while pinning his sweetling, his own climax remained at bay. Why, why? Stroking, stroking. Faster. Harder. Still no climax.
Frustration dulled the pleasure, the bliss slipping further away, and he roared.
Chantel lay beneath him—still coming. She lifted her head to lave his nipples. “It won’t stop. It’s so good. You’re so good. Kaysar? Please, come for me. You said you’d give me everything.”
As he pumped his length, the head of his shaft grazed her clit. Her back bowed, and she screamed.
Blessed euphoria ripped through him. The shattering he’d expected. A culmination thousands of years in the making.
Kaysar threw back his head and bellowed, climaxing over his female’s dress.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
COOKIE REMAINED BENEATH KAYSAR as he came down from his high. A sense of vulnerability proved as strong as a shackle. Usually she left immediately after a make-out session to discourage after-chatter. But at this precise moment, she longed to snuggle up and speak to Kaysar about anything, everything and nothing all at once. Her stern demeanor? In tatters.
Did he feel the same? Deep down, he must feel something for her. Something meaningful. Profound. The way he continued to react to her, the way he looked at her... It had nothing to do with vengeance. They shared a connection. The kind she’d never experienced with another—the kind she wasn’t sure she could live without.
He wanted her to stay with him. And she would. But she would never be content with a second-place participation trophy. She would fight for him, as advertised.
You couldn’t win the battles you forfeited.
Kaysar’s eyes remained closed as she smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead. Beautiful, broken king. Her chest tightened. There was no denying she hungered for him as she’d never hungered for another. He excited her—fulfilled her—in ways she’d only thought possible in dreams.
She liked him and enjoyed the way his cunning mind worked. His dry sense of humor was warped enough to fit perfectly with her own.
Two Mad Hatters, spinning inside the same teacup.
He’d endured the worst kind of abuse as a child. As an adult, he’d known only hate. No one had fought for him, a tragedy all its own. He deserved a champion. Someone to slay his dragons—someone to save him from his big bad.
Hadn’t she longed for adventure? But how much was too much? What if the two killers tanked? Honestly, they probably had a super high likelihood of failure. Could Astaria survive the end of their relationship?
The time to stop a breakup from happening was now. Only now. With a little work and a lot of selective amnesia, they could return to a businesslike arrangement safely. Probably. Fingers crossed, anyway.
But she wanted him. Bad.
She would give the battle everything she had and fight the only way she knew how—one day at a time.
And there was no better day to start. Cookie Bardot, reporting for duty.
She