Page 94 of Slaying the Shifter Prince
“He asked if you’d ever be freed.” With a roll of his hips, he ran his cock along my slick folds. They’d been without touch for too many minutes, and I couldn’t help moaning at the pressure. “He thought”—his grip on my hips tightened, pulling me up to meet his thrust—“if he gave back my money, he could have you back.”
The thought seized my throat, seized my pleasure, filling me with dread.
He pulled away, eyebrows clenched together, the lines of his neck corded. “He’ll never have you back, Zita. You’re mine.” He speared me, hard, fast, deep, as much with that final word,mine,as with his cock.
I cried out, one shout merging into the next as he slammed into me again, again, again. It was like a raging thunder storm with crack after crack of lightning licking through me, lighting me up, threatening to blot out the rest of reality.
His tail snaked around my ankle, as though he needed to hold me with everything he had toshowI was his.
He didn’t need to hold me with anything. I feared he’d already somehow made it true.
I sank into that thought, into his rolling rhythm, the fullness, and the press of his thumb into my arse.
Iwashis. And I let him possess me.
I let him break me.
My cries reverberated into the bed as the earlier crescendo he’d denied me rose and joined this new one in sweet-sharp obliteration.
40
He fucked me on the bed. Into the bed. Over it. Up against the headboard. Over the dressing table. Splayed on the coffee table. With my back to the bedpost and the wall. And hanging upside down, my ankles over his shoulders, held up only by his hands around my hips.
I lost track of how many times I climaxed and the times he flooded into me. Apparently, fae men weren’t subject to the same limitations as human ones in that respect.
As I came, hanging from his grip, all the blood flooded to my head in a dizzying orgasm unlike anything else I’d ever experienced. At the same time, he gushed into me once more with a hoarse cry.
I wasn’t sure which way was up or down. What was me or what was him. Where I was. Who I was. What was right or wrong or why that even mattered.
I justwas. Sated. Full. Sticky and slick. Every muscle melted. Every hard edge knocked off.
He cleaned me, the soft cool touch of a damp cloth at once soothing and almost too much to bear. Then he made me go to the toilet and carried me to bed.
With that peace, though, my brain buzzed, like the clearing out of everything gave it clarity.
Eric had written to Sepher asking “to have me back.” Like I was his to begin with.
I didn’t want to dwell on what I’d realised as Sepher had slid into me—who Ididbelong to.
But even more than that, I didn’t want to go back.
I had never belonged to Eric, yet he didn’t see that.
From there unfurled more truths, like a bird in the nest slowly spreading its wings for the first time, testing just how far they reached.
Eric had never been in love with me, just theideaof me. He wanted the version of me I sold on the stage—sweet and flirtatious, innocent but nottooinnocent, curious enough to follow through on that flirtation.
A good girl with a naughty side.
But I wasn’t sure Iwasa good girl.
I was sharp and spiked, not sweet and gentle. A woman with muscles and teeth, not a girl with soft flesh and smiles.
Zinnia had been those things.
But not me.
I shifted in Sepher’s arms, frowning.
