Lonen's Reign Read online

  “Until the end of time,” she replied.

  He kissed her, savoring the way she arched into him, her little nipples hard against his chest, and he slipped a hand between them, her hot sex slick and ready, to his immense relief. Making another promise, this one to himself, that he could play with her later, too, he moved his hand under her slim hips, adjusting the angle and pressing his cock slowly into her.

  Pulling back, he watched her face, the heavy-lidded look of concentration in her eyes as she felt his flesh enter hers. She was no virgin, not after the many games they’d played—and various implements he’d used on her—but she also had never had a man inside her. It had to be different, especially as he’d been too desperate to have her to bring her to climax a few times before this moment.

  She moaned, long and low—and he stilled, worried that had been a mistake and he was hurting her. His arms shook with the effort at restraint, but he made himself wait until her eyes opened more fully, looking at him in wonder. “Don’t stop,” she breathed. “You feel so good.”

  With a gusty exhale, he let himself go, sliding into her tight sheath to the hilt until she surrounded him. Her breath hitched and she ground herself against him where their bodies joined, her skin growing slick against his. He dropped his forehead to hers, taking a shuddering breath, willing himself not to come immediately—incredibly difficult with her internal muscles gripping him like a hand.

  “Lonen.” She said his name like a plea, like a prayer. “Oh, my love. Please.”

  Unleashed, he moved, sliding out and in again. She bowed against him with a cry, her body a taut arch, thrumming like a bowstring, nails scoring down his back. He pulled back as much as he could bear—and home again, no longer able to be gentle, holding her hips in place as he plundered her sweet body, drinking in her cries of wild pleasure, her magic sparking all along his skin, enveloping him as he fell into her.

  Oblivion, black and sprinkled with bright stars, claimed him. With something between a groan and a shout, he spent himself inside of her.

  Dragging himself out of the depths, he managed to roll onto his side, loving her sound of protest as he withdrew from her. She followed along, rolling onto one hip and snuggling against him, pressing herself against his skin at every point of contact possible.

  “I dreamed of this,” she murmured, lips brushing his chest as she said it, a spoken kiss of movement. “Being this close to another person, touching like this—and my dreams never came close to this… feeling. I never knew it could be so mesmerizing, delightful, and somehow nurturing.”

  He knew what she meant. It felt as if she entered his very pores, assuaging a thirst he hadn’t realized plagued him until it was slaked. “Any person at all?” he teased.

  She laughed softly, a huff of air against his skin that had his groin tightening again, but in a lazy, sated ripple. He could have her as often as he liked, hold her just like this, for always. The knowledge settled something in him, made the trials ahead seem of little consequence, if he could always return to this.

  He felt her shift, tipping her head back to look at him, so he opened his eyes. She looked sleepy, equally sated, almost feline in her smug contentment. “For a long time, I thought it would be my ideal mate, you know—the mysterious priest who would be the perfect match, his grien to my sgath—and I imagined this glorious harmony, where we’d feel like one person, where I’d no longer know where I left off and he began.”

  Lonen ignored the prickle of inadequacy. He’d long ago accepted that he could never be the perfect, harmonious match Oria had expected as part of her sorcerous birthright.

  “And now,” she continued, threading her fingers through his chest hair, trailing her nails lightly over his skin, “I recognize how meaningless that was. How utterly foolish of me to want that.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked carefully, the surge of hope proving how little he’d actually ignored that jealous prickle.

  She gave him a very serious look. “The keenest joy is finding connection in someone unlike me. When I was in the cavern with the derkesthai king, he told me I had to find the balance between extremes, that the purest magic resides in balance of both. In Bára, they always said it was a balance of sgath and grien, but I think they lost the truth of it somewhere along the way. I think it’s this.” She tugged his chest hair with a mischievous smile. “You and me, opposites, with a seed of each in the other.”

  He caressed her cheek, brushing the shining hair back from her high forehead. “We make a good team. I never expected to marry a woman like you.”

  “No.” Her smile widened wickedly. “You were going to marry Natly!” She dug her nails painfully into his chest, making him yelp and clap a hand over hers.

