Bride of the Traitor (The Prophecy of Sisters #1) - Hayley Faiman Page 0,15
I’m sure whatever small amount of makeup the ladies put on me is equally a hot mess, but the way he watches me, I don’t mind it.
Touching my palm to his chest, I bite the inside of my cheek at the feel of his rough silvered scarring. Sliding my hand up, I’m only able to reach the side of his neck, though only barely.
Elias is tall, he towers above me and that mixed with his burly stacked muscles, makes him a force to be reckoned with, in this world of his and in my own. His steel-blue eyes darken, but just a shade as he looks down at me.
“We call it, having sex, fucking, or making love, though I will admit making love kind of gives me the willies too. But it means to make love as we just did, though doing it soft and gentle, coming sweetly with feelings for one another. Having sex is probably the most common, it just means to do what we’ve done, where both people get off, but it’s not necessarily too hard or too soft.
“Fucking is when you don’t really care about the person, or maybe it’s when you do it really hard, fast and dirty,” I explain, though I feel like an idiot explaining it to him, because I know that he knows exactly what I’m saying.
“Sex. I have never heard this. I must admit, I like the description of fucking.” He grins.
Rolling my eyes, I bring them back to meet his. “Of course you would.”
His hand wraps around my waist before he hauls me against his chest. He lowers his face, his eyes bright and shining with humor before he speaks so softly that I barely hear him.
“This fucking, hard, fast, and dirty. This is what we will do after we dine this evening. Tomorrow morning, I will make love to you, Sybilla. To end a long day, fucking you hard sounds too delightful to resist.”
“Fuck,” I breathe.
He hums. “Yes, Sybilla. Your King will fuck you.”
My entire body shivers and I think a second orgasm rolls through me at his words. I don’t know why, but the way he says it, the way the words wash through me, I want that. I want him to do just that. He is so matter of fact that it should be a turnoff, but it’s not, not in the slightest.
He’s my captor, he’s probably going to murder me at some point.
He’s delusional and he thinks I’m a witch, but damn, the man is sexy and good.
He’s so good. And like the glutton that I am—I want more.
I. Want. So. Much. More.
ELIAS
It’s as if I’m possessed by this siren. Her voice, her face, her deep golden hair. It’s her body, that is what has me bewitched. Leaving her alone in my chamber, calling for the three maids that I’ve assigned to her, is the wrong move.
I have tarnished her reputation, there is no way around it. Tongues will wag, undoubtedly. If she is, like she says from another land which it seems that she is, then she will not mind, nor care if she is the topic of gossip.
However, it isn’t very gentlemanly of me to tarnish her this way, but I cannot seem to find the scruples inside of me to give a gods damn. Leaving her in naught but her chemise, I make my way toward my chancery.
The hallways are quiet, a little too quiet and I know that the servants are more than likely spreading the news, and gossip, of Sybilla throughout the house and more than likely the kingdom.
Cornwall is standing next to the chancery door, his head tipped down, his face turned to the side and his angry gaze focused on me as I make my way toward him. Briskly, I walk past him, my shoulder brushing his as I head directly for my leather chair behind my desk.
“Your Majesty, I request an audience,” he formally, yet apprehensively, requests for the second time today.
Closing my eyes for a moment, my postcoital calm completely vanishing. “Speak freely Cornwall, for I do not have the patience or inclination to deal with formalities for the rest of this day,” I sigh.
He clears his throat, closing the door behind him, slowly slipping one of his hands into the pocket of his tunic as he shifts from side to side in front of my desk. “It is about Aleida, the witch,” he whispers as if he’s speaking a curse.