Throne of the Fallen

A beat later, his eyes narrowed. Like he’d just deciphered what else she’d said.

“He wanted what?”

“Oh, please,” she said. “As if you truly mind.”

“Swans mate for life. I’ve heard the Fae are similar. Do you really think I don’t care if another male mates with you? Do you know what other creatures mate for life?”

Camilla almost drew up short. Wolves. The very creatures Envy had chosen to symbolize his House of Sin. It was just one more twist in their game. And she’d had enough.

“You only want one night. Am I supposed to simply swear off all other lovers for eternity? I assure you I’ll carry on living my life long after you and your magical erection are gone from it.”

Camilla turned, furious. He could keep his damn wall up for eternity. When—and if—he ever grew up, he could seek her then.

“A curious thing happened.” Envy didn’t chase her, but something in his tone made her pause. “My cock—diligent soldier that it normally is—refused to cooperate with Vittoria.”

Of all the asinine things to say…

“Is that supposed to console me?” Camilla spun. It seemed his cock had more sense than his brain. “Perhaps you ought to speak to a royal physician, Your Highness. I’m sure there are herbs for that problem.”

He advanced on her then. For every step he took forward, she matched it stepping back, until she found herself pressed against a column and could go no farther.

Her heart pounded, a tiny thrill racing down her spine as he closed in.

The smooth stone cooled her flushed skin through her clothing. Her whole body suddenly warmed, her senses heightened. Her breasts chafed against the fabric of her gown, aching to be freed, yearning for the cool air to kiss her flesh.

Damn it all. She couldn’t possibly be aroused.

Envy pressed one hand to the stone next to her, the other snaking around her waist, holding her firmly against him. The scent of bourbon and berries mixed with something unmistakably masculine surrounded her, intoxicatingly dark and sinful—just like him.

Camilla could get drunk on that scent alone.

His hips ground against her. The hard ridge of him sliding against that most sensitive area, even through their clothes, stole her breath.

“Does it feel like I have a problem, Miss Antonius?”

He moved again, hitting that same place with unerring precision. A responding throb of pleasure pulsed between her legs. It felt like she had a problem.

The problem was that she wanted him to do that again.

His gaze captured hers, penetrating and deep. He knew. He’d sensed her desire, her want.

Camilla didn’t try to pretend otherwise; didn’t demand he retreat.

Her traitorous hands roamed over the backs of his defined arms, the muscles flexing beneath her caress, encouraging her to explore his back, his waist, before rising again to tangle in his soft hair.

“You didn’t answer me.” His voice was a hoarse whisper now.

Another sinfully decadent stroke had her parting her thighs on instinct, inviting him closer, deeper. She should push him away, protect her heart. This was destined to end in a few short hours.

Instead, she touched him everywhere, committing each curve, each ridge, each line to memory to paint later. The bones of his cheeks, his nose, those seductive lips… she wanted to map the road of his body and travel it again and again in her dreams.

“My only problem,” he said, gently nipping at her fingertips, “is that I want you.”

His confession was nothing but a raw whisper near her ear, a blade of truth so sharp it carved him open on the way out. Maybe she would regret it tomorrow, maybe they would both break into a million pieces after, but right now all she wanted was to soothe the ache in his voice, the responding ache in her soul.

One night.

It would be enough. Envy now knew she wasn’t human. Knew she was an equal, that neither one of them had to hold back or worry about breaking the other.

They could be as wild as they desired.

A ragged breath escaped her; perhaps it was a moan, or a wordless plea for more. Whatever language she spoke, he understood. He moved against her again. And again.

Heat bolted through her with each torturous thrust.

“I want you so fucking much,” he murmured. “I should be focused on the next clue.”

Hips met hers again, harder.

“I should be on my way to the pillars.” Another punishing, delicious thrust. “My court stands in the balance. Yet I’m here.”

His fingers tightened on her hips, branding, possessive. Her body grew slicker.

“Plotting everything I’m going to do to you. I want you shouting my name when you come, every time you come. On my tongue. My fingers. My cock. You’ve destroyed me, Camilla. I want to return the favor.”

This time, she met his thrust, grinding against him.

A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Tell me you want me.”

Camilla clasped on to him, fists bunched in his shirt, holding him against her. It was the only answer she’d give him, the only one that mattered now.

More.