“But everything is a mess.”
“Of course it is. Myst is still alive, and she’s the one to ultimately blame. She turned you, she took over the Summer and Winter Courts, she made the halls bleed with the life of your people. And of my people. Rhiannon and I were born for this—you know that. We were destined to take our places as the Queens of Winter and Summer. You certainly aren’t to blame for our births.”
“I know, but I can’t help but feel . . .” He stopped, and I realized what was going on. But I’d lay odds that Grieve didn’t even know.
“You know what’s eating you? You feel guilty over the fact that she turned you. Somewhere in there,” I touched my hand to his heart. “Somewhere inside your heart, you really do believe that you could have somehow prevented her from turning you. You think that maybe you could have stopped her from destroying your people if you’d only—”
“If I’d only been smarter . . . stronger . . . had seen her coming.” He finished the sentence for me, as I knew he would.
“The fact is, love, you couldn’t have done a damned thing. She took everybody by surprise. If she was able to pull a fast one on Lainule and Wrath, how can you believe—for even one minute—that you could have made a difference? She’s strong. Not invincible, but Hunter is right—she’s cunning. And old. Add in that insatiable drive for power she has, as well as the jealousy she feels, and it makes her the most dangerous foe we’re ever likely to face. And that doesn’t even begin to factor in her thirst for revenge against me.” I smiled then, and though it felt pale, at least it was a smile.
“Grieve, my sweet, Myst was set up for this. She was bred for it. When Geoffrey turned her, he miscalculated. He turned an unstable member of the Dark Fae who had a thirst for power. How could Myst not be the adversary she is, given her breeding?”
Grieve looked at me for a moment; then his shoulders relaxed and he pulled me down onto the sofa with him, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “This is the strangest life. . . .”
“And I’m the strangest wife you could probably ever have.” I snuggled into his arm, resting my head on his shoulder. “So, when this is all over and done with, what do we do? Settle into a long, happy, boring life?”
Laughing, Grieve planted a kiss on my forehead. “Life with you could never be boring. No, I foresee children . . . ruling your kingdom—”
“Our kingdom.”
“Our kingdom. You will learn our customs and we will try to learn yours. And if Lannan tries to touch you again, I will stake him through the heart. Or better yet, I’ll cut off his balls and feed them to the one pet Shadow Hunter I’ll have kept on the end of a leash. Or . . . if you need him, we will figure out a way to make it work.” Grieve chuckled. “You, my sweet, are the most beautiful Ice Queen there could ever be.”
“The Snow Queen . . .” I mused. “With a heart of ice and a silver dagger in hand.”
Grieve placed his hand over my heart. “You may run cold now, the transformation changed your body—this is true—but your heart is as hot and passionate as the sun.” He pulled me close and his mouth met mine, lingering as he gently bit my bottom lip and worried it with his sharp, razor teeth.
I murmured his name, my breath meeting his, and he laid me back onto the sofa, shifting so he was on top of me. The weight of his body was warm and inviting, sending spirals of hunger through my legs, torso, deep into my cunt. I wanted him, now. We were facing a harsh journey, and if we didn’t return, I wanted the memory of one last passionate night with my love.
“Do we have time?” Grieve’s whisper was so soft I could barely hear it.
“I don’t care. They can wait. I want you now.” I struggled to pull down my jeans. The corset be damned—it could stay on, but as Grieve lifted up, I unzipped my pants and pushed them down past my knees, then slid one leg out to drape over the edge of the sofa. My ass rubbed gently against the afghan covering the leather and itched ever so slightly against my skin, both irritating me and yet, arousing me further. My nipples pressed against the lace of my strapless bra, chafing, and I wanted to tear both bra and corset off, to free my breasts for Grieve to bite, to suck, to grab hold and revel in.
He slid his hand down between my legs, fingering me, sliding one finger along my clit as it engorged, pressuring me to catch my breath. He began to rub, slowly at first, then fast, twirling his fingers lightly so that I didn’t have time to breathe between the spasms that began to drive me harder and higher. As I wrapped my arms around his back, his jacket and tunic vanished and my hands were sliding along his smooth skin, feeling the muscles ripple beneath the taut flesh. I trailed my touch down to his butt—his pants vanished—and grabbed hold of his ass, cupping his cheeks firmly in my hands as he pressed against me.
The smell of his body—of spruce and cold northern woods, of cinnamon and bonfires from the darkest night—sent me reeling. He intoxicated me, made me want to lose myself in his embrace, to let him do whatever he wanted with me. I was his to play, to stroke, to manipulate, and the knowledge that he wanted me made me hotter than hell. Desire was an aphrodisiac, and being the object of desire, a heady drug.
“Hold still,” he ordered, and I froze, obeying. Three fingers slid inside me, driving with a deep pulse, widening me up, making me hungry. I wanted his cock, plunging into me to fill me thick and full with his hot, salty cum. As he thrust his fingers in and out of my pussy, I could feel the liquid sliding around his hand, along my labia, down the sides of my cunt.
I gasped as he suddenly pulled away, but before I could look up, his head was between my thighs, his tongue playing across me, licking, sucking, biting ever so slightly. The sting from his teeth sent me higher and I bucked, my legs pushing upward, but Grieve grabbed the sides of my hips and held me firm as he kept going.
The pressure grew. I tried to moderate my breathing but then he rose over me, and the look on his face was dark and fierce, his eyes a swirl of stars against their inky background. His cock stood firm, thick and rigid, a few drops of pre-cum glistening on the tip of it. I struggled to sit up, and he lifted me, his hands sliding under my arms.
I quickly slid around, on my hands and knees, so I was facing his shaft, and as he braced against the back of the sofa, I took his rod in one hand and guided the pulsing flesh into my mouth, pressing my lips together so that he had to push hard to force himself through them. I tightened, creating a delicious suction around the head of his penis, and began to trace my tongue around the salty flesh, reveling in the feel as he expanded my mouth.
Grieve moaned, his head dropping back, his platinum hair draping down his back. I closed my eyes and began to take him deeper as he thrust gently with his hips. I relaxed my throat as I swallowed him down, my head bobbing as I sucked, drawing back and then forward again as I slid along the length of his cock, stopping to tickle the ridge with my tongue before wrapping it around him.
His breathing increased as I sped up, and he fisted my hair, letting out a strangled cry as I matched the pulse of his heartbeat, milking him with my lips, not letting him rest.
His cock began to twitch, and I could feel he was on the edge, so I sucked harder, and then, with one deep thrust, he came, filling my mouth with his salty seed. I swallowed, caught in the passion, drawing every drop out onto my tongue and licking him clean. A moment later, he lifted me up and tipped me back, still ready to go. I opened my thighs. Nothing else existed—nothing but Grieve and me, and this moment.