Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Blink-blink. The image never shifted. Her eyes remained closed, her long lashes casting shadows he longed to trace over her cheeks. Her exhalations were steady, her expression soft. Lengthy locks of her silken hair spilled over his chest. Rosy color tinged the cheekbone he could see. Her lush lips were slightly parted.
She was so beautiful it almost hurt to gaze upon her. So delicate he feared her image might shatter at any second. So elegant, even in slumber, he felt as if he held the world’s greatest treasure.
But.
What?
Why?
How?
What?
He scoured his mind, only bits and pieces coming back to him. By the time the wraiths finished feeding on him, he’d barely had the strength to stand. Or the wits to puzzle out a plan of action. Somehow, he must have focused enough to flash to Blythe. His sometimes partner and always enemy. A foolish move on his part—or the most brilliant.
Though she’d been presented with the perfect opportunity to attack him, achieving a measure of vengeance at last, she had opted to cuddle him instead. How was Roux supposed to process such an unexpected development?
Did this mean she considered him a consort? Him? Roux? The male she still despised. His eyes widened. Surely not. Harpies didn’t get two consorts. But also...maybe. He didn’t know how. Or why. Or even why him. Unless she were, in fact, his gravita.
Careful, so careful, moving more slowly than before, he wrapped his arms around her and flashed them both to the bed. The soft mattress replaced the hard wood floor, contouring to their shapes. Much better. A breathy sigh left her, and she settled deeper into the crook of his embrace.
A gratification he’d never known washed over him. As if he was finally doing what he’d been born to do. Beneath the sensation, however, hunger stirred. The same hunger he’d experienced while they’d kissed. Only stronger. Hotter. More insistent. But somehow also softer. Sweeter. Calmer.
The conflicting impressions warred. Sweat beaded on his brow. If he woke her with another kiss, would she receive him? Castigate him for taking what didn’t belong to him?
He wouldn’t risk it. No way he could start this miracle day with a misstep. For their next embrace, he wanted—needed—her to be aware from the onset. Pride demanded it. Not to mention a sense of honor he’d never known he possessed. But then, from the very beginning, Blythe the Undoing had excelled at bringing hidden things to the surface, exposing long buried truths. Besides, did he even have time to do half the deeds he imagined? He checked his internal clock. Forty-three minutes and thirty-seven seconds until round two of the tournament. A rough groan left him. No, not nearly enough time. Once he began, he didn’t plan to halt until she begged for mercy. A process that could take days.
Focus on anything else. He peered up at the vaulted ceiling and tried to reason out what horrors awaited Blythe during today’s battle. Too many possibilities. At least he didn’t have to worry Blythe would be drained during battle.
Angling to his side, he traced a fingertip over the ruby above her sternum. The action, though gentle, woke her at last. She rapid-blinked. Spotting him, she didn’t jump up or stiffen. No, she offered him a dreamy, dizzying smile she might grant to only those she admired.
“Good morning, Astra.”
A trick? Maybe. But wait to touch her? No, not now. Not after that smile. Invitation enough.
Perhaps he could do one deed he imagined.
“Let’s make it an even better morning.” Desperate, Roux clasped her nape and swooped in to claim her lips with his own. She opened for him without hesitation, welcoming his tongue. He gave it. Aggressively. The kiss proved harder than he’d intended, but she met each thrust with the very moans of surrender he craved.
Fire raged through his veins. More!
As if she heard his thoughts, she panted, “Yes. More.”
He thrilled. She might hate him, but she no longer wished to kill him. If she did, she wouldn’t kiss him this way. Or sleep in his arms. With a bit of time and patience on his part, he might be able to convince her to become his new concubine.
She hooked a leg over his hips to force him closer, practically fusing their bodies. She petted his cheek. Kneaded his shoulder. His pecs. His abdomen. She stroked lower...
Every point of contact wrenched a new huff from him. Careful. Never had he barreled toward a cliff so fast, with such an uncertain outcome. Would she end this before he experienced his first climax?
He wrenched his mouth from hers to demand, “I want everything, she-beast.” Conquer a world? No problem. Destroy it? No big deal. Relinquish this prize of prizes? No. “What do you want from me?” He let his mouth hover just over hers. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. Whatever it is.”