Heartless

by Gena Showalter

  “Love that.” More diabolical than I realized. No wonder he’d worn only one set of claws. He’d planned this. How...delicious. “Do it. Do it, do it.” As she command-pleaded, she undulated as much as possible, given her position.

  He tightened his clasp on her nape and kissed her, his lips firm as his tongue swiped at hers. When he pulled back, he trailed his unencumbered hand up her inner thigh and under her skirt, watching her.

  The light graze of his finger against her core set off a chain reaction. A cascade of shivers. Aches. Oh, the aches! Her nipples hardened. Her clit throbbed. Lost in pleasure, she writhed against his hand, seeking more, more, more.

  He teased the edges of her sex with lazy up-and-down strokes, drawing closer to the heart of her need but never quite making contact... Those fingers. As hot as a branding iron, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She moaned and gasped and moaned again.

  “Your song commands my body.” His words were hoarse, his eyes glassed with desire. The face she’d once touted as stunning proved savage in the firelight. Tension pulled his skin taut. “I hope you’re ready for me, sweetling.”

  The words seemed to have more than one meaning. “Yes, I’m read—”

  He plunged deep. Again and again. He worked and stretched her. The closer she came to climax, the more strangled her cries sounded.

  “So tight.” He slowed his pace, stroking her inner walls with every glide. Easing his fingers almost all the way out...watching her intently, gauging her every reaction. “Look at you, chasing my touch. You adore what I make you feel.”

  “I do,” she rasped when he thrust his fingers back in. Out. In. Leaving her empty. Filling her back up. Innnn, outttttt. Incoherent mumblings tripped off her tongue. The pleasure. His obsession with her. That incredible intensity. It was all too much. But stop? She would rather die. “What are you doing to me, Kaysar?”

  Inout. Inout. Inoutinoutinout. “Are you desperate for me to stroke your soaked little clit?”

  Burning hotter... Sizzling. “Do it. You want to. You said you’d do whatever you wanted...”

  “And I always keep my promises.” At last he pressed the pad of his thumb against her clitoris. Her back arched, and she screamed. Sparks. The approach of bliss. Almost shattering. Almost, almost.

  “More,” she commanded. So, so, close.

  He stirred the digit against her, rubbing an ultra-sensitive spot. Closer...

  “I once told you I’d give you everything.” He panted as he leaned down and brushed the tip of his nose against hers, always rubbing. “Do you remember?”

  “You want to chat?” Can’t think.

  “I do, and we will.” He removed his fingers, leaving her empty and aching. “I asked you a question, Chantel. Do you remember?”

  “I remember, I remember. Fingers back in!”

  He flittered her to her bed and the entirety of his weight came down upon her. Mmm. This was what she’d missed before. His weight and his heat.

  She rolled her hips, grinding on him at her leisure. Hardness on top, a soft mattress beneath. The contrast was breathtaking. “Or we give your fingers a break. This is good, too.”

  Kaysar’s harsh groan filled the room. He elevated her arms above her head, urging her to grip the headboard. As soon as she obeyed, he drew back to study her new pose in their new surroundings.

  “Touch me,” she said, licking her lips.

  Satisfaction oozed from him. “Oh, I will be touching you. Extensively. Your climaxes are a priority for me.”

  Just not the top one.

  The rogue thought dampened a tendril of her ardor. Then he reached over his shoulder and pulled his shirt over his head, slowly baring his chest—a sculpted chest heavily tattooed with map on top of map.

  Cookie forgot everything else, tracing her gaze over lines, landmarks, words, faces, arrows, more lines that zigged and zagged, creating endless paths that led everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

  “You should never wear a shirt. Ever,” she told him.

  “A request I shall take under advisement.”

  “The sight of your muscles makes me wetter.” She caressed his legs with her own. “Does the royal no-shirt policy get a stamp of approval now?”

  He smiled, almost sheepish. “It does.”

