Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Sweet Poison

I raced to my room, stumbling, blinded by tears I refused to shed for that…pathetic excuse of a man who was not a man at all but a horrible, conniving, vicious elf. When I was safely in my room, I leaned against the door and closed my eyes, waiting until my heart rate eased, until the heat in my face lessened, until I had swallowed enough that the tears no longer threatened to release.

What did he want from me?

I had done everything he had asked.

He said “Beg,” so I begged.

I should rejoice that he had stopped, because what had I been thinking? I had been so caught up in the pleasure of his mouth, his touch, I was willing to compromise myself further, and this time I would not have an excuse for enjoying him because I had been under no enchantment.

But instead, I only felt ashamed, ridiculous, rejected, because in the end…I had truly wanted him.

How could I want him?

He was an elven prince, and I was his captive.

I pushed away from the door and threw the gown I had worn to dinner into the corner of the room. I wasn’t even sure why I had bothered to dress. I should have worn the sheer robe the elves in the wardrobe had crafted. It would have been more fitting for what Casamir had planned.

That thought made me angrier.

He had humiliated me, and in exchange for what? A few letters—U, I, A, S—four of seven that were completely useless.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I grew. I snatched my robe off the end of my bed and slipped it on as I reached for my ax. The handle was still full of thorns, but I did not care that they pricked my hand as I ventured out of my room and made my way to Casamir’s bedroom in the dark.

I held my ax aloft, the stab of each thorn in my hand sharp, my hand already sticky with blood. I was unsure of what might come my way in the night, but I was so full of rage, I was willing to fight just about anything. Perhaps the fae knew not to tempt me, because I made it to Casamir’s room with no trouble.

Despite how determined I was, I hesitated, standing outside his door. I felt a deep sense of dread…a knowledge that once I entered here, I would not come out, and yet I wished to end this. To end him.

I touched the handle of his door and turned it carefully. I slipped into his room and approached his bedside, parting the curtains slightly to look at him. A slice of moonlight cut across his bare chest.

“Have you come to kill me?” he asked.

I did not answer but climbed onto his bed. It was tall and I felt clumsy as I struggled to keep hold of my ax, each sharp point digging farther into my skin. He did not move as I straddled him, just looked at me with those gleaming eyes.

I held my ax close to my chest. He did not try to take it, but he did frown as he observed the blood seeping between my fingers.

“You are wounded.”

I lifted my weapon over my head and held it there. I wanted to hurt him, but I also wanted to fuck him.

“If you are going to do it, aim for my head,” he said.

“Which one?” I asked. “The one I am looking at or the one between my thighs?”

“If you cut off the one between your thighs, you likely will not get what you came for.”

I lowered the ax a little. “I want to hate you.”

“I know,” he said, his voice quiet, and as he rose to me, he wrapped his hand around my wrist and his mouth collided with mine.

I lowered the ax, letting it fall to the floor. He gripped my face, fingers digging into my scalp. I held on to his forearms, unsure what I intended, only knowing that now I could not think beyond the pleasure of his mouth moving against mine, demanding my complete submission. I was ready for it. I opened to it, and when his tongue moved past my lips to coil with mine, I sighed into his mouth and my body relaxed into his. My arms slipped around his neck, and I crushed myself to him, relishing the feel of his arousal against me as I shifted closer, addicted to the way he made me feel—completely lost and not of this world.

Casamir broke away and his hands tightened in my hair. As he pulled my head back, he growled against my throat.

“You are poison, sweet creature. I want you in my blood.”

Then he sucked my skin into his mouth until a cry broke from my lips, and once it had, he pushed me onto my back and sat on his heels, staring down at me.

“Thank fuck for wicked fairies,” he said as his eyes skimmed over my body, veiled by the sheer robe. The longer he looked and did not touch, the more impatient I became, warmed and writhing.

I reached for the tie at my waist, but Casamir stopped me.

“Let me,” he said.

I held his gaze. “You have seen me like this before.”

“And it will never be enough.”

I stared, unable to fully comprehend his tone, but he spoke as if he were reciting an oath, sincere but forlorn, and it shifted something inside me.

I let my hands fall away and gripped the blankets beneath me as he pulled the tie and parted my robe. And though it hid nothing, he acted as if he had unveiled the most precious gems in the world.