  “Never,” he protested, rolling her onto her back and pinning her. “She was like your fantasy perfect husband—a distraction to pass the time until I found the real thing.”

  “Truly?” She breathed the question, searching his face, and it occurred to him that he might not be the only one vulnerable to that prick of uncertainty.

  “Look into my heart and mind and you’ll know,” he assured her, brushing a kiss against that tempting mouth, savoring the taste of her.

  She opened to him, as if she, too, wanted to drink him in. His cock grew against her soft thigh and she chuckled. “Again—already?”

  “And again and again and again,” he replied as he, unable to resist that lure of being surrounded by her, slid into her body, her sigh of pleasure like a song.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, trailing gentle caresses over him. “And again,” she whispered. “And always.”

  ~ 6 ~

  When the last deep ripples of pleasure faded, Lonen rolled onto his side again, murmuring an apology for crushing her. Oria hadn’t minded though. She’d loved feeling him lose himself in her, his mind going thoughtless but for the sensations of her, his love and delight in her bathing every pore like soaking in a perfumed and steaming bath. She whimpered a little as he slid out of her, leaving her empty again.

  “Are you sore?” he asked, levering up on an elbow, a concerned frown twisting his scarred eyebrow, the flickering candlelight softening his features.

  “No,” she answered honestly, throwing her arms over her head and stretching in luxurious satiety. “I just miss having you inside of me.”

  He smiled, a hint of surprise coming from him and he stroked a big hand over her body, lingering to cup her breast, tracing the curve of her waist to her hip and down her thigh, his gaze following the movement. Feeling like a cat being petted, she wished she could purr. “I like being inside you,” he said, gaze returning to hers, eyes full of silvery heat. “But I promised you other pleasures, too.”

  “We’ve done those,” she replied. “I like those things, but this is new.”

  He laughed, levering himself up and going for a basin of water set over a warming candle on a nearby table. Sweet herbs and dried flower petals floated in the water and when he handed her a cloth soaked in it, the steamy fragrance rose up. She cleaned herself, moving leisurely to draw his eye. He stood by the bed, cleaning himself also, his heavy cock now lax. Wicked desire shimmered from him, his thoughts shuttered, and she wondered what he might be planning.

  “Believe me, what I have in mind is new also.” He held out a hand for her cloth and she gave it to him with a little pout—one difficult to maintain at the sight of his gorgeous behind flexing as he returned the bowl and floating cloths to the warmer. She’d seen him naked plenty of times, but it seemed she’d never get enough.

  He joined her on the bed again, tossing back the furs to expose her fully. Pleased with his admiration, she slid her legs together, a sinuous dance for him alone.

  “You are so beautiful, Oria,” he said throatily, crawling over to straddle her on his hands and knees, “and I plan to taste every bit of your luscious body.”

  Languidly she slid her arms around his neck, ready to draw him into a deep kiss. And he obliged her, but o
nly with a brush of lips. Instead of sinking onto her, he moved to brush soft kisses along her jaw, to the sweet spot under her ear that made her shiver, then down her throat. She moaned, low and long, a sort of human purr, and he made an answering hum of pleasure.

  Her arms fell back heavy as he continued to explore, lingering over the thin-skinned pulse points and slight hollows that sent her senses thrumming. Sometimes he nipped lightly, other times bestowed soft rains of fluttering kisses, followed by hot licks, then drawing her skin into his mouth as if he would devour her in truth.

  She dissolved into a flurry of soft cries and pleas. Plucking at his shoulders, she tried to urge him between her spread thighs, but he wouldn’t be moved, instead taking her hand in his to deeply kiss her palm, then each fingertip, drawing her fingers one by one into his mouth, an indescribable sensual delight. He kissed his way down her arm, lingering at the hollow of her elbow, then tracing the tender underside of her arm to the near-ticklish skin at the side of her breast. Her nipples tightened in anticipation of his clever mouth on those sensitive points, but he circled around the one without touching, lavishing her breast with sensation, teasing and stirring her to a frenzy.

