Page 409 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“Already fucking soaked,” he noted smugly. “You like this—being tied up like this for me.”

My breathing was jagged as I locked eyes with him, his gaze softening even with his pupils blown wide.

“Who’s filthy now?” And then he was everywhere—shadows caressing my neck, my breasts, invading my center as his fingers slipped back, spreading my wetness over my clit. His mouth came down on mine as his other hand scraped over my ribs, my skin, finding a nipple and twisting ruthlessly.

“Tell me you belong to me, Freya—the idea of that Atreus fucker with his hands on you was enough to kill me,” he breathed. “Tell me he didn’t get to touch you like this, ma moitié.”

I wanted to tell him he had no right asking—that he’d hung me out to dry and I could be with whoever I fucking wanted to be with. But there was fear in those beautiful eyes, an ache he’d never put words to tightening their corners.

I shook my head, pressing, Never, down the mental line like my life—or orgasm—depended on it. Because he was building me up so fast, so high, I was certain I’d shatter when he let me go. Just you.

“Thank fuck,” he growled, swooping in to claim my lips again. Rough. Desperate.

Legs shaking, knees quaking, I leaned into his strength. Allowed his shadows to keep me upright as my head fell back, body trembling under the pleasure he so ruthlessly delivered.

Higher and higher, he built up that aching heat in my core, pleasure forcing my eyes closed as they rolled into the back of my head. Right as my muscles tightened around his finger, he withdrew. A livid moan escaped me as he traced his slick fingers over my skin, my taut nipples, until he reached my jaw. The shadows relinquished their hold, making space for him to slip his fingers into my mouth in a silent order.

The tart taste of my own arousal filled my senses, and I opened my eyes just in time to see his flash with a ravenous thrill. “No more secrets, Freya,” he demanded. “We do this, we do it together. For fucking real this time. The only way out is six feet down.”

I nodded, slipping my tongue between his slick fingers, pleased when his jaw tightened with a groan. Popping off his digits, I panted, “No more secrets.”

“Good, because I can’t fucking handle that shit.” With that declaration hanging between us, he shoved my pants off, and they pooled around my ankles. In the next motion, he cupped my pussy, spreading me with his fingers, shadows solidifying enough to thrust inside me.

Shock sent my eyes wide as his fingers found my clit, his magic filling me as a smug little smile curled his lips.

“Hypocrite,” I panted, a challenge lacing the word.

“Careful, beautiful. I can do this all day, but I don’t know that you can.”

“You fucked those girls for years, but you’re worried about me?”

His smile turned positively sinful, goosebumps rippling down my skin. “The ones you shipped off to god-knows-where your second week on the throne?” He’d never bothered to bring it up, and I’d never been certain if that should thrill me or terrify me.

Satisfaction rippled through me as I purred, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled darkly, increasing the pressure on my clit and sending me arching. “Wicked little creature.”

“I don’t share,” I rasped, the last word breathless as he pressed harder against my clit. The pleasure sent my legs shaking again, knees buckling, his shadows keeping me suspended against the shelves.

“Good. Me either⁠—”

“Liar,” I breathed, head thunking against the shelf in a way that said it would hurt later.

His hands were rough as they slipped into my short hair, tight enough it stung. I fucking loved it, loved that he didn’t treat me like I was fragile. Loved that he was capable of it but met me where I was. Hungry and desperate and demanding. Using that hold, he pulled me back to face him. “They didn’t matter,” he said, overenunciating the words. A flicker of something like fear played in his eyes as they scanned my face, searching, prodding for understanding. “You… do.”

That did it. Whether he’d meant to or not, between his shadows being literally fucking everywhere and the words that snapped from his tongue like a whip, Cyrus sent me over the edge, pleasure yanking a scream from my throat as stars burst behind my eyes and my body convulsed around him.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned as wetness spilled down his hand, my thighs.

Surprise sent both my mouth and eyes wide as he coaxed wave after wave of pleasure from my needy body. Only when my forehead collapsed onto his, our chests heaving in unison, did he slow his movements, chuckling when I shook as he withdrew. In the next, he scooped me into his arms, shadows releasing my wrists in favor of petting me—stroking my hair, my cheeks, my arms. A whoosh of air preceded a crashing cascade—like he’d tossed aside every book we’d compiled on the long table behind us.

My theory was confirmed when he laid me down atop it.

“Did you just⁠—”

“Shut up,” he murmured, smirking as he shifted twice, freeing his ankles from his sweatpants.

“Why, I never. Cyrus Stuart, desecrating books—” His mouth crushed into mine, shutting me up as my fingers flew to trace those long lines of muscle as he ranged above me.