A Strange Hymn
Page 62

Now it’s my turn to suppress a smile. There’s always a price with him, but these days, it’s not always an unpleasant one.
Rather than naming my price, I let my dress do the talking, sliding it the rest of the way down my body.
The Bargainer sucks in a breath as he takes me in. All that I have left on is a scant pair of panties, and judging by the way my mate is eyeing them, they’re not going to be on for long.
I feel the brush of Des’s magic as it leaves his body.
A moment later the vases of flowers that are perched around the room all upend themselves at once, and the water and flowers inside each now slide out. But rather than falling to the floor, they begin to float in midair as though they were experiencing zero gravity. The effect is dazzling.
“Magical enough for you?” Des asks, his eyes on me.
“Just barely.”
He smiles. “You tart thing.” He kisses me again, and as he does so, my panties slide themselves off my hips, another bit of Des’s magic at play.
He pulls away long enough to run his hand down my torso. “My brave mate, my fierce mate. No fairy has ever been prouder of his woman.”
His words move me. Being here, in the Kingdom of Flora, has made it abundantly clear that humans aren’t seen as equals. But if there’s one thing Des has always made sure of, it’s making me feel like I’m his match in all ways.
He smooths his hand over my skin until the tips of his fingers brush my core. In response, my skin lights up. We stare at each other, something about this intimate act made all the more vulnerable because we won’t look away.
I move my hips against his touch, forcing his fingers to slide in, then out, in then out. I was already wet when he undressed me, but now my inner thighs slicken.
The rest of his clothes peel away from him.
Did I mention that I freaking love magic?
His cock presses between us, so hard it’s straining.
I move against him, and he groans at the friction.
“Can’t resist you …” He lifts me then, easing me slowly back down. I feel the head of his cock push against my entrance, and then it’s sliding in, filling me inch by inch.
He drinks in my expression as my back arches, my lips parting as he seats himself all the way to the hilt.
He takes my hands in his and presses them into the wall on either side of my head. The only thing holding me up is his chest and hips.
“Nothing has ever felt so good,” he says, “I’m sure of it.”
He slides out, the sound thick and wet, then slams in again. I gasp at the sensation, arching into him, my legs tightening around his waist.
“Faster,” I breathe against him.
But, stubborn fairy, he doesn’t move faster. He goes slow and deep, driving me frantic. His wings spread around me, enveloping us in a cocoon of his own making.
“What if I wanted you to be my queen?” he asks as he thrusts in and out of me, his eyes glinting in the near darkness he's created beneath his wings.
“Mmm,” I close my eyes against him, enjoying the sensation.
He continues to slow, the pace becoming increasingly agonizing.
I shift against him, my eyes fluttering open. “Des,” I complain.
He stares at me, his eyes serious. “What would you say to that?”
To what?
He presses his lips to my ear. “Give me the answer I want, and I’ll give you what you want.”
What had he asked me? Something about being his queen …
I should know better than to give into Des’s bargains; they’re always weighted to his benefit. But pinned to the wall, with his cock buried deep inside me, I’m not exactly a strategic expert.
And Des’s thrusts have pretty much come to a halt.
“Yes,” I breathe, eager to resume where we left off. “Sounds great.”
Anything to get him to move again.
He smiles, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “Good,” he says.
His thrusts pick up and, sweet baby angels, this is everything.
Des releases my hands to scoop me against him. He pulls us away from the wall and moves us across the room. Flowers and droplets of water that still float in the air now brush across my skin as we pass them by. The room looks as though time itself has stopped.
“My future queen,” Des says as he gazes up at me.
I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him close.
“Faster,” I whisper.
“Ever demanding,” he says.
Pressing my back to the wall once more, the King of the Night rocks against me, each stroke stronger than the last. He drives himself deeper and deeper, his wings flaring out once more.
“About to come,” I say.
“Wait.”
Wait? I’m not sure I can. My climax is climbing up and up, and it demands to be released.
His hands tighten on me. “Now.”
That’s all the encouragement I need.
I feel myself shatter apart, my orgasm lashing through me. The sensation is made all the more intense when I hear Des groan, his cock thickening inside me as he pounds out his own release.
It feels like it lasts a lifetime as wave after wave of pleasure washes through me.
It’s not until several minutes later, once Des has slid out of me and the two of us have collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs that I remember his words.
What if I wanted you to be my queen?
Give me the answer I want, and I’ll give you what you want.
What, exactly, had I just agreed to?
Chapter 41
I dose in Des’s arms, feeling his hands stroke my wings. I never used to be a fan of post-sex cuddling, but that was before the Bargainer became mine. Now I’m finding that I actually have quite an appreciation for it.
The flowers and water are back in their vases, but now hovering above us is a thick sheet of parchment and five separate paintbrushes, which are all painting at once. Where Des found the brushes, or the parchment, or the five little ceramic pots of paint that rest on a side table next to the bed, I have no idea.
Just like when he first started making his art for me, I’m completely enchanted.
The painting is quickly coming along, though it takes me minutes to figure out what, exactly, the image is of. Eventually, however, I realize I’m staring at feathers, lots and lots of iridescent feathers.
“You’re painting my wings,” I whisper.
“Mmm,” he says in response, running his hand over them again.
One of the paint brushes wanders away from the parchment, floating down to the side table next to me. It dips its bristles into one of the pots of paint, and then, once it’s coated with black paint, it floats up and over my body.
Before it makes it back to the parchment, a glob of the paint hits my shoulder.
“Des!”
He laughs, totally aware of what just happened.
“You did that on purpose!”
“Maybe,” he says evasively, a grin in his voice.
He brings his hand up to my shoulder, and using his thumb, rubs the paint into my skin.
I breathe the smell of him in, his scent mixed with mine. “I think we should skip more events,” I whisper.
He turns his face to me, his lips brushing my forehead. “Now that,” he says, “is an absolutely brilliant idea.”
I smile a little as I run my fingers over his chest, where his sweat still slickens it. I draw swirls into his skin before continuing on, my touch tracing over the tattoos that wrap down his arms. One day I’ll memorize the designs by heart.
He finishes the painting in silence, the two of us watching it come to completion. Once it’s finished, it and the paintbrushes all lower themselves to the side table.