  With a cry of frustration, she seized his head trying to move him to her throbbing nipple—but he only laughed, husky and darkly amused, and took her other hand into his mouth. With infuriating patience, he repeated the performance on the other hand, giving each finger meticulous attention before making his way down her arm, exquisitely slow, maddeningly thorough.

  By the time he reached her other breast, still not touching her nipples, Oria had enough. Her magic swirled in the air, raking light claws down his back as she clung to his shoulders. “Lonen,” she panted, half in plea, half in warning.

  He raised his head to stare her down, his face set in ridged lines of intense arousal, eyes flinty with determination. “No tricks, sorceress, or I’ll stop.”

  “Don’t you dare,” she breathed, lifting her breasts to him, torn between begging and berating him.

  He surveyed her with a molten stare, taking advantage of her arched back to slide his hands beneath and hold her there, draped over them. “In time, sweet. But only if you’re good. No magic.”

  With supreme effort, she withdrew the mental claws, drawing the magic back into herself—which only made her feel more like exploding. “Be quick about it,” she said through gritted teeth, “or I’m liable to tear the palace apart before I realize it.”

  He tsked, gently chiding. “You wanted to practice control.”

  She growled in frustration, choked off when he pressed a deep kiss to the hollow at the center of her collarbones, then licked her, in one long, hot and slick caress down between her breasts all the way to the top of her pubis. He lingered there, dipping his tongue into her belly button, holding her in a firm grip as she writhed and mewed.

  A wail escaped her when he flipped her onto her belly. “Every bit of you, Oria,” he reminded her in that sensual, graveled voice, gathering her hair and draping it to the side to expose the back of her neck. “You might as well resign yourself.”

  “You’re so cruel,” she whimpered, undulating with need as he pressed his mouth to the nape of her neck.

  He sank his teeth into the thicker muscle where her shoulder met her throat, and she sobbed at the intensity of it. “Yes,” he murmured, licking that spot, gentling her, then nipping at the skin along her spine on his way back up to her nape. “And you’re all mine to do with as I will.”

  She moaned in resignation, letting him play his games, taunting and teasing her as he tasted every bit of her. As he made his way down her back, she lost all sense of time, of the edges of herself. Becoming only her skin and the unending sensations of his hot mouth and raking hands. She didn’t protest as he continued past her bottom down her legs, to her toes. The backs of her knees, the hollows of her ankles, the tender arches of her feet, all quickened to his caresses, each dissolving her a little more.

  She’d gone blind and deaf, insensate to everything but the dark magic he worked on her body. So when he kissed his way up her inner thighs, she only groaned, unable to bear any more, unable to resist.

  When he spread her wide and put his mouth on her sex, she climaxed in a wrenching convulsion that had her tearing at the bed cover. She screamed, spine arching and head thrown back, and Lonen held her plunging hips in his hands, tongue an incredible sensation on her most delicate tissues.

  Though he wasn’t done with her, licking her through the orgasm, prolonging it, driving her still higher. When she neared peak again, he slid into her, and put his mouth on her nipple, sucking hard as he pinched the other.

  Beyond the ability to make sound, she fully and completely shattered, becoming shards of starlight, swallowed in the blackness of night.

  Oria tried to keep to a smooth pace as she made her way down to the dungeons. With every movement, however, each set of stairs she descended, aches and twinges reminded her of Lonen’s vigorous lovemaking. He’d wrung her dry, seemingly inexhaustible himself.

  The ribald remarks she’d heard the Destrye calling to each other about women walking funny in the morning kept echoing in her head. Apparently, they were based at least somewhat on reality. Though she’d experienced penetration before, nothing had prepared her for her husband’s extremely well-endowed efforts. To make matters worse, when she’d commented on it, he’d only looked terribly pleased with himself and not sympathetic at all. Men.

  “But you’re happy?” Chuffta asked.

  “Oh yes,” she reassured him. “Just sore and tired—and not willing to give Lonen any reason to expand his already big head.”

