Page 212 of The Summer King

And then there was Queen Morgana herself.

While trapped in the Otherworld, she wasn’t exactly the most pressing concern, but she was still alive, and I knew she was still attempting to find a way to open the gateway between the Otherworld and this one. Eventually, she would find a way, and that was when the real war would begin, one that would rapidly spread throughout the human world, involving them whether they liked it or not.

But that war wouldn’t start today.

Focusing on the here and now, I exhaled slowly, heavily. Content despite what we may one day face, I refused to borrow from tomorrow’s problems. No one could live like that.

Not even a King.

So, I watched what was most important to me. Right here, a handful of feet away, was my entire world.

Well, minus the brownie.

Although, his babysitting skills were incomparable.

But Scorcha would one day grow older, no longer just our little princess but the Princess of the Summer Court, and she would become as fierce and brave as her mother. She would be a fighter. The hand that now clutched her mother’s would one day be just as confident holding an iron dagger, clutched in a gloved fist. That, I would make sure of.

And Brighton was…she was and always would be mymortuus—the most beautiful, courageous, strong, clever and kind woman I’d ever known. How much she meant to me could never have been seen as a weakness, and it never would be again. I wouldn’t allow it. If anyone ever tried to use her or our daughter to control or manipulate me, it would be the very last thing they ever did. And it wasn’t just me who would ensure that. I pitied the imbecile who thought Brighton an easy target. She’d always had claws, but with the birth of Scorcha, those claws had sharpened into deadly points. A smile tugged at my lips as Scorcha almost caught Tink once more. Brighton could take care of herself and then some, but if she needed backup, she had me.

She always had me.

Hours later, once Scorcha had fallen asleep and we were finally alone, I stripped Brighton bare and showed her just how beautiful I thought those faded scars were. I worshiped them with my lips and then my tongue, and always with my soul. I kissed her on the mouth and then lower, driving her to the peak of release over and over until my name was a prayer on her lips. Then, and only then, did I roll her onto her side and slide into her hot, tight depths.

“Fuck,” I groaned, dropping my cheek to hers. I held myself still as long as I could, until the urge to move became almost painful. “I need you.”

She knew exactly what that meant. “You have me.”

I did.

Shuddering, I gripped her by the hip and lifted her onto her knees. For a moment, I was a little lost in the graceful slope of her back and the rounded, plump ass. She was beautiful. Always. I curled my arms around her shoulders, holding her in place as I took what she gave me.

Love.

Acceptance.

Understanding.

Strength.

There was no more slow buildup. No more time to play. I moved against her hard, slamming into her, driven by her soft moans filling the room and how she didn’t just take each thrust but met them, riding me just as fiercely as I took her. She felt too damn good. My blood pounded, and I lost all semblance of control the moment I felt her clench and spasm around my dick. It was like losing my mind as I thrust into her, over and over until release found me. It was like lightning streaking down my spine, obliterating my senses. Hell if I knew how we’d ended up on our sides, her in front of me, my front to her back.

“I love you,” she said, letting her head fall against my chest.

I smiled against her flushed skin and then kissed her shoulder. “You are my sun. My strength. My redemption. My heart. My everything. My Queen. I will always love you.”