The King(3)
“Don’t stop,” she reiterated, trying to draw him back down to her vein. “Ever…”
But Wrath held off, stroking a piece of hair away from her face. “Don’t think like that.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
There was no reason to define what “like that” meant: Treasonous plots. Wrath at that ornate desk, strangled by his position. The future unknown and not in a good way.
“I’m goin’ nowhere, leelan. You don’t worry about a goddamn thing. Understand me?”
Beth wanted to believe him. Needed to. But she feared it was a promise far harder to keep than speak.
“Beth?”
“Make love to me.” It was the only truth she could put out there that wouldn’t burst the bubble. “Please.”
He kissed her once. Twice. And then started to move again. “Always, leelan. Always.”
Best. Night. Ever.
As Wrath pushed himself off of his shellan an hour later, he couldn’t breathe, he was bleeding at the throat, and his Man of Steel cock had finally gone wet-noodle.
Although knowing the damn thing’s stamina? He had five, maybe ten minutes before Mr. Happy got to grinnin’ again.
The big bed in the center of the loft’s vast space had been upgraded since his Beth had mated him, and as he stretched out on his back, he had to admit that having sex on the thing was so much better than doing it on the floor. That said, as he recovered, its sheets were unnecessary as he could have fried an egg on his chest from the exertion. Blankets were an absolute hell-no. Pillows had been lost quickly because there was no headboard, but the advantage was leverage from any compass point.
Sometimes he liked to put a foot down and really dig in.
Beth let out a sigh that was longer and more satisfying than a Shakespearian sonnet—and talk about a hell-yeah? Wrath’s chest inflated like a hot-air balloon.
“I do you okay?” he drawled.
“God. Yes.”
More with the smiling. It was The Mask all over again, nothing but Jim Carrey, Pepsodent white over here. And she was right: The sex had been beyond fantastic. He’d fucked her across the floor until they were in range of the mattress. Then, like the gentlemale he was, he’d put her on the bed … and had her another three times. Four?
He could do this all night—
Sure as an eclipse could wipe out the moon, his cosmic relaxation disappeared and took all warmth with it.
There was no all night for him anymore. Not when it came to kickin’ it with his female.
“Wrath?”
“I’m right here, leelan,” he murmured.
As she rolled onto her side, he could feel her staring at him, and even though his vision had finally given up the ghost and conked out on him entirely, he could picture her long, thick black hair and her blue eyes and her beautiful face.
“You’re not.”
“I’m fine.”
Shit, what time was it? Had it been longer than the hour it had felt like? Probably. When it came to the grind with Beth, he could lose motherfucking days.
“It’s after one,” she said softly.
“Fuck me.”
“Would it help to talk? Wrath … can you tell me where you’re at?”
Ah, hell, she was right. He had been checking out a lot lately, retreating to a place in his mind where the chaos couldn’t get to him—not a bad thing, but it was a solo trip.
“Just not ready to go back to work.”
“I don’t blame you.” She found his mouth and brushed her lips against his. “Can we stay a little longer?”
“Yeah.” But not long enough …
A subtle alarm sounded on his wrist.
“Goddamn it.” Putting his forearm across his face, he shook his head. “Time flies, huh.”
And responsibilities waited for him. He had petitions to review. Proclamations to draft. And e-mails in his inbox, those fucking e-mails that the glymera pulled out of their asses on a nightly basis … although those had been drying up lately—probably a sign that that bunch of fruit loops were talking among themselves. Not good news.
Wrath cursed again. “I don’t know how my father did this. Night after night. Year after year.”
Only to be killed brutally too young.
At least when the elder Wrath had been on his throne, things had been stable: His citizenry had loved him and he had loved them. No treasonous plots cooking in back rooms. The enemy had been from without, not within.
“I’m so sorry,” Beth said. “Are you sure there aren’t some things you can put off?”
Wrath sat up, brushing his long hair back. As he stared off ahead, seeing nothing, he wanted to be out fighting.
Not an option. In fact, the only thing on his dance card was going back to Caldie and rechaining himself to that desk. His fate had been sealed many, many years ago, when his mother had gone into her needing, and his father had done what a hellren should … and against all odds, the heir had been conceived, and birthed, and then nurtured long enough so he could see both of them killed by lessers right in front of his still-functional, pretrans eyes.