He bent and pressed a kiss to my stomach, his eyes meeting mine for only a moment, burning like coals in the darkness.

Then he kissed me again and again, trailing down to my thighs. I fisted the blankets and arched my back. I would have rubbed my thighs together just for the sake of friction, but Casamir was between them, teasing me with featherlight kisses.

He smiled at my desperate writhing.

“Casamir,” I said, my chest so tight with anticipation, I could barely take in air.

“Yes, sweet creature?”

His voice rumbled against my skin.

“This is torture.”

“Ah,” he said, lips grazing the bottom of my stomach. “But is it good?”

“It could be better,” I said.

“Is that so?” he whispered. “How?”

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you.”

I gave a guttural cry and reached for his head, but he pushed me flat against the bed with one hand and used the other to spread me apart. But all he did was stare.

“Forgive me, sweet creature,” he said. “You must be starved.”

Then he licked me, circling my clit, and I thought I might die from the rush of it, from the sheer pleasure that twisted low in my stomach and threaded throughout my body.

“Fuck.” I lowered toward him, spreading my legs farther, and he took the invitation, slipping a finger inside me, then two. “Yes.”

It did not matter that he had just done this earlier; it felt even better now. His touch and tongue were different, far more intense. I felt all of him and everything, as if my body were one exposed nerve, every part of me pulsating around him.

I never expected this strange fae to become the center of my universe, but I would lie beneath him forever if I could feel like this every second of every day.

Here, where there was no pain and no loss.

Here, where I was not alone.

I reached for his head, grinding into him, and a sound I had never made came from deep in my throat as he chased my pleasure. The pressure built and built, and I could no longer contain the sounds escaping my mouth.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I whispered until my words broke on a sob, and I came against his mouth so hard my body shook. As Casamir pulled away and pressed kisses to my lower stomach and up and over my chest, he was breathless, and still, he kissed me, desperate, as if he had gone too long without me.

His body was warm and damp against mine. I reached between us and wrapped my fingers around his cock. He was hard and soft at the same time, and he groaned against my mouth as I touched him.

When he pulled away, he must have understood the desire in my eyes because he drew his finger over my lips and answered, “Only if you wish it.”

I would correct him and tell him I never wish for anything, but this, I wished for.

We traded positions, and as he stretched before me, I stared, eyes roving the planes of his chest and the swell of his arousal, which pressed against his stomach. He was beautiful and it made my heart ache.

I met his gaze.

“You were made for this,” I said.

He smiled and asked, “Made for what, sweet creature?”

Pleasure, I wanted to say. Sex.

But instead, I answered, “Heartbreak.”

He remained still, but there was an edge to his expression that told me he did not disagree. If he was going to speak, I did not know, because I kissed him, pressing my lips to his stomach as he had done to mine.

He held himself up but reclined, moving my hair over my shoulder. I could feel his cock between my breasts as I moved down his body, and when the crown touched my chin, I shifted and closed my mouth over the tip.

Casamir took a breath, and I looked up at him as I released him and licked him from root to tip before taking him into my mouth again. He braced his hands behind him, his head falling back, neck exposed as I worked.

His breath came heavier and he moaned louder. His fingers threaded through my hair, but they did not tighten.

“Fuck,” he said, his voice airy. “You are a sweet thing.”

Come beaded thickly from the tip of his cock, and it tasted salty on my tongue. I thought of all the times he had come inside me last night, how I had demanded it and wanted it again.

I did not know what he was feeling as I touched him and sucked him, but I felt the power of having him in my hands and mouth—I controlled his very breath, and right now it was ragged.

It made me ache for him, and when I released him, I climbed up his body and pressed my mouth hard to his before rolling so that I was beneath him.

He rested between my legs, fingers brushing strands of my hair from my face.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, studying my face, searching for something beyond the confirmation I spoke.

He wanted to know that I would not have regret.

“I came,” I said. “And you did not have to call.”

He stared, then his eyes dropped to my lips, and he kissed me softly and lushly, letting his hips press into me before he rose onto all fours. As he shifted closer, I widened and lifted my hips. He drew the head of his cock along my entrance and slid inside.