  She imagined sucking on every landmark and groaned. Why not use this opportunity as a cool down? “What do your tattoos mean?”

  He moved his big hand over the maps. “Never lost.” Then his bicep, and the snake eating its own tail. “Eternal war.” His gaze slid over her, his eyelids sinking low. “Though I’m more eager for eternal pleasure at the moment.”

  Had she just whimpered? Forget any kind of cool down!

  He smiled at her, a mere baring of his teeth. The irresistible rake knew his effect on her. On all women. “But I think you are equally eager.”

  “Oh, I am,” she said, rolling her hips with more vigor. “If you give me what you want, Kaysar, I’ll give you what you need.” What they both needed.

  Releasing a broken sound, he swooped down and kissed her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  KAYSAR KISSED CHANTEL with everything he had. He kissed her until she couldn’t breathe without him. Until he didn’t want to breathe without her. His first and last mistress.

  He had desired her, and he had won her. For now. Could he keep her?

  He would have to find a way.

  How many queens, princesses and peasants had he seduced throughout the centuries? Countless. They’d hailed from different kingdoms and had wanted different things, yet he’d had no trouble charming them from their husbands and lovers. He’d had no trouble remaining unaffected.

  His relationship with Chantel wasn’t a temporary thing. Everything he did, everything he said, mattered. Because she mattered. He’d made mistakes with her that he now regretted. He refused to add new marks to his tally of wrongs.

  Winning her for eternity was a requirement. The devotion Lulundria had showed Jareth, Kaysar now demanded for himself. There would be no rest until he achieved his goal.

  Lifting his head to break the kiss hurt in a thousand different ways, but he did it. He kept his focus on the prize. Kissing was only the beginning...

  She watched him with luminous eyes, her chest rising and falling as he gently unwound her hair from its knot. Long ebony waves spilled over the pillows, a waterfall of splendor and temptation.

  Kaysar sat back on his haunches to examine his feast of feminine delights. An image forever branded into his mind. The top three buttons of her bodice were open, the material gaping, hinting at cleavage he would slaughter thousands to explore. The skirt bunched at her waist, baring the pale length of legs spread by his own—revealing a glistening sex guarded by a tiny thatch of black curls.

  A new kingdom to conquer. The most exquisite of all.

  “You need me,” he told her, in case she wasn’t certain.

  “Maybe I do, but you can’t get enough of me, can you?” Clinging to the headboard, she undulated her hips. “Do you still carry my lock of hair?”

  She knew about that? “I have it stored for safekeeping.”

  A heady scent emanated from her, signaling a spike of pleasure.

  Passion in its purest form took hold. She liked his obsession with her.

  Only moments before, he’d been two knuckles deep inside her, enveloped by slick inner walls. His fingers glistened with her arousal.

  Ensnaring her gaze with his own, he licked one digit, then the other. His shaft jerked at the incredible taste. “Sweeter than poisonvine, and far more potent.” The things I’m going to do to this woman...

  Her lips parted. “You want more of me?”

  “I want everything from you.” He would give everything, too. Almost. “Show me more of this luscious body.” Leaning forward, muscles flexing, he plucked
one, two, three other buttons from her bodice. The material separated further, unveiling pretty pink nipples.

  My own personal treasure trove. He had no words, rational thought erased.

  A rosy flush spread over her breasts. “Am I everything you ever dreamed?”

  “You are more than I ever believed possible.” The admission left him without reservation. Remaining on his knees, keeping her open to his view, he stroked his throbbing erection through his leathers. “See what you do to me.”

  Her coarse whimper drew an answering groan from him.

  With her prim gown so disheveled, her eyes alive with pleasure, she appeared wanton. “I will win you, my darling.” She released the headboard to cup her breasts and pinch her nipples. “I’ll make you mine. You want me to win you, don’t you?”

  He reacted to her words as much as the thrill of her body. She’d called him my darling.

  Win him? Already done. And yet, he croaked, “Yes. Win me.”

