In the Arms of the King

by Heather Killough-Walden

  She cried out as he flicked his tongue across it, then sucked on it hard, pulling blood and pleasure into one of her most sensitive areas. More heat and wetness flooded her between her legs, coating his fingers and allowing him to go deeper. The air of the room grew thick, and she found it hard to breathe as that pressure built inside her, climbing that mountain to the point of no return.

  Kristopher showed no mercy, sucking hard for a few more painful, blissful moments as he brushed his thumb across the hardness of her other nipple, and curled his fingers inside her. She was being assaulted on all fronts, the sensations streaming to her core like electric currents, mixing and mingling in white hot ecstasy that drove her closer and closer to the cliff’s edge at the top of that mountain. And then he withdrew his fingers, slowly and teasingly, and the girth of them left her empty and quivering, desperate for more.

  Now, she thought. Oh gods, please let it be him now…. She wanted him inside her – all of him, all the hardness, all the man that he was, and she’d never wanted anything more in her life. But his warning returned to her, his words echoing in the delirious depths of her mind, when he released her tortured nipples, moved further away from her grip, and traveled southward along her writhing body.

  When his kisses reached her hip bone, and his hands encircled her thighs, gripping hard to press them further apart, she realized with shock what he planned to do. At once, self consciousness warred with her desire, and she tried to rise. But Kristopher must have known she would do this, because he expertly used his grip on her legs to yank her back down again, and she hit the bed on her back. At once, his arm slid over her torso, his hand splayed across her chest between her breasts, holding her down.

  Poppy’s breaths came hard and fast, and she tried to close her legs. But he was having none of it. With ease, he kept her parted and open before him, laid bare just as he’d said he would do, and Poppy inhaled a cry of surprise as he bent his head, and that hot, hot breath of his brushed across her slick, flushed nether lips.

  She made an indistinguishable sound as she clutched at the blankets beneath her, grasping them hard in her fists when Kris leaned further in, and his tongue followed his breath. Another helpless cry escaped her when that tongue slowly licked the length of her opening, then flicked teasingly against the flushed-hard button of her clitoris.

  She twisted, flailing uncontrollably, but to no avail. He licked her again, and Poppy saw stars beneath her closed lids. Then the hardness of his tongue parted those red, swollen lips and dipped inside, and Poppy’s eyes flew wide open. She saw the stars beyond that clear domed ceiling and noticed something like green or purple ribbons, but the world was beyond recognition. All she was consciously aware of was the sensations she was experiencing beneath the king’s merciless manipulations.

  He used his tongue, spreading her lips apart to drink of her with earnest, until Poppy could contain herself no longer. “Please!” she screamed. “Oh gods, Kristopher, please!”

  *****

  I’m going to make you beg me to stop… his words echoed in her mind when Kristopher slowly pulled away, laughing that damnable, delicious laugh of his as he rose above her once more, crawling over her as if he were some sort of primordial predator – and she his fresh kill.

  … and then I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.

  The remainder of his promise rang out like a warning bell as those eyes of his burned blue like the hottest fires, and his muscles rippled like the sinewy structure of an oversized cat. Her hands at once found his shoulders, replete with their red claw marks where she’d gripped him earlier. He was immovable, unnoticing of the pain when she settled her grip over them once more, and pressed against him in subconscious defense. Her heart was hammering, her chest rose and fell in quick succession, and she knew she hadn’t a hope in hell of stopping him.

  And she had never been more happy about something than she was about that.

  Their eyes met, their gazes locked, and an entire split second passed between them before he once more claimed her lips with his, and that heat that promised to overwhelm her and burn her alive poured over her, radiating off him like a sunburst.

  She cried out against his lips as a second heated hardness pressed against her already teased opening, but the size of it forced her into a stretch that threatened to tear her apart. Despite the resistance, he pushed into her a slow and steady inch by inch that pulled a low, tortured moan from deep within her throat. She sank her teeth into his shoulder, her fingers curling into claws as he claimed her with slow, relentless purpose until he could go no further, and she’d never imagined she could feel so full.

  Her body quaked, her nerve endings crackling as the warlock magic inside her awakened at the teasing sensations. She felt it glowing around her, releasing uncontrollably as Kristopher pulled back again, stretching her with an even greater mercilessness just before he deepened his kiss – and sank back into her, bottoming out and drawing from her another cry. He ate the sound, as he had her others, smothering her screams beneath the hunger of his kiss.

  Poppy’s head seemed to swim, and her mind reeled, and her universe spun into ribbons like the sky above as he repeated his torment, easing out and then shoving back in, his speed increasing with her yearning for more. Little by little, she edged up that mountain, and then the cliff’s edge was in view, and her body was sparkling with the need for release. Small gasps and moans escaped her throat over and over and were swallowed up by Kristopher as his strong form rode deeper and faster, and ecstasy drew her into its universe like an unavoidable magnet.

  He broke their kiss, and suddenly the sounds of their harsh breathing filled the room.

  “I love the noises you make,” he told her, just as he had before. “I love the way you fight,” he added. And then he nibbled her bottom lip and drove in deep once more as he said, “And I fucking love the way you feel wrapped tight as hell around me, Poppy Nix. I’m going to make sure it happens all the goddamn time.”

