Page 74 of The Death King
He’d walked right into my shower and touched my body like he owned it. Kissed me like I was his lover. Fucked me on the sheets—and made me come again. I thought the euphoria would be a rare occurrence, but any time Talon touched me, he made me feel good. My mind started to drift to it sometimes, when I sat alone on the couch in front of the fire, missing the warm touch of his hand against my cheek, his fingers against the part of me that ached for him the most.
I used to stare at the door and dread the moment General Titan would come for me.
But now, I watched the door for the opposite reason.
I waited for Talon’s company—but he never came.
I didn’t know if it was the isolation that just made me lonely…or if I actually missed him. But he was all I could think about, and I wondered why he hadn’t come to visit me. I wondered if he chose to spend his evenings with one of his mistresses because my inexperience was more work than it was worth. A jolt of anger rushed through me, but I pretended it never happened.
I refused to acknowledge it.
With General Titan, I was only worried about getting pregnant, not catching one of the diseases that concubines were susceptible to, because I was the only woman he wanted. But with Talon, I had no idea what he did when we weren’t together.
At that moment, the doorknob turned and he entered, wearing his black trousers and nothing else. Barefoot too. His jawline was darker than it’d been the last time I saw him because he hadn’t shaved for days now. His eyes looked tired…or angry…I wasn’t sure which. He looked at me on the couch and drew near. Instead of moving into the armchair so he could sit there and stare for twenty minutes, he came right at me, hooking his hand under the backs of my knees and tugging me down on the couch.
I was in my nightdress, and it shifted upward to my waist as I was pulled down.
His knees hit the couch, and both of his hands slid over my hips to grab my underwear and yank them free. It happened so fast, one movement after another, and then his pants were off and his dick was free. He moved over me on the couch and started to separate my legs, to get me into position to take his big dick.
I knew I wanted him here, but this didn’t feel right. “Wait.”
He didn’t shove himself inside me, but his arms circled under my back to make my hips tilt more so he could fit between my thighs at a deeper angle. His fingers shoved the front of my dress up to expose my tits before his hand fisted the back of my hair and tugged hard so my chin lifted. It was as if he hadn’t heard a word I said, but he didn’t enter me.
“Stop.” I pushed his arm away, getting his hand out of my hair.
His angry eyes searched my face, seeking an explanation.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I breathed hard, his heavy body still over mine like a mountain over a valley.
“I think it’s pretty clear.”
“This—this isn’t how it normally is.”
His eyes continued to flick back and forth between mine, slowly growing in anger. “I went easy on you the first few times because you were delicate, but you aren’t delicate anymore. I want to fuck you—not make love to you.”
I was still vulnerable underneath him, his heavy weight keeping me pinned in position. My heart throbbed in my chest like a wild drum. I knew I should expect anything from him, but something about his abrupt hardness made me shut my gates. “Get off me.”
He didn’t move, but his angry eyes showed a glimmer of surprise. “Calista?—”
“I said, get off me.” The fear of being unheard was over. I wasn’t scared that he would ignore my pleas and take what he wanted. Even though his skin was red-hot with desire, he still wouldn’t ignore my requests. It gave me power, power I hadn’t felt in a long time.
After an angry staredown, he pulled away. He left the couch and stood there, his dick hard and hanging in front of him. An angry breath escaped his lips as he moved to the armchair and took a seat, his dick flopping against his stomach.
I sat up and pulled my dress down to cover the tits he’d exposed. My panties were on the floor, but I left them there, letting the bottom of my dress hide my honeypot from view.
His cheek was propped against his knuckles, and he stared at me, all of his anger and disappointment potent in the expression. His jaw was clenched, so the little bones in his chin were distinct.
“I want you to leave.”
His stare was callous. “No.”
His answer was so cold, I felt it across the room.
“The only power you have is over your own body. Everything else is mine.”
I was in his castle, in his guest bedchambers, the prisoner he took from the Arid Sands. We seemed to travel back in time.
“You want me, so don’t deny me.”