  Intricate strands of ivy coiled designs over her arms, along her chest and around and around her legs. Those strands spread to him, binding his wrists tightly together.

  She winged her brows, as if to say, Go ahead. Try to escape me.

  As if he would ever want to. Once upon a time, he’d enjoyed a single fascination—his war with the Frostlines. With Chantel, he discovered many others. Earning more endearments. Being challenged by her mysterious mind. Watching a flush heat the flawless skin soon to burn his own. Playing with those plump breasts and nipples so like little berries. Filling a body made to glove his.

  The sight of her at this moment...

  She smiled, fully aware of her power over him. “Have I stolen your thoughts, your majesty?”

  He went cold. Lulundria had spoken the same words to Jareth.

  Forge ahead. Too late. Fear had taken hold. “You mastered your ability, even without the elderseed.” If ever she remembered Lulundria’s life, as Jareth expected, she might change her mind about staying with Kaysar.

  What would he do then? Can never lose her.

  “I did master it. Far too easily,” she answered, all languid pride and sultry heat. As the foliage receded, she undulated her hips again. “We can discuss it, or we can continue your seduction of me. Which do you prefer?”

  I will have her! He was King Kaysar the Unhinged One. Fiercer than any enemy. Mightier than any army. More dangerous and cunning than...anyone. He would win his mate, whatever memories returned.

  Determination cut through his fear, as sharp as a blade. “We will discuss it.” From now on, they had no secrets. No hidden agendas or conscious misleadings. “Later.”

  Heart pumping, breaths labored, he repositioned and leaned down to tenderly nuzzle the side of her thigh, just below her knee. As he licked toward her glistening sex, she encouraged him with irresistible pleas and demands.

  “Please, Kaysar. Do it.”

  He did it, flicking the tip of his tongue over her needy little clitoris. The lightest of grazes. Her sweet honey went straight to his head, and he nearly fell on her to feast. But he forced himself to ease off, licking around the heart of her need, always halting just short of his target.

  How needy could he make her?

  “Kaysar! It—it’s been too long since I...played.” Tremors shook her, her confidence overrun by torment. “I need to come. Please.”

  “How long?” he demanded, so hard he thought he might explode at any moment. Slow down. Steady.

  “Kaysar...”

  He licked her clit and thrust two fingers deep. The tight fit drew a ragged groan from them both.

  Though she rocked into him, he experienced a flicker of apprehension. Too readily he recalled the day he’d spied Jareth and Lulundria at the pond. The princess had teased her prince about being too big to fit inside her.

  Sweat beaded his brow. Could this tiny channel accept his invasion without a hint of pain? If he ruined this experience for either of them... If ever she thought back and remembered that pain...

  No! “How long?” he insisted, edging ever closer to worry. Thrusting his fingers. Slowly. Gently. Licking her clit.

  She cried out. Arched to force him deeper. Gave her nipples another pinch.

  A surge of primal satisfaction stole his breath. He had this effect on her. He alone. “How long, how long, how long?”

  “A year? Don’t know, can’t think,” she babbled. “Harder, baby. Faster. Make me come.”

  His next plunge shook the bed. A year. An eternity. He would prepare her, no matter how long it took. No matter the pain he endured. “Won’t stop until you come hard.” At least a dozen times...

  Throat burning white hot, he hummed against her slickness. Lick. One finger. Lick. Two fingers.

  “Kaysar.” She continued to chant his name, chasing his touch. “Baby, baby...yes. Right there.” The radiance of her skin intensified, her irises like mercury. Shivers cascaded over her and goose bumps followed. “Don’t...don’t stop. You said you wouldn’t.”

  “Never stop. Want this honey always.”

  When she bowed up, ready to snap, he thrust his fingers as deep as he could get them and licked her clit at the same time. A scream barreled from her, the climax swift but brutal.

  No mercy. Before she had a chance to come down from her high, he flicked her little bud with more force, earning another moan from her. Music as sweet as her flavor. She’d grown richer with her orgasm.