I took a breath as he settled all the way in, and instead of moving, he lay against me.

“Last night,” he began, and I silenced him, fingers pressed to his mouth.

I did not wish him to speak ill of last night. I did not wish for him to regret it.

Last night was our beginning, and I did not wish to look at it with anything less than fondness, magic fueling our passion or not.

When I was sure he would be silent, I drew away. We stared at each other for a moment longer before Casamir’s lips fell to mine and he began to move. I moaned at the feel of him inside me, and his tongue dipped into my mouth, twisting with my own. He still tasted like me, and a powerful and warm feeling blossomed in my chest. I opened wider for him, lifted my hips higher to meet his thrusts.

Casamir pulled back, bracing his arms on either side of my head, and watched me with an intensity that made me feel raw and exposed, as though he could see my heart and how it beat hard for him.

He shifted to reach for my leg, which he cradled in the crook of his arm. A sound escaped my mouth at the pleasure of this new position, and I pressed my head into my pillow as wave after wave of pleasure rocked my body. Casamir bent to kiss my neck and take the skin into his mouth, sucking hard.

I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair, bracing behind his neck.

“Yes,” I whispered. “More.”

“More of what, sweet creature?” he asked.

I did not know, to be truthful, but I lifted my other leg and dug my heel into his ass, and my body moved against his, driving apart and ramming together, and there was nothing beyond this to focus on or to feel.

I pressed my palms against the headboard to keep my head from hitting it. Casamir seemed to notice because he placed his hands atop my head, and then he kissed me, moving harder, faster, deeper. Our bodies became damp and the air smelled thick with our sex, each of us on the cusp of erupting.

I felt my release in my bones and Casamir followed after, his arms shaking as he lowered himself to kiss me, his tongue stroking my mouth with a soft passion I felt deep in my gut. When he pulled away, I questioned who this man was who had made love to me so tenderly.

It left me feeling strange—changed.

There was a part of me that wanted to run from it, but I was still beneath Casamir and he had yet to leave my body. I could not deny that I liked it here.

He brushed my lips with the tip of his finger.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a quiet whisper.

“Yes,” I said, though my body still shook. “More than.”

He offered a ghost of a smile, as if he did not trust my words.

“Are you okay?” I asked in return.

He smiled a little more.

“Yes,” he said. “More than.”

He bent to kiss me, and I closed my eyes, expecting to feel his mouth on mine, but instead, he pressed his lips to my forehead and rolled off. I instantly felt cold without him and wanted to turn into his heat, but he left the bed entirely, stepping outside the curtains.

I considered asking him what he was doing, but I could hear water dripping into a basin and could guess. He returned only a few seconds later with a cloth in hand. He said nothing as he handed it to me and closed the curtains as I cleaned myself—first focusing on the blood that had since dried on my hands from the ax, then the rest.

“I’m…finished,” I said, feeling awkward when Casamir appeared and held out his hand to take the cloth. I hesitated.

“We have become too familiar with one another for this to be embarrassing.”

He might be right, but that did not keep the warmth from my cheeks as I handed over the cloth.

When he returned, he placed one knee on the bed but did not return to my side.

“Do you wish to leave?” he asked, his expression neutral, though I sensed that he was working hard to remain in control of his emotions, unwilling to show disappointment if I said yes. But I had no intention of leaving. I was still cold, and I wanted his warmth.

“No,” I whispered.

Casamir released a breath and then pulled the blankets back so we could crawl beneath them. I waited for him to lie down before I rested beside him, curling against his warmth. I let my hand rest on his chest, and beneath my palm, I could feel his heart beating fast. I closed my eyes, and in the quiet, the steady thrum lulled me into a quiet sense of calm. But as my body relaxed, Casamir spoke.

“What happened to your family?” he asked.

I opened my eyes and stared into the dark. It was a question that made my heart clench, as if he had taken it into his hand and squeezed.

“They died,” I said.

Thinking about it made me sick and sad. I was the reason they were gone, the reason I was alone. My blood had killed my mother, I had wished for my sister’s death, and my father had died of heartbreak from her loss.

“Your sister died too? Or was she murdered?”

I curled my fingers on his chest, and he covered it with his.

