Page 42

She called his name, and he looked up, only to be blindsided by her beauty.

She was standing on the staircase dressed as Titania in all her golden splendor.

For a breath, she felt his desire for her.

The need a bubbling, aching mess, trapped in a locked box, begging for her to break it open and steal it away.

And yes, he wanted her to kneel. As she had wanted to before him.

The memory melted, and her absorption snapped back on.

“Graves,” she whispered, breathlessly. “How did you do that?”

“It’s a new trick,” he admitted. “From the solstice.”

She reeled at the information. He had pushed a memory into her mind then, of the glen of wildflowers in Ireland that reminded him of her. But she hadn’t known he could do it any time. As if that act had changed his powers in some way. Or did it just link them?

“Is that…how you see me?” she asked, looking into those dark eyes.

“Can you not see it for yourself?”

She had assumed all of those veiled words of interest were true but layered beneath Graves’s carefully placed facade. This was stripped bare.

She swallowed as his hand trailed lower, tugging her off the seat toward him.

The dress had no give to it. No slit. She could hardly move in it, and yet he repositioned her with ease.

One hand putting her on her knees before him, the other wrapping loosely around her neck, a thumb to lift her chin up to meet his.

“There,” he said. His hand grazed lower down between her collarbones, then between her breasts. “Just as you wanted.”

She was breathless. Her body humming even before his lips met hers, his tongue arcing across her painted lips. She let him invade her mouth. A carnal moan left her at the first sweep of him against her own tongue, nerve endings sparking at the connection.

Fucking hell, she wanted this dress to be easier to get in and out of.

“If only we had more time,” Graves growled, his finger skimming the underside of her breast.

Kierse spread her hands on his thighs and pushed them upward. She could feel the hard length of him in his pants. She may not be able to see into his mind, but she knew precisely what he wanted right now.

“You shouldn’t start things you can’t finish,” she told him.

His eyes were liquid metal as he gazed down upon her. “You can finish whatever you like.”

Her pulse jumped in her ears as she kneeled before her faerie king.

They’d been tiptoeing around this since Paris.

She could have been in his bed at any point, but there was a hesitation that had driven a stake through their affection.

A winter god in the summer. His wren at the height of her singing season.

She wanted to go to him. She wanted the distance.

And now there was no distance.

She couldn’t escape him, and part of her wanted to see what he’d do if she reached for more. Her hand slipped up, wrapping around his cock through the fabric of his pants.

He grunted and stretched back, one hand twining in her hair and the other laid across the back of the limo. “Are you teasing me?”

“I’d never tease.”

“A bold-faced lie,” he said with mischief. “What am I going to do with you, Wren?”

“It’s what I plan to do with you.”

She was caught by his powerful grip. Not as in control as she claimed, but her chin was tilted up and she was challenging him. A challenge she knew he’d meet.

He didn’t stop her as she reached for the button on his pants.

They might look like leather, but they had regular fastenings, and they came apart at her touch.

She slipped a hand beneath the material, and his erection sprang free between them.

A mouthwatering display of girth and length that made her want to spread her legs and take him that moment.

Maybe she would have, if her dress would allow it.

But she was on her knees. She’d kneel for her king.

The first sweep of her tongue against the head of his cock had him bucking against her. As if he’d been dreaming about her sweet mouth. He tasted salty and purely Graves.

She wrapped her lips around him, slicking his head with her tongue. Their mingled groans were audible. For so long she’d preferred eating out rather than blow jobs, but the satisfaction of being the one to drag that sound out of Graves? Divine.

“Take me all in, Wren,” he purred, guiding her down onto him.

She swallowed as he flexed in her mouth.

Deeper and deeper until there were tears glittering in her lashes, and she could feel him at the back of her throat.

Then she pulled out and sank back down again.

Her hand wrapped around his shaft, working him up and down as she sucked him off.

His hips thrust up, meeting her demanding mouth.

She could tell it was taking sheer control not to take over from her.

Not to cradle her face in his hands and fuck her mouth like he did her pussy.

She wanted that. She was wet at the thought. But she wanted this victory on her own.

“Wren,” he grunted, deep and affected. “I’m going to come in your mouth.”

She didn’t let up, just took him deeper.

Both his hands were in her hair and he thrust into her once, twice, three times before shuddering and releasing into her mouth.

His cock pulsed into her as he groaned with pleasure.

When he finally came down, his eyes met hers again, and she swallowed him down.

“Fuck,” he ground out.

He withdrew his cock and replaced it with his thumb, holding her mouth open as if he wanted to see the site that had disarmed him.

“I’ve wanted to fuck this mouth for so long,” he confessed like a dark secret. “I fucked myself thinking about it.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Just my mouth?”

“I’ll take your pussy, too.”

“Now?” she pleaded.

“Can you ride me in that dress?”

She could not. He must have seen her despair, because he hauled her up next to him and slipped a hand under the sheer material. It bunched awkwardly around her knees, but he kept going upward against the resistance. “This will have to do until I can strip you out of the thing.”

His thumb was on her clit. Deep, swirling strokes of her sensitive bud through her thong. A second later, he brushed her panties aside and thrust two fingers inside of her.

“Oh god,” she gasped.

“So fucking wet,” he praised.

He drew her out in sharp, delicious strokes.

She was so turned on from the blow job that her body trembled at his touch, like she might explode any second.

She writhed under him, wanting more, needing more.

She wanted to rip this dress off of her body and slide onto his cock.

But he held her pinned to the seat as his fingers worked her over.

There was no escaping. There was no controlling this.

Then his mouth slanted over hers, rough and needy, like he hadn’t just come moments earlier. And her orgasm hit her like a freight train. Her walls clenched around his fingers as she shuddered.

When she finally stopped trembling, he removed his hand and sucked his fingers clean. “Tonight,” he promised as he hit the roof twice.

Kierse dropped her head forward. Her pulse was racing, and she needed to get herself under control. They had a mission. They had…work.

Graves lifted her head and stole another long, languorous kiss.

She fixed her dress as George pulled up to the front entrance to the New Amsterdam Theatre.

The street had been cleared, and not a single tourist walked down this part of 42nd Street.

Kierse could see the glow of Times Square in the distance, and still none of it seemed to hit the growing darkness of this block.

“Ominous,” she whispered to Graves when he had finished adjusting himself and followed her out of the car.

“Ready?”

She pushed her shoulders back and took his offered arm, unable to deny that they looked a matched set. “Ready.”

His hand touched her chin, lifting it slightly. “Tonight, we are the terror of the night.”