  They hadn’t slept much at all—just naps here and there—because every time she stirred, it seemed to awaken his insatiable hunger for her. Not that she minded. She’d known from their first wedding night that Lonen was a creative, sensitive, and generous lover—totally at odds with his barbarian mien—but she hadn’t quite expected the intensity of being skin to skin with him. Or what access to her skin allowed him to do to her. He’d promised to consume her and she indeed felt entirely as if she’d been chewed up and left boneless.

  “Perhaps you should sleep more,” Chuffta offered solicitously. “Or see a healer.”

  “I don’t need a healer.” She mentally laughed, and also cringed, at the thought of telling even Baeltya about it. The thought of Vycayla somehow becoming involved…. No, no, no. “I’m fine, really. I got used to riding a horse after all, and this is—” She cut herself off, realizing how Lonen would laugh his ass off at that analogy.

  “Why is that so funny?”

  “It’s a human thing. Listen along as I work with Nolan, all right? Just anything you notice.” She nodded at the guard who unlocked the door for her to enter the lowest level of the dungeon. In better times, Lonen had told her as they curled together sleepily, a newly married couple could be expected to stay in their rooms for days—or even go off together somewhere—and he offered for them to take a day or two. But she hadn’t needed to read his mind to know that, as much as part of him yearned to closet himself with her, he also itched to get after the business of the realm.

  In truth, she should start learning her responsibilities as queen, but Lonen had preempted that impulse by telling her that her priority should be dealing with the sorcerous Báran taint in Nolan and his men. He hadn’t said aloud, but they both knew that the first priority for Dru and the Destrye was planning for the inevitable next attack.

  Or, rather, forestalling that possibility by taking the war to Bára.

  “Do you think we will—go back to Bára and attack them?”

  “Strange to think about, hmm?” Strange, indeed, to consider how she’d once stood at the balustrade of her high tower and looked out over the desert, straining for news of the battle she couldn’t see. Now she’d be the enemy. But not to destroy Bára. No: to save it.

  Nolan’s ranting echoed down the tunnel of the corridor, the volume of it seeming to make
the torches flicker, though Oria knew that shouldn’t be possible. Adjusting her barriers, she steadied herself as she came around the last corner. As usual, he paced his cell, waving hands in the air as he raged.

  Also as usual when Oria wasn’t there, Natly perched on the stool. She seemed to be trying to talk to Nolan. She didn’t hear Oria’s approach immediately and started when Oria called out a hello, by way of warning. Glancing over her shoulder and quickly away, Natly brushed at her face. When she met Oria’s gaze, her defiant one glistened still with tears.

  “I’m surprised you’re out of bed already. Your Highness,” she added, a beat too late for true courtesy, not quite enough to be insolent.

  Oria figured she’d be none too polite to a woman she knew had just crawled wobbly-kneed out of Lonen’s bed—more likely she’d be inclined to murder—so she ignored the slight. “I have work to do,” she replied with a calming smile and gestured at Nolan. “Any changes?”

  Natly bit her lip. The Destrye woman always groomed herself beautifully, fit for the queen she longed to be, so her lips were painted in crisp lines of glossy crimson, her dark eyes artfully highlighted with cosmetics, and her black hair piled in an artful tumble of curls and jewels. Oria was glad the ladies assigned to her had insisted on braiding her hair—adding the gold circlet—dressing her in a new gown and decorating her with subtle cosmetics and discreet jewelry. She wore her wedding cloak. The silk-lined emerald satin was heavy enough to keep her warm in the pervasive chill of the palace without her needing to expend magic to warm herself, but it was a better weight for indoors than the shadowcat fur cloak. Lonen had noted that her wearing Arill’s colors would help establish Oria in her new role, too.

  Lonen had similarly girded himself for the day ahead, and there had been something companionable and intimate in their shared ritual of donning their costumes as rulers.

  And in the knowing that she’d return to him at the end of the day and remove it all again. Had she thought herself sexually exhausted? Apparently not, because the thought of what might occur once night fell had her flushing in anticipation.