“I don’t want you to be here with me. I want you to be hereforme.”
Say you’ll be the one thing good in my twisted, fucked-up little life.
Please.
“You want the Blood Prince to cater to a half-breed?”
I consider the fae mark I saw behind his sister’s ear. His messy blonde hair doesn’t hide the natural curve of his own ears.
There’s no tattoo there, but... is the Blood Prince a half-breed just like me? Is he actually a “lying fucking creature” his father taught him to hate?
Eloquent fingers reach out, and he strokes the long length of my shining locks. His hand tangles there as he twists once, twice—my head jars up hard, my body bowing beneath him.
“You want me to bow to you, Crymson Vain?” His lips brush lightly over mine, and I taste his wicked words despite our mouths never truly touching.
I shouldn’t like it. But I do. I crave his affection that he hides so well. I love that he gives it to me despite how hard he tries to hate me.
My thighs shift with a tingling neediness coiling through my core. My jaw is angled up hard, and I refuse to look away from the glint in his blood-kissed eyes.
“Yes,” I whisper across his cruel mouth.
I want so badly to feel his lips against mine. I want to get lost in his kiss the way I did that very first night. Before I knew what kind of monster he was.
Before he flipped my life upside down with no hope of it being normal ever again.
“Then show me what we get in return.”
His hand drops from my hair and jaw, and I don’t know why I lean into the absence of his body even as he steps back. One step after another, he gives me space like he’s waiting for me to make a presentation to a room full of New York executives.
My heart pounds as my mind reels.
I’m a human girl in the presence of immortal men. What could I possibly offer them?
Seven’s steady hands push up and down my hips, his touch comforting, but he doesn’t offer me more. It feels a little like a pass-or-fail moment. If I pass, I’ll forever have three beautifully powerful men in a ruthless kingdom where I desperately need allies.
If I fail . . . I die.
Rorrick’s heavy gait comes forward like he can’t stand to see me squirm anymore. He takes my hand.
“Come on. You don’t have to prove anything. Let’s get you inside and clean you up.” His rumbling tone holds an exhausted air about it.
I feel that feeling deep in my chest too.
But I can’t look away from the challenge glinting in Christian’s wicked gaze.
And so, with Seven holding my hips, I lean forward. My hands plant on Rorrick’s lean hips. I look up at him, and there’s a flaring wildness in his deep-green eyes.
“Take off your shirt,” I command, but it comes out hoarse and quiet.
Rorrick doesn’t move a muscle. He doesn’t say a word. A heated tension sparks but he’s not sure. As for Seven, his fingers tense into my hips so hard, it hurts. I shift only once, and a hardness forms ever so slowly against my ass. His groan is the only sound. The tension in his hands is even firmer as he rocks my hips back and forth against himself. The memory of his hungry mouth against my sex flits through my mind and tingles over every inch of my skin as a gasp tears from my throat. He doesn’t stop until my heat is fully grinding over the hard outline of his cock.
Rorrick might overthink and hesitate every moment of his life, but Seven won’t.
He knows how easily life can be ripped away. And he’s clearly not going to waste a single second.
The gasp that shudders over my lips when Seven thrusts his hips up hard is what sets Rorrick into motion. That single sound of erotic desperation does it for him. He doesn’t waste time with the shining buttons that line his shirt. His big arms lift, and he grips the collar at the back of his thick neck. The hem rises little by little, revealing smooth, solid muscle and jagged scars across his golden skin. Every part of his body is big with a strength that could crush bones if he’s not careful.
Or gentle. Tender. Like he is with me.
