Page 25 of Straw and Gold (A Realm of Revelry #2)

Morella

I rose to meet his lips, soft and questioning. He feared he’d want more. But I wanted him to want more. To share our bodies in pleasure would be a gift and I felt like we were close. So close to something I could taste, and feel, and see for our future.

I deepened the kiss, playing with his tongue as a promise of what I could do.

His hands stayed gripped to the chair, but mine did not.

They were everywhere on his skin—his neck, his arms, his chest. Goddess fucking dammit, his chest .

I did what came naturally. I unbuttoned his nightshirt, opening the front so I could move my mouth across his skin—something I could never tire of.

He was so large in that chair by that fire in that room, and I wanted to lick everything—everywhere—until my tongue had consumed every surface of his skin and he was left moaning my name.

I only desired to undo his mind like he had mine, and I would do so by the tongue I had trailing across the plain of muscle just above the hem of his pants.

My hands continued their wandering, now digging into the skin at his hips.

I slowed my trek down his body, looking up to meet his stare.

I’d never been looked at in such a way.

The heat radiating from his gaze had me grinning in triumph as my kiss sank lower, lower, and lower still until I could not avoid the hard length of him still tucked behind the soft cotton.

“Where do I kiss next?” I asked.

“Something tells me you know,” he growled.

I nodded, pulling myself away from his delectable torso, peeling back the hem of his pants in rapt fascination.

I’d never seen one this close before and something twisted uncomfortably low in my belly like a part of me was waking—demanding and wild.

“Here?” I asked sweetly, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock. His cum glistened already and more excitement pooled through me.

From the corner of my eye I saw his hands grip the chair tighter, bringing out the white of his knuckles.

“Good, Morella,” he whispered low. “Take my cock into your hand and slide it up and down. Kiss where you think you should. Watch my body for signs of what I enjoy most from your mouth.”

I gripped the length of him in my hand, relishing in the soft warmth. It was harder than I thought and with the first stroke, more spilled from the tip.

“Is this a sign?” I asked, before sweeping the length of my tongue across the head of his cock to taste him.

“ Morella ,” he growled, his throat rough, his hands betraying him completely, while his fingers dug into the armrests of the chair as if he’d soon tear them off.

I remembered the heat of his mouth on my most sensitive nerves and how much I hated when he’d move away, so I licked again, this time pausing a moment before lowering my mouth over him, not quite all the way, but enough to taste more of him, and give him my own warmth.

I licked him sweetly, slowly exploring more with my tongue as I took more of him. Did he want all of me over him? I pulled him out of my mouth, stroking where my spit dripped down the full length, and looked to him for more signs.

He’d gone feral.

The flame in his gaze was wild, his eyes dilated, his chest heaving, nostrils flaring and teeth biting down so hard, his jaw kept flexing in the low firelight.

Did I have so much power over his pleasure? How could such a disciplined man lose his tightly leashed control over the mere touch and kiss of a woman?

I watched him in fascination, stroking long and slow. I’d done this to him. I’d made him look this way. Me, his wife of an arranged marriage of whom he did not even dance with on our wedding night. Of whom he tried to force into an entirely different room to sleep.

The thought made me want to laugh. What a fool my husband had been, trying to deny the instant attraction between us. Well, I wouldn’t have it. I wouldn’t let him do it any longer. This fire in his eyes was mine and I’d see it as often as I could.

I continued to stroke him, keeping his gaze.

“Are you not glad, husband, that I pulled my trunk into this room all those nights ago?” I licked up his rigid shaft again, leaving more spit to moisten my hold as I stroked faster and he shifted forward.

“Are you not pleased that I refused to be parted from you, my husband, my fate?” My thumb grazed over the head of his cock, catching more of his cum.

“Are you not happy with the wife you bound yourself to, kissing you in such a way?”

He let go at that, one hand cupped at the base of my neck, the other sliding through my hair. “It’s only polite I let you touch yourself as you finish me off, my Sweet Goldling. You must be dripping by now.”

I was. Goddessdammit, I was.

I bunched my nightgown at my waist, tying the loose fabric in a knot and slid my fingers over my skin, slick with wanton longing.

