A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

With Atticus, he works slowly, circling my sensitive flesh with strokes of his thumb.

“Turn around,” he whispers, his mouth pressed against my ear.

I do as ordered, allowing my robe to hang open as I face him.

His mouth crashes into mine, as if he couldn’t wait another second, even as his hand never loses its pace, stroking deep inside me, building tension that begs to erupt. I grope his body aimlessly, absorbing every inch of hard muscle beneath my fingertips as wild desire claws at my inhibitions.

Eventually, I gather enough nerve to slide my palm between us, over the cut V of his pelvis. I wrap my hand around his hard length, marveling over his size, the velvety soft skin hot against my palm.

He groans as I grip him tightly and stroke as I was taught, from root to tip. For once, I actually want to do this. I want to drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. I want to watch the king of Islor fall apart under my touch.

“I need you to stop doing that so I can finish doing this.” His tongue sweeps into my mouth as his hand works me over mercilessly, its tempo increasing.

I stall but don’t let go, instead imagining it inside me. A rush of heat floods my lower belly.

“There it is,” Atticus whispers, and I don’t know how he senses it but moments later, a surge of ecstasy washes over me. I bite my bottom lip to keep my cries from slipping out as he coaxes wave after wave until my legs tremble.

Atticus hoists me in the air, guiding my legs around his hips. His tip rubs at my slick entrance—a tease of anticipation that I ache for—as he walks us back inside his chamber and shuts the door. I barely noticed the cold outside anymore, but the difference inside is stark. My bare skin promptly flushes.

“I’ve never met a mortal like you.” He sets me down on the bed, my legs splayed and waiting, my silk robe fanned out beneath me. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You are so kind and gentle, and patient, despite all that you have been through.”

“There are many like me.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You have a way about you. A quiet bravery I admire.” He kneels on the bed before me, his palms beginning at my ankles, smoothing up my calves, my knees, to my thighs. Gripping the backs of them, he drags my body down to where he can fit himself in between. His hands collect mine and pin them above my head.

“I’ve been thinking about this for days.” Our mouths meet in the middle in a slow, tantalizing kiss that smothers my cries as he rocks into me, his fingers tensing around mine. My body accepts him—willingly, eagerly—as he sinks deeper and deeper, until I’ve taken all of him inside me.

His lips break free of my mouth to shift to my neck where he traces a line with his tongue. “This is what it’s supposed to feel like,” he whispers, his hips moving with skill, his hard length filling me completely with each thrust and yet not causing me the pain that so many others have.

“Atticus.” His name slips from my lips as I lose myself in the feel of him where we’re joined, all thoughts fleeing my mind.

“Say it again.”

“Atticus,” I echo.

It seems to spur him to go faster, harder, his lips a furious tangle against mine as our bodies meet with each thrust, my legs curling around his hips of their own accord as I feel myself growing impossibly wet for him.

My back arches as another flood of ecstasy hits, ten times more powerful than what he drew out on the terrace, rippling through me in crashing waves, my cries genuine and raw.

With a muffled curse, he slows, his shoulders tensing, his hands tightening. I feel his hard length pulse and my body welcomes his seed.

He collapses, bracing some of his weight with his elbows so he doesn’t crush me. His hot breath skates across my neck. Surely, he needs my vein. I’ll give it to him.

I’ll give everything to him.

“Impossible,” I whisper into the quiet dark as I stare up at the bed’s canopy.

Atticus’s heavy pants fill my ear. “What is?”

“It never could have felt like this with anyone else. Only with you.”

“I think you are right.” He releases my hands to pull my face to his for a kiss.





CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO




ATTICUS


“Oh, to be a king.” Kazimir’s helm is tucked under his arm, his admiring gaze on Gracen. “Each one of them is more beautiful than the last.”

She sleeps soundly in my bed, her untamed curls sprawled across the pillow, the sheets strategically positioned to cover her mesmerizing body.

“Get out of here before she wakes and finds you hovering over her like a depraved soul.” I shove him through the doorway to my living area, following him out.

He chuckles. “But I am a depraved soul.”

I pull the door shut to not disturb her. “I know that, but she does not need to.”

“Do you not plan on saying goodbye before we head off to war?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, you are running out of time, my friend. We must go. The horses are ready.”

“Soon.” I peer out the windows at the dawn light.

“Have you not recovered?”

“I’m well enough.” I press a hand against my breastplate. The ache is still there, protected beneath armor, but it’s dull and healing, thanks in no small part to Gracen’s ready vein.

Rarely do I wake with a tributary in my bed and never intentionally. But this morning, when Gracen allowed me it, as well as another round of her supple body beneath mine, I was sure I wanted this—her—forever.

That’s not something she wants, though. A truth that stung more than I expected it to when she admitted it upon questioning last night.

“This caster who supposedly saved me last night, is there any hint of her?”

“None. She and Jarek have disappeared without a trace.”

I curse. “Jarek was Abarrane’s second and loyal to Islor without fault. He would not part ways with her, and she would not abandon Zander.” I could never understand that bond, and my brother swears their relationship never crossed boundaries.

“Those two were nowhere to be seen. But whoever this caster was, you can assume she is tied closely to your brother. And if that is the case, then why she didn’t let you die is beyond me, but she has my thanks.”

I don’t even know how to play draughts.

Did I imagine it? No, I’m sure I didn’t.

There is only one person that could relate to.

But it couldn’t be …

Wendeline might know, but it would likely take cruelty to get the answer out of her, something I don’t have time or an appetite for after she healed me last night, again. I’ve seen her weary before, but never unconscious.

I fish out the gold coin from my pocket and drop it in his palm. “Whoever she is, she gave this to Bexley.”

His eyes widen. “Where would this come from?”

“Ulysede.” Maybe I should have told Kazimir about the letter and its contents sooner, but I’ve charged him with enough already. Adding secret cities and prophecy to his plate didn’t seem fair.

A knock sounds on the outer door.