Page 28 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

“Sara told me about your proclivity for beautiful women.” She tugs on my lyranthium pendant, hard, forcing me to lift my head and holding me there, inches from her lips.

“Everyone expects you to chase me, then move on to greener pastures, but there are no greener pastures where I’m concerned. Are you sure you want to risk it?”

Her nails gauge the flesh over my heart, leaving scratches in their wake.

“I’m a bastard belonging to two kingdoms and yet none, stuck with a name that belongs to neither my mother nor my father.

I only became what everyone thought I would be—nothing more than a distraction.

I’m not the kind of man women bring home to their parents.

I’m the lover they whisper about, the one they take for a night of sin before returning to their safe little worlds.

A fleeting indulgence. But I want more .

I want to matter. To the world. To you . ”

Her mouth parts on a silent gasp. She hooks her small finger around the chain, pulling my pendant into view. “What is this for?”

“It keeps me grounded. My storm magic is stronger without it, but you might get burned.”

With a naughty grin, she breaks the chain and throws the pendant to the ground. “Let’s test that theory.”

Without warning, she bends down and kisses away the anguish, the guilt, the pain gushing out of me—erasing it, replacing it with hunger. There’s a wild glint in her eyes, like sex is her way of shattering that moment. Like this is the only kind of closeness she knows how to survive.

My body betrays me, the weight of my thoughts vanishing, consumed by a fiery, unrelenting need. The grief fades into something far more urgent, far more primal. Every inch of me aches for her.

I’d theorized that, as our engagement became public, we might share a bed. That I’d have to brush against her body or nudge her cold feet.

But I never anticipated the sight of her moving above me, rubbing herself against my very sensitive, extremely aroused cock. A full-bodied shiver quakes her body, our sex now pressed flushed, separated only by our clothes.

“Have you already forgotten about the rules?” she scolds with a wicked roll of her hips, making me hiss.

I stroke the path between her breasts up and down.

“We said no sex. Not no erection. I can’t help that part.

And not touching you right now wouldn’t be very believable.

” I squeeze her left breast, the glorious feel of it sending a white-hot jolt through my cock.

“Why did you insist on this stupid no-sex rule, again?”

She leans down to stare into my eyes. “We both agreed.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t swear to that.”

“Mm— Still no.”

I grip her hips, holding her still for a moment. “Then marry me tonight.”

She snags my wrists and pulls them above my head. “Shut up, pretty boy, and don’t move.”

I’m used to women chasing me , hungry for an unforgettable night.

Devi has perfect control. She’s holding me by my literal balls, and I can’t do anything but pray she’s feeling something , because I sure as hell won’t be the one to turn her down.

She caresses my cock over my clothes with lethal accuracy, dragging her nails from root to tip, then rubbing down the length of it.

“Fuck. Don’t stop.”

Her eyes dance. “You like that, Seth?”

“Yes,” I growl.

She stops abruptly, unfeeling, while I’m about to come from just the touch of her hand alone. “Tough luck. Byron left.” She moves to escape, but I roll us over.

“Oh no you don’t,” I whisper, testing the waters, checking if she’ll let me lead.

Our noses touch. I can almost see the war raging inside her beautiful, sexy head. She pats my throbbing length, each vibration reverberating in my spine, my legs, my very soul. “Down, Seth.”

Fleeing my embrace, she rolls from underneath me and enters the ensuite bathroom. I fall to the mattress, gloriously unsatisfied, and stare down at the bulge in my pants, gritting my teeth together.

“You’re a cruel, cruel woman,” I shout after her.

She laughs at that, the sound joyful and mischievous, and my lids flutter.

Fuuuck.

A halo of light frames her naked silhouette as she obscures the doorway. “I’m taking a shower, darling . You can show yourself out.”

I adjust the pillows behind my back. “I’m not going anywhere. I like to cuddle after fake sex.”

She disappears without a word. The door closes behind her, then springs back open by an inch, the inviting gap bathed in golden light.

The shower turns on, and my stomach clenches. The thought of her warm and naked under the spray… How many nights of this sort can one Spring Fae survive? How am I expected to keep my head while Devi fucking Eros grinds herself on me, off-limits, while I’m forbidden from touching her.