“Tell me,” he said. “Please.”

It took me a moment to speak because I suddenly felt like my tongue was swollen.

“When I was younger, I would dance with the fairies on the edge of the forest. Small ones with butterfly wings. I loved them and they never harmed me. When my sister found out, she chased them away. I was so angry, I wished she were dead, and she transformed into a deer right before my eyes and raced into the forest.”

I paused and swallowed the thickness in my throat.

“I searched for her in the forest for years, and on the final day of the seventh year, I found her, resting beneath a tree, but when I started to go to her, an arrow flew from the trees and hit her.

I will never forget how her eyes widened, and as she fell, she became human again. There was so much blood, and I couldn’t stop it, so I just held her and told her how sorry I was…how much I wished I could undo what I had done. Then, as if the forest had not punished us enough, I noticed something slithering and saw that roots were shifting beneath us, wrapping around my sister. I screamed and clawed at the wood, but the tree took her.”

This time, I could not keep the tears from sliding down my cheeks. I took a shuddering breath and whispered, “I have never wished for anything since.”

There was a beat of silence as Casamir’s hands tightened around me.

“Your sister is not dead,” he said.

I pushed away from him and sat up. “Do not.”

Casamir rose with me and reached for my hands. I tried to pull away, but he kept them close to his chest.

“She is healing, not dead,” he said quickly. “Trust me.”

I stared at him, searching his eyes for the truth, but he looked so serious and so sincere, it took the breath out of me.

“What are you saying?”

“If the tree took her as you said, then she is healing. It is not quick. She could be within its roots for years, a hundred even, but it is likely that her heart still beats.”

I scrambled from the bed.

“Creature,” Casamir hissed. “Where are you going?”

“To my sister!” I said, searching for my clothes, but recalling I had come only in a robe, I ran for the door.

Casamir caught me about the waist.

“It is too dangerous tonight.”

“Let me go!” I snapped, clawing at his hands, but he would not let me go.

“Not in the dark,” he said, his mouth against my ear. “Please, sweet creature.”

“But she is alive!” My voice broke. I was no longer alone.

“And she is likely still in the tree, where she will be tomorrow.”

His words stole my fight, and I sagged against him. His arms were tight around me, and his head still rested in the crook of my neck.

“I will take you tomorrow. I will take you as soon as day breaks. I promise. I swear it.”

After a moment, I turned to face him.

“Why promise?” I asked. “Why swear?”

He seemed confused. “Because…it is what you want.”

My chest felt warm and open, and I felt as if my heart were beating in my whole body. I gripped his face and pulled him to me. As our lips collided, we staggered and Casamir’s hands fell to my ass, gripping me tight, his arousal hard between us.

“Down,” I commanded, and we knelt to the floor. I guided him to his back and straddled him, grinding over his cock. I bent to kiss him again, letting my tongue collide with his. Casamir’s fingers pressed into me as I chased friction we both sought, and when that wasn’t enough, I guided him inside me, hips grinding into hips, hands planted against his chest. When I grew too tired, he sat up and gripped me, helping me move, our foreheads resting together, our bodies warm and wet. As the pressure built between us, Casamir kissed me, lavishing my mouth with his tongue, and I came, collapsing against him. He held me as he settled onto his back, and we lay there until our breaths evened.

“N.”

I winced at the letter, and Casamir stiffened, expecting me to tear away from him. But instead, I remained where I was, body heavy against his.

“I did not mean it,” I said.

“You did,” he said. “At least when you first spoke the words, but I did not offer it because of the bargain. Think of it as a gift, another letter closer to freedom.”

“Is that what you want?” I asked, feeling the slightest twinge of pain at the thought that he would want me gone.

“Isn’t that what you want?” he countered.

I thought about it, uncertain now, and after a moment, I spoke.

“I want a choice. To stay or go.”

Wasn’t that freedom? A choice.

“Which would you choose?”

“I cannot say,” I said, my words slow and sleepy. “I am not free.”

Casamir stared, and I wondered what he was thinking, what was moving behind his dark eyes, but he rose to sit. With my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms around his neck, he stood and carried me to bed. As I lay beside him, my mind reeled with thoughts of what it would be like to do this for the rest of my life, and I did not hate it.