  The world fractured then, breaking into puzzle pieces that spread out and split up, dozens becoming hundreds, hundreds becoming thousands as he drove in again and again, and that climb of madness inside her lifted her higher and higher and higher – and then life exploded and she was finally thrown over the edge.

  She screamed, arching her back to lift herself off the bed, pressing hard against the king as he came inside her and she entered that other blissful dimension and catapulted through space. He matched her call with an animalistic cry that flooded her bloodstream with orgasm-strengthening adrenaline, and white spots erupted before her eyes.

  She floated there in that state of painful bliss, utterly and completely free of earth’s bonds, for several perfect moments before she finally rode the waves very slowly back down to Earth.

  From that bed in that room on that planet, Poppy looked over her lover’s shoulder and watched the sky move. The night glittered beyond the glass dome. Those ribbons of green and purple remained. As if they were notes played on some celestial violin, they floated, music-like and beautiful, filling the already brilliant sky with impossible spectral beauty. Galaxies and supernovas splayed out before her, pink and orange and shaped like horse’s heads and crabs. She felt like she were close enough to touch them; she’d never seen anything like it in her life.

  “It’s something to see, isn’t it?” the king whispered softly in her ear. He was still inside her, and he had yet to grow completely soft. She was sated and floating, filled with endorphins galore. Her entire body tingled. Everything felt right just then.

  Slowly and tenderly, he pulled away, then moved gracefully off of her to lay beside her. His strong arm encircled her, warm and possessive as his gaze followed hers into the heavens.

  “Is this your room?” she asked softly. Her voice was a touch hoarse from love making.

  “This is our room,” he gently corrected. She glanced sidelong at his profile. His eyes were no longer glowing. Instead, the aurora borealis reflec
ted in their blue, giving them new dimension.

  “Okay,” she said.

  He was still beside her, and at first Poppy wondered if she hadn’t been clear enough in the meaning of what she’d just said. But though it took him a moment to understand, when he did, he instantly looked back down at her. “Okay?” he asked, his eyes wide. “You mean – ”

  But she nodded, and her lips broke into a smile. “Yes.” She grinned. “I mean.”

  Kristopher remained frozen a heartbeat more. Then his smile matched her own, and he leaned in, claiming her lips in another kiss. The warmth of him was dichotomous with the taste of him like fresh fallen snow, and it was wonderful. The kiss seemed to go on forever, the Cosmos spinning and unfolding above them.

  When he finally lifted away, she was breathless again. The tingling in her body had gone from pleasant and sated to hungry, her nipples were hard, and her legs were bent in need.

  Kristopher smiled, and this time there was nothing friendly about it. “Let me see if I can take care of that,” he said in a low, predatory drawl. Then he was sliding over her, and his hardness was pressing into her, and Poppy’s mind was once more lost to the desires of her body.

  A good while later, she lay partially atop the Winter King, her hands resting on his chest, her ear pressed to his heart, and the master bed had been completely and wonderfully trashed. Kristopher languidly ran his fingers through her long, thick hair, and his chest rose and fell in slow satisfaction. “You know,” he said lazily, “If you’re actually going to become queen, we’ll need to eventually get you out of this bed and onto your throne.”

  Poppy thought about that, and something occurred to her. “Do you think it’s still in one piece?” She pictured the throne room and its seats of ice. It all seemed rather fragile.

  He hesitated a moment, then rose up on one elbow. She lifted off him as they both sat up. “Only one way to find out,” he replied.

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” she said for the second time that night.

  Kristopher pulled the furs off them both, and Poppy stared down at herself in wonder as her clothes magically reappeared over her body layer by layer. He even got the scarf right – her favorite scarf, long and crazily colored, like a signature piece.

  His clothing did the same, and since he was climbing out of bed at the same time, she realized he was doing it without even concentrating. He was quite powerful, even after having one of Yggdrasil’s roots severed.

  Would she be like that once she took the throne? She imagined herself using warlock magic without having to speak or move in order to cast spells – without even having to give it much thought! Was it possible? Was she –

  She blanched suddenly as Kristopher strode across his massive chamber, and she couldn’t help but notice how well he fit in with his surroundings. He strode tall and strong, smooth and confident. He owned them. Like a true king.

  What was she in comparison? Would Winter… what if Winter didn’t find her as deserving?

  She swallowed past a tightening throat. Kristopher stopped at his door and turned back. His brow furrowed and his head cocked to the side. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

  “Yeah,” she replied quickly. “Sorry. I just… hadn’t had a chance to look around yet.” She hurriedly joined him at the door, pretending to take in her surroundings as she went. Really, she’d gotten a good look while lounging in his bed. The room was definitely amazing – just as otherworldly and impossibly beautiful as the rest of Winter’s palace of ice. Not the least amazing of which was the bed itself, a massive construct of intricately carved ice, right down to the four ice carved posters and the thin, gauzy impossibly woven ice curtains draped over the ice bars overhead. But if she gave too much thought to how amazing his bed was right now, she and the king would just wind up right back in it.

