The Warlord (Rise of the Warlords 1)

The moment she spied it, she gave another spontaneous roll of her hips. Mine.

“This is what’s going to happen,” he told her as calmly as if they were having tea. He drew the small silver key from his neck, all that controlled grace staggering to her. “I will do whatever I want to you, without taking your virginity. I’ll come as many times as I wish, and you won’t stop coming until you tell me where you traveled.”

“Promise?” She knew he thought the key around her neck led to the other realm. In his mind, he had only to take the key and use it to get his answer. But he didn’t. He wanted to do this.

What would he do when he discovered the second key? The hourglass tattoo.

“Tsk, tsk. You’re only making this worse for yourself, harpy.” With a deft flick of his wrist, he separated metal from metal. Another flick, and the belt hit the floor.

“Are you sure?” Their favorite question to each other. Cool air kissed her core. “So far you’ve been all talk.”

“Apparently you’ve liked what I’ve had to say.” His tone thickened. He never took his greedy gaze from her as he wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. “You’re already soaked.”

Leaning forward, he fixed that hand near her temple and wrapped an arm under her knee, forcing her legs to part further. He seemed to simmer with purpose and anticipation. Then he rotated his hips, rubbing his erection against her core, and thought fled. They were male to female, nothing between them.

A choking sound lodged in her throat. Pressure felt incredible. He felt incredible. His rigid length seared her and she gasped.

“Try to last, harpy. I plan to drench myself in your honey before I accept your surrender.”

His unfounded confidence deserved a stinging retort. Yes, yes. Definitely unfounded. Except, he stirred his hips in a clockwise motion that very nearly disseminated her control.

Doubts surfaced, one after the other. Emerging the winner of this round might be a scooch more difficult than she’d assumed, but win she would. Whatever proved necessary.

17

Roc drank in the winter queen beneath him. A pale incarnation of every dream he’d never known he had, naked but for her jewelry, bathed in firelight and scented with frostberries and stardust. A female with a bounty of curves, his for the taking. A seductress who wielded more power over him than any other bride ever had. An assassin who refused to bend because she didn’t yet understand the depths of his determination.

Before the night ended, she would.

He’d left a new print of stardust on her vulnerable throat, the sight more satisfying than the hardest-won victory. For the next twenty-nine days, Taliyah belonged to him.

He returned to his knees, contact with her minimal. A mewl of protest split the soft, red lips he intended to conquer, the sound like kerosene to his internal flame. He burned for this woman. Even now, a yearning to make her bow to his will warred with a need to give her whatever she desired. But he hadn’t lied. Stopping would occur only after she’d given him what he wanted. Answers...her pleas...

That icy gaze tracked his every move as he fisted his shaft and stroked up, down. Up, down. “Do you see something you like, harpy?” Would she admit it?

Her inhalations shallowed. “I’d tell you if I did or didn’t, but so far I’m not feeling real chatty.” Brave talk delivered with a trembling voice.

Confidence in his success soared. She was flesh and blood and desire. A woman with desires could be... How had she phrased it? Handled.

“That’s all right,” he said. “I’ve thought of a better use for your mouth.” He slanted his mouth over hers and dipped his tongue, seeking.

She welcomed him inside, their tongues thrusting together. Two matches, one strike. Unstoppable wildfire spread.

He kissed and kissed and kissed her, withholding none of his raging passion. She kissed him back with equal fervor. The sounds they made created a beautiful, anguished melody. Rasping breaths, groans and moans, grunts and cries. He felt like a predator who’d finally stumbled upon a meal after a too-long drought. Her taste maddened him. Ripened frostberries, more intoxicating than the finest wine.

Her nipples abraded his chest, new flames sparking. When he could take no more, he wrenched from her mouth and returned to his knees.

“Now to prepare the banquet table.” He gathered pillows, one after the other, then propped the feathery mounds beneath her lower back, lifting her sex.

Admiring his handiwork, he ran his thumb up her slit. Pink. Wet. Glistening. Temptation made flesh. She swelled with need for him, and his mouth watered. He used the pad of his thumb to torment her, massaging her little bundle of nerves.

A whispery moan parted her lips, panting breaths fast on its heels.

“Is there anything you want to tell me before I begin, Taya?” He draped his big body over the mattress, rested his chin on her pubic bone and met her glazed gaze.