliding around to cup her breast through the rough fabric of her uniform.

She cried out into my mouth, a muffled, broken sound of pleasure and shock.

I was no longer a prince, no longer a student.

I was a man starved, and she was the first real thing I had tasted in a lifetime of gilded lies.

Her hands slid from my tunic to my hair, pulling me impossibly closer as her mouth found mine again, desperate and searching.

My thumb brushed over the rough fabric, finding the hardened peak of her nipple.

She shuddered against me, a broken sob of a gasp swallowed by my mouth.

I wanted more. I wanted all of her. My fingers went to the buttons of her shirt, fumbling with the fastenings she had secured so quickly just moments before.

One came free, then another, the rough fabric parting to reveal the swell of her breasts above the simple band of her linen undertunic.

I pulled back just enough to look at her.

Her eyes were glazed with passion, her lips swollen from my kisses, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

She was beautiful. Wrecked. And I had done this to her.

The sight didn’t cool my desire; it sharpened it into something possessive, something terrifyingly real.

This wasn’t some courtly dalliance. This was primal.

Dangerous. Unstoppable. She was fire and chaos, and I was burning in her, gladly.

For the first time, I felt the truth of my own body, not as an imperial vessel, but as a man’s. A man who wanted. A man who could take.

I pushed her under tunic down, baring dusky brown nipples that just begged to be sucked.

I obliged, first one and then the other.

Her back arched against the rough wood, a sharp, keening sound tearing from her throat.

I laved her nipple with my tongue, suckling hard, and she whimpered.

Her fingers tangled tighter in my hair, not pulling me away but holding me to her as if she feared I might stop.

I couldn’t have. The taste of her, the sound of her pleasure, was a drug, and I was insatiable.

Sirrax shifted again in the stall behind her, a sound like an avalanche of shale.

The dragon’s head, larger than my entire torso, loomed over Livia’s shoulder, its golden eyes fixed on my hand where it rested on her skin.

A low, guttural hiss escaped its jaws, carrying the scent of brimstone and a definitive threat.

I ignored it. I was beyond caring about the dragon, about the consequences.

My fingers dipped lower, tracing the line of her trousers, and I felt her entire body go taut with anticipation.

She cried out against my lips, a muffled, desperate sound as she ground against my thigh.

This was no longer a choice. It was a need, sharp and absolute, and I would burn the whole world down to satisfy it.

My free hand slid from her waist, down the taut line of her stomach, and cupped the heat of her between her legs. She flinched, a full-body tremor, and her hips gave a convulsive jerk against my palm.

I felt the damp heat of her even through the thick fabric of her trousers. It was intoxicating. I began to rub, a slow, deliberate circle, watching her face as pleasure warred with shock in her eyes.

"Jalend," she gasped, the name a prayer and a curse.

Her hips began to move in time with my hand, a desperate, silent rhythm. Her head thrashed against the stall door, her eyes squeezing shut. I fumbled with the ties of her trousers, my fingers clumsy with need. She helped me, her hands covering mine, guiding them until the fabric loosened.

I pushed the rough material down over her hips, my hand sliding with it into the heat between her legs.

She was already wet for me, slick and hot against my questing fingers.

She gasped, her head falling back to thud against the stall door.

Sirrax rumbled again from the shadows, a low, possessive sound that vibrated through the floorboards. And still, I couldn't stop.

My fingers slid into her heat, and a shudder wracked her frame. She was so wet, so ready. Her head fell back, her lips parting on a silent gasp as I pushed one finger inside her, then two. She was impossibly tight, gripping me, and the possessive, primal part of my soul roared in triumph.

“Jalend,” she breathed.

My thumb found the hard pearl of flesh hidden in her curls. I pressed down, circling, and her eyes flew open, wide with a pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain.

“Please,” she begged, her hips bucking against my hand, chasing the feeling. “Don’t—”

I silenced her with my mouth, swallowing her pleas as I moved my fingers faster, my thumb relentless.

I felt the brush of her fingers, felt my own clothing loosen and her hand reach inside to wrap around my cock.

Such beautiful agony. The shock of her touch, warm and hesitant then suddenly firm around me, sent a tremor through my entire body.

A harsh groan ripped from my throat, my hips bucking into her palm.

All thought, all pretence of control, vaporized.

The world narrowed to the feel of her hand on me, her heat around my fingers, the ragged sounds tearing from her lips.

“Jalend,” she sobbed, my name a shattered prayer. Her hips bucked, a frantic, desperate rhythm against my hand. I drove my fingers deeper, faster, chasing the tremors that racked her body.

Sirrax’s growl deepened, vibrating through the stone floor, a territorial roar that echoed the primal claim I was making on his rider.

A thin wisp of smoke, smelling of scorched earth, curled from its nostrils.

The beast knew. It was watching her be completely unmade, and the possessive fury radiating from it was a palpable force, but it was distant noise.

The only thing that mattered was the feeling of Livia breaking apart in my hands.

Her back arched violently, her body going rigid.

A raw, piercing cry was torn from her throat as she convulsed around my fingers, wave after wave of her release washing over me, hot and slick.

“Look at me,” I commanded, my voice hoarse.

Her eyes, glazed and wild, snapped to mine.

I watched her shatter, watched the pleasure crest and break over her.

Her grip on my cock tightened almost painfully.

My forehead rested against hers, my own breathing harsh in the sudden, echoing silence of the stable.

I was rock hard in her hand, my own release clawing at the edges of my control, as she regained control and began to stroke me again.

Her touch was both exquisite torture and a promise.

Every slide of her hand sent a jolt of raw pleasure through me, pushing me closer to an edge I hadn’t known I was so desperate to fall from.

My hips moved of their own accord, a single, sharp thrust into her palm.

A harsh sound, half-growl, half-groan, tore from my chest. Her eyes, still dark and unfocused from her own release, fluttered back to mine, a dawning awareness in their depths.

She saw the state she’d reduced me to, and a flicker of something new—power—crossed her face.

Every instinct screamed to take her right there, against the splintered wood, to drive into her and claim her completely.

But even through the haze of lust, a sliver of sanity remained.

I didn’t want to push her too fast, not when I still wasn’t sure if she felt for me the way I did for her.

Instead, I pulled her close, my mouth landing on hers, taking her in a kiss that was a claiming.

My own release tore through me, hot and swift, my body arching as a guttural groan was ripped from my throat. I spilled myself into her hand, pulsing against her grip as the world dissolved into pure, white-hot sensation.

For a long moment, we just stayed there, panting against each other, slick with sweat and release. Livia’s head was still thrown back against the wood, her eyes closed, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her climax. My forehead rested against her temple, my own breathing ragged.

The spell was broken by a sudden, sharp crack and a wave of intense heat.

We sprang apart. Sirrax had lunged forward, its massive jaws snapping shut inches from where my head had been, the stone of the stall wall shattering under the force.

The dragon’s golden eyes burned with incandescent fury, a low, menacing growl rumbling in its chest like an earthquake.

“Gods,” Livia breathed, scrambling to pull her tunic back into place, her face pale with shock.

The reality of our recklessness crashed down on me. Anyone could have walked in. We were dishevelled, our clothes in disarray, the air thick with the scent of sex and the dragon’s rage. I quickly straightened my own tunic, my hands shaking slightly.

I met her eyes. The raw hunger was gone, replaced by something wilder and more terrifying: dawning comprehension. This wasn’t a stolen moment. It was a choice, a line crossed that we could never uncross.

“Livia,” I started, but she just shook her head, her gaze darting from me to the furious dragon and back again. She didn’t need to say a word. We both knew everything had just changed.