  She made it to the door, smiled sheepishly, and his gaze narrowed. “Mmm-hmm,” he said disbelievingly. To which she simply pushed past him into the hall beyond.

  The Demon King

  The Kings, Book Nine

  Lazaroth could scarcely believe what was happening. He’d counted on Dahlia Kellen fighting him. He’d primed himself for a battle of wills. He’d prepared himself to do whatever it took – whatever it took – to force her to yield to him. But he stood in stunned silence, his heart literally aching in his chest, his cock hardening into a pain-filled vessel of maddened desire, and watched as the woman he would kill and die for crawled obediently atop the Demon King’s car.

  The car came with the position. As did so many things, so many things he wanted to share with her, give to her, shower her in. He wanted to give her the world, and now hope filled the empty spaces around his hard, cold desire and made him think – maybe, just maybe, he might get the chance to do so.

  Dahlia was the essence of entrancing. She moved like a cat, all grace and supreme confidence. She stepped out of her blood red sky-high heels, revealing toes painted a deep, deep red that was nearly black, the same shade as a Black Dahlia. Then she leaned over and with strength and grace mortals could only dream of, she pulled herself onto the black muscle car and began crawling across its shining hood. Every inch she gained across that black expanse, every single move she made, was like watching magic being born. He was mesmerized. He was lost.

  Something sliced through the dark and the red of his being. There was nothing but need, nothing but the suffering of longing and of loneliness. There was an anger that laced every breath he took, a fire that burned at the edges of his vision, his world. This was the essence of existence in the wake of the Curse.

  But in Dahlia’s practiced yet somehow innocent of movements, something managed to break through his cursed world.

  He had been standing in a dark room. No windows, no doors. And just like magic, she pierced the walls, tearing through them like tissue paper, and she broke through that darkness. For half a second, he remembered. He felt.

  And then the darkness was back. And with it, the red. And the hard, unrelenting need.

  Dahlia reached the center of his hood and rested back on her elbows, breathing deep and fast. He could almost hear her heart beating; he could if he tried. But he was too busy seeing. The long, lean lines of her, crisscrossed in red velvet, were like a pulp fiction novel brought to life. She tossed her jet black mane, and it shimmered in thick locks across the hood of his car. Then she arched her back and bent her knees, revealing the slightest hint of what lay between them.

  She was the most stunningly beautiful angel to ever fall from the heavens… and land in his hell.

  He caught her gaze and held it as he unbuttoned his suit coat and shrugged it off his broad shoulders. He could see the pulse pound in the side of her neck, and noticed it quickening further. He moved to the side of the car and draped the jacket over the driver’s side rear view mirror, never hurrying, and never taking his eyes from hers. He held her fast like that, as if he had strapped her down with steel chains.

  She made a soft sound, one of fear perhaps or one of helplessness. He knew she was overwhelmed – spread out like a present for him on the hood of his car. He knew he was scaring her. And yet she did as he asked, just to save some humans she didn’t even know. She was very brave.

  Of course, he was going to kill them anyway. He would just wait until they made a second mistake. He could even force them to make that mistake. Then he would have the excuse he needed to end them.

  She’s mine, he thought as he turned to move back toward the front of the car. He reached out his hand, brushing his fingertips ever so gently along the smooth expanse of her lengthy leg as he walked. She jumped a little at the touch. And then she tore her gaze from his and turned her head to the side. He saw her shut her eyes tight, no doubt willing herself to not move, to not get up and flee.

  She could have run. She could have even attacked him if she’d wanted. He almost chuckled at the thought. She was that much of a spitfire.

  But instead, she remained where she was and obe
diently allowed him to touch her. It made him hate the men she hoped to save even more. He decided when he killed them, he would do it slowly.

  Laz watched her closely as he wrapped his hands around her ankles and inexorably pulled her legs further apart, revealing the tight curve of her bottom and the red satin panties that beckoned so starkly against her pale flesh. She sucked her lip between her teeth and clasped it hard; he expected to see blood well up any second now. The thought made him smile, and when she opened her eyes and turned her head to watch him, he could see by the reflection in her eyes that his fangs were longer and sharper than ever.

  “Don’t move your legs,” he told her firmly, capturing that gorgeous green gaze again and holding it hard. He slowly released her legs, and she inhaled sharply, knowing full well just how vulnerable she had become. She was one strip of fabric away from being fully exposed to him. And suddenly, that was all he wanted in the world, more than anything he had ever craved. He wanted her open, uncovered, bared and helpless.

  A sound climbed slowly up his throat. It reverberated off the cars around him, shook the ground beneath his feet. It was the demon in him, the monster – fully awakened and hungry as hell. He climbed like a predator onto the car, graceful, easy, and strong, moving over her like a living shadow, dark and dangerous and inescapable.

  She watched him come, helpless to stop him. He stopped when he was towering directly over her and held himself up with one hand pressed to the hood near her right shoulder. His other hand, he placed on her right leg above her knee. She jerked again at the contact, but let out a ragged breath. She could not escape his gaze, though he knew she wanted to. His magic surrounded her now, and she was only fortunate he was not using more of it.