“Good girl,” he whispered. His hand behind my head pulled gently on my hair and somehow, I wanted him to pull it more.

“Now,” he continued as my body responded to his voice, “You’re going to take all of me into your mouth.

I’ll guide your head. Let me lead and don’t come back up until my cum hits your throat. ”

I moaned in a short gasp as he pulled my head back further, leaning down to consume me with one of his kisses that left me utterly breathless. “You will finish with me. Are you ready?”

I nodded eagerly, diving back onto his cock with new fervor, licking, tasting, moaning as his hand pushed and pulled my mouth up and down all of his shaft. His cock hit the back of my throat as he filled my mouth completely and I sputtered for a moment.

“Take it all,” he growled. “All of it, Moh Dhóches.”

I regained my breath through my nose, furiously circling my clit and pressing my body against his legs, begging for him to let us both finish.

“Just like that,” he grunted, now bucking his hips in time with my head. “You’re doing so well, Morella. My beautiful Goldling with such a talented mouth.”

His hand squeezed my hair in one tight grip and I knew he was close. “Morella,” he gritted and I did little but take all of his cock and whimper as my own release neared. I just needed the full taste of him and it would be over for us both.

In a carnal groan that came from deep in his chest, he came, spilling into my mouth and I let myself go as I took it all, stubbornly refusing to spill a single drop.

My own release tore through me, sending me pulsating on my knees and dripping down my own leg as I released him, gasping for fresh air.

His chest heaved as he looked down at me with eyes of brilliant blue, blazing with something I couldn’t name but had seen before.

His hands stayed, but gentle as his fingers brushed my face and he wiped what was left from my bottom lip before pushing it into my mouth. My tongue came out to meet him and lapped him clean, pulling his thumb between my lips, refusing to look away.

“I want to keep you,” he whispered, searching my face for…something.

I cupped my hands over his. “You have to keep me. I’m your wife.”

He gulped, a shudder running through his body. “In less than three months?—”

“I’ll still be your wife,” I finished, ready to beg for it to be true.

“Moh Dhóches,” he began.

“No, Killian. It will not be me who breaks this contract.” I lifted a hand to cup his cheek where he closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. “It will not be me.”

A week went by, then two.

Each day blended into the next.

I woke each morning, put myself together with Alista’s help, and met Killian in his study. He would already be working away at facts and figures, research, and projects for our kingdom.

I’d greet him warmly and kiss the top of his head, bent in concentration, where he’d grunt an acknowledgement, stubbornly refusing me any more than that.

And each morning a side cart by his desk would be laden with my breakfast: berries, nuts, tea, and of course, my daily helping of fuilhe.

I would pull up a chair in front of his desk and read one of the volumes of Céaduah, Language of the Changelingfae , often pushing aside his work if only to catch his eye and smile as he grumbled his irritation.

When breakfast was finished and I had no real reason to stay in his study any longer other than to ponder when he was going to just give in to me, I’d head for the western tower and spin.

Sometimes I’d spin for hours and hours on end, singing songs, tidying up the room, sweeping the floor, and doubling the day’s quota of golden thread.

Regardless of how long I’d take, he was there at the end of the staircase each time, and I wondered if he waited all morning or periodically shifted through wooden doors to check on my progress.

I’d greet him warmly again and hand him the spools of thread, asking about his morning, to which he’d reply with the shortest possible answers.

We’d eat lunch together while Fedir joined us, discussing castle business.

I always listened carefully, consumed by the workings of our realm and straining to hear any hints at what could be Killian’s true name.

Afterward, Fedir and I would leave, heading to the grassy fields so I could practice adjusting my wings, spreading them wide over and over to strengthen my muscles.

The captain kept a notebook, jotting down all the timings of how long and far I could shift and fly as the iron in my blood kept me growing stronger each day.

By the end of the fifth week of my time as Queen of the Citrine Cliffs, I was writing another letter to Korven and Seraphine.

My dearest loves,

I cannot express my joy upon receiving your last letter. I’m afraid Avici is blossoming and I am not there to witness. In the new year, we will visit and I will squeeze my darling girl again. The fields here are beautiful as autumn descends, and the rain is keeping everything green and lovely.