That witch knows exactly what she’s doing. She hates me. She loathes my mother. And I’d bet it’s all part of her evil plan to drive me mad, one “we’re just playing a part” at a time.

My hand creeps lower, desperate to take the edge off, but I’m not sure that would help. It’s humiliating. Rules or no rules, I won’t take this abuse lying down. Two can play at this game. Devi Eros must have a weak link.

And it’s up to me to find it.

The inch of empty space at the door wrecks my brain. Was it a mistake? Seems like an odd mistake to make, given the situation. An invitation, then? What if this was an invitation meant to look as a mistake, just so she’d have plausible deniability?

I need… I don’t know what I need, but I’m not thinking straight when I curl a hand around the door frame and enter the bathroom.

Steam from the shower hangs thick and hot in the air, and I merge with it without meaning to.

My senses are different when I turn into a cloud, a mist, or a strong breeze.

I can’t see , exactly, but I can feel my surroundings, and Devi’s beauty stings my heart.

Her long red braids are tucked away under a black, silky shower cap, leaving her smooth, freckled shoulders bare.

Rivulets of water roll down her breasts, following the paths laid out by her scars.

A deep sigh shudders through her body as she leans against the wall, eyes closed.

What happens next unravels me. Her small hand sneaks down her body and dips below her stomach.

Fuck me.

I can’t stay. Can’t look. She doesn’t know I’m here. I need to leave before I do something I regret.

“Seth,” she says, but her sight travels through me. “Seth,” she purrs, leaving no question to what she’s doing.

She’s moaning my name.

My knees buckle, my hold on the magic wavering. I’m fucking powerless to stop my descent and condense back into flesh on my side of the glass, leaning against it not to topple over.

Devi gasps, and we have a silent conversation. Are you really spying on me while I shower? she asks, eyes narrowed.

Are you touching yourself thinking of me? And there’s no guile in my question, no cockiness, just pure, unadulterated need.

A sultry chuckle falls from her lips, and she steps forward, pressing a palm to the glass where my left hand is resting, the other still at the apex of her thighs.

“Alright, you can look. But you can't touch.” She chuckles again.

The sound wrecks me.

She’s all wet and naked. I run my hand down the glass, from her chest to her stomach, and pretend I can feel the heat of her skin beneath my fingertips.

I think back to her pebbled nipple inside my palm, to the little moan she gave when I squeezed her breast. I bet I could make her come from that alone.

I feel like a simple mortal, some horny virgin with an overdose of libido and no power at all. I should hate her for making me wait, but instead, I crave her more, the burn of wanting sweeter for it.

With my brow arched, I strip from my undershirt and pants until I’m as naked and exposed as she is. The way she streaks her nails down the glass, her body leaning forward as though swallowed by my gravity, gives me a boost of confidence.

I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth and stroke my rock-hard cock from root to tip. Pre-cum spreads across the head, and Devi’s tongue darts out to touch her bottom lip. She draws slow circles across her clit, her breasts now pressed to the glass.

We’re playing a dangerous game of tit for tat.

I’m entranced by her quickening breaths, and wait for her thighs to quiver, for her lids to flutter on a moan that shakes her entire body, before increasing the pace.

I drink her in—every curve, every scar, every flicker of pleasure lighting her face.

She’s breathtaking, yes, but still hidden behind glass, like a priceless statue or painting.

Untouchable. A relic of a life she barely survived.

Her true self—raw, powerful, wounded—remains concealed beneath the armor of a brave woman who’s been betrayed and abused. Admired and revered, but not loved. Not the way she deserves.

I don’t want to watch her from a distance, or worship her through glass.

I want to strip away her armor. I want to kiss her awake from the long slumber they left her in, until she remembers she’s more than what they broke.

Not a memory. Not some priceless artifact like the ones she sells in her shop, but flesh and blood and fury.

Not a fallen queen. My queen .

To be touched. Cherished. Adored.

I want the Queen of Hearts, the goddess, the legend, to unravel beneath my hands. I want her to tremble in my grip until every wall she’s built crumbles. Until she feels as vulnerable, as vibrant, as alive as I do when I’m with her.

I’ll count the days, the hours, the eternities until I can call her mine. And when I finally get to hold her as my wife, by the spindle, I will love her until her broken, mangled heart beats only for me.