  Frenzied, he licked harder. Sucked. Fingered. In and out, until she was writhing against him once again.

  He scissored his fingers, preparing her to take more of him, all of him, and—she petted him? He flipped his gaze up. She looked drunk with desire as she glided her thorn claws through his hair.

  The rest of the world faded, instinct overtaking him. Only passion mattered. Chantel’s. His. Theirs.

  This scrumptious beauty belonged to him.

  He removed his fingers and crawled up, pressing his shaft against her core. Upon contact, he hissed in a breath. He rocked.

  “What are you doing to me, baby?” She thrashed over the pillows. Streams of black hair tangled.

  “I’m stripping you of your control, making you insatiable. Obviously.” He rocked against her with more force. Again. Pumping. “It’s only fair, since you do it to me.”

  With his next forward glide, he nipped her bottom lip. She fisted the sheets, arched, and came with a hoarse cry.

  The sounds she made... Sweat beaded his brow, and his muscle turned rigid. “Chantel,” he rasped, needing...something from her. Desperate for it.

  A femme fatale with blazing eyes, she rose to her elbows. Her breasts bounced between the split in her gown, her nipples begging to be sucked. “My turn to seduce you.”

  That. He needed that.

  He traced the line of her jaw, adoring her. “I think you won me the moment you looked at me with those big eyes and a gag in your mouth.” A gag like that gave a male ideas. Made him wonder what else he could fit in there.

  The corners of her mouth twitched a split second before new vines shoved him to his back at the foot of the bed. She used the connection to pull herself to her knees, until she braced her palms at his temples. Ebony hair framed a hauntingly beautiful face flushed with brimming arousal.

  Something inside him cracked—something deeper than before, as if he’d only shattered the surface last time.

  Though he floundered, he palmed her breasts and swiped his thumbs over her distended nipples. He needed his hands on her. “What is my queen planning for me?”

  “No sex. Not yet. But I still want to ride you.” When she ran her tongue over her upper lip and eased back, reaching for the waist of his pants, his thoughts faded. Her breasts bobbed as she worked the tie, freeing his straining erection. The release of pressure was a mercy and a punishment, one indistinguishable from the other.
>
  After wrapping searing fingers around his length and stroking, driving him to the brink, Chantel returned to her previous position.

  “Do you want me to ride you, Kaysar?”

  “More than anything.” Truth.

  “I’m glad. It’s gonna be so good, baby,” she rasped, before lowering. A slow sinking. Excruciating. “You’re so big.”

  She pressed her bare sex against his shaft. Male to female. Flesh to flesh. A hoarse cry barked from him.“We’re gonna do what I call a leisurely bump and grind,” she said.

  Another bark exploded from him when she rocked against him, rubbing, coating his length with her wetness. She glided up. Down. Up. Bliss as sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous sliced more of his control.

  “The feel of you against me, sweetling...”

  She rocked against him with increasing force, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. More! Kaysar cupped her nape with his clawed hand, holding her steady, and thrust up his hips. The firmer contact proved too much but still also not enough. The pressure, the pressure. So good. So necessary. Wonderful and terrible. Agony and rapture.

  “Chantel...precious...” He didn’t care if the fortress crumbled from the mountainside. He didn’t care if the Frostlines or Micah invaded. This pleasure...increasing, magnifying, overtaking...the sensations...

  He couldn’t...

  He wasn’t...

  She leaned down and licked into his mouth, feeding him raw passion, rocking against him harder and harder. Kaysar planted his heels and thrust up, meeting her, and they rubbed together. The bed shook. He lifted his hips again; she rocked hers. Lifted. Rocked. Again and again and again.

  His heart thudded. His inhalations thinned and shallowed. Still too much, still not enough. Soon, something inside him might shatter for good. Might reach a part of him he wasn’t ready to face. Yet he rubbed himself against his female, desperate to continue the ride.

  Growling, he flipped her to her back and rose above her. Grinding. Pressure continued to build.