When Darkness Ends(Guardians of Eternity,book 12)(17) by Alexandra Ivy
She instinctively reached to grasp his shoulders, her knees feeling oddly weak.
“I’m a princess,” she forced herself to mutter.
She had to remind herself why she shouldn’t be melting against his hard, savagely male body as his hands pressed against her lower back, urging her into contact with the thrust of his arousal.
His tongue traced the neckline of her robe. “I forgive you.”
Fallon squeezed her eyes shut. He was stirring raw, primitive sensations that were threatening to overwhelm her.
“I mean my father has promised me to another,” she said.
He slowly lifted his head, his brooding gaze locked on her flushed face. “Ah, the fiancé. Do you love him?”
She blinked in genuine confusion. “It isn’t about love.”
His gaze lowered to her lips. “Then it’s about sex?”
“Of course not.”
“There’s no need to sound so shocked.” His large hands gripped her hips, his incredible jade eyes dark with a sensual hunger that made her heart give a dangerous flutter. “The best relationships are based on lust.”
Lust? Toward Magnus? She choked back the sudden urge to laugh.
“My marriage to Magnus is a—”
“A melding of two powerful Houses.”
His brows snapped together, an expression of disbelief on his painfully beautiful face. “Is that a joke?”
“Why would it be a joke?” Fallon was genuinely puzzled. Arranged marriages weren’t uncommon among many species of demons. “My father is king and I am an asset he can use to solidify his position.”
A chill cloaked around her. “An asset?”
“Yes.” She warily tried to tug from his grasp. Why did he seem so angry? “Magnus brings to the marriage a large dowry and the loyalty of his very powerful House.”
His hands tightened on her hips, his sensual charm decidedly absent. “And what does he get out of the deal?”
“His heirs will have royal blood.”
The chill became downright frosty, making Fallon shiver. “So it is about sex.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. She should tell him to go to hell. He had no business prying into her relationship with her fiancé.
But she didn’t. It was almost as if his steady gaze was compelling the words from her mouth.
“It will be my duty to provide at least six live heirs,” she muttered, revealing the truth that had been giving her nightmares since the engagement documents had been signed and her father had promised her future to a man who was little more than a cold, distant acquaintance.
“Duty?” Predictably he pounced on her revealing word. “Shouldn’t that be a pleasure?”
“I don’t know yet which it will be,” she muttered.
“You mean . . .” Something that might have been satisfaction flared through his eyes. “You haven’t slept together.”
Her blush deepened. “It’s forbidden until after we wed.”
His hands slid up the curve of her waist, halting a tantalizing inch from her breasts. A low groan rumbled in his throat.
“He must be a fucking saint.”
Fallon’s mouth went dry. Her breasts were suddenly tingling, the nipples tight with a need she didn’t understand.
“Not really.” She grimaced. “Magnus is allowed to keep a harem.”
A hot, dangerous hunger blazed in the depths of his eyes as her voice came out as a low, husky whisper.
It was growing difficult to concentrate on the embarrassing conversation. She’d never had a man span her rib cage with his big hands, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. Or look at her as if he was imagining her naked.
“I’m expected to remain pure until the wedding night,” she managed to rasp between dry lips.
A sound that was purely male was wrenched from Cyn’s throat as he leaned into her, his lips stroking a cool path of destruction over her cheek to the edge of her mouth. She barely dared to breathe as his intoxicating sensuality wrapped around her like a cloak.
“And you call me a barbarian,” he said, the tip of his fang lightly scraping her bottom lip. “I, at least, appreciate that a woman has the right to make her own choices.”
Her own choices . . .
The fog of desire was abruptly pierced by a familiar pain.
For God’s sake, did he think she wouldn’t give everything she possessed—her fortune, her palatial quarters in the palace, and even her position as princess—if it would mean she could gain control of her life?
If she could be truly free?
Her hands lifted to press against his chest. “I don’t want to discuss it.”
“I need bowls,” she abruptly interrupted.
He lifted his head, his brows arched. “Bowls?”
She gave another push against his massive chest. He was more than just invading her space. He was battering her with sensations that were as unfamiliar as they were unnerving.
Perhaps sensing she’d reached the limit of her endurance, Cyn reluctantly loosened his hold and backed off the step.
“I will have food delivered.” He folded his arms over his chest, looking all broody again. “I assure you there’s no need for you to slave in the kitchen.”
As if she would know how to slave in a kitchen even if she wanted to.
“I need them to scry.”
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