Page 28 of Striking (Red Lips & White Lies #7)

He guides me down a flight of stairs into the grand dining hall. The ceilings are hand-painted, and the walls are covered in golden sconces. The table is set with china and crystal, and tiny place cards rest on each gold-rimmed plate.

“I hadn’t realized so many people would be here.” I struggle to take in the size of the room and focus on the place cards instead. “Where will we sit?”

Rhys guides me to the center of the table and picks up my name card. “You’re right here, my love.”

I take it from him and carefully place it back down, looking on either side of my setting. “And where are you sitting if I’m sandwiched between Atticus and King Aaric?”

He points directly across from me. “I’ll be right over there. Staring at you.”

“Oh, you do say the sweetest things, Your Highness,” I tease, trying to play down my nerves.

His eyes heat with my words before he tugs on my hand. “Come on. I have something else I want to show you.”

“Lead the way.”

Rhys is good at that.

Leading.

And before I know it, he’s led me right into the center of a room I’ve never been in before. Domed, floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows line the walls leading up to... “Oh my God. Is that an actual throne?”

I spin around, just as my incredibly sexy husband lifts me from my feet and carries me down the long aisle. “Yes, my queen. They are actual thrones. Mine and yours.”

“Holy shit,” I whisper. “I can’t... I... Oh. My. God. Rhys,” I shriek. “I’m not a queen. I can’t be a queen. I can’t sit on a throne.”

Hysteria snakes its long, spindly claws into me as my vision tunnels.

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I can’t sit there.”

Rhys sits me down on the bigger chair—throne—monstrosity—and kneels in front of me. “I’m going to need you to breathe, Bellamy.” He wraps a hand around the back of my neck and drags his thumb over my wildly beating pulse. “In through your nose, out through your mouth, love.”

I focus on him.

The feel of his hands.

The way his irises darken to a midnight blue.

The fact that he’s breathing with me. For me.

“That’s my girl . . . You with me?”

Am I with him?

I take another deep breath and slowly exhale.

“I’m with you.” One more slow breath, and the walls don’t feel like they’re closing in anymore. I lick my dry lips and whisper, “Your girl... that’s a new one.”

He drops his hold on me and runs his hands up my bare legs and stops at the hem of my shirt.

Maybe one day, I’ll wear some of the beautiful lingerie he’s gotten me, but I still prefer his oversized shirts and cheeky panties.

Luckily, his shirts hit me at mid-thigh, so if anyone saw us tonight, they’d be right to think I have very little fashion sense.

But at least they wouldn’t think I was naked.

“I’m on bended knee, in front of you on my throne, Bellamy. You are my wife and my queen. Does calling you my girl bother you?” His hands make another pass up my thighs, higher this time.

I stare at this man. The one who’s changed my life in ways I’ve never dreamed of. The one who’s come to mean so much more to me, even if I’m not sure what that means yet. “No. It’s just...”

“Just what, love?” God, I love his voice.

“It’s more intimate...” I admit, and this time, when his big hands slide up my thighs, they don’t stop.

“So sweet. So soft. So fucking mine,” he groans, and heat pools in my belly with needy anticipation.

“Yours,” I moan and watch with my body strung tight as Rhys tugs one of the many air force shirts I’ve stolen from him off my body, leaving me bared to him in nothing but a beautiful deep purple sheer bra and thong.

Rhys groans his approval and throws my legs over his shoulders.

And oh my ... Rhys Windsor on his knees, between my thighs, is the sexiest sight I’ve ever seen. It never gets old. It never will.

I watch through hooded eyes as he kisses my knees... the inside of each thigh... And oh God, he presses his lips to each hip bone. Dragging his teeth over them. Teasing me. Until finally, I see stars as he buries his face between my thighs.

My back bows, and my hips buck, as my hands grip the cold throne, but Rhys doesn’t care.

His hands hold me hostage, pressing me against the throne.

“Patience is a virtue, my queen.”

“Don’t tease me...” I beg, so fucking needy.

And oh God, I fly with a quick, stinging slap to my pussy that has me shaking before Rhys flattens his tongue and devours me through the sheer silk.

Fucking me with his tongue, his eyes, his fingers.

My juices coat his lips. And those sparkling sapphire eyes stay locked on mine. Holding me captive. Teetering on the edge of a cliff. Desperate to chase my orgasm over.

He sucks my clit as I inch closer and closer with each bite of his teeth and press of his fingers. Working my body like it was made for him.

Like I was made for him.

He teases me over and over, edging me until I’m on the brink of a climax, moaning and sobbing and begging to come.

“Rhys . . . I can’t . . .” I pant, on the verge of losing any sanity I have left, and I swear to God, he smiles, and I melt. “I . . . I need . . .”

Rhys tugs my panties tighter, using the friction against me.

“You need me, my fucking queen,” he growls against my pussy, sending delicious vibrations through my entire body as his teeth scrape my aching clit, and his fingers press against my G-spot, sending me spiraling.

I shatter on a silent scream. Panting and gasping, fighting for breath.

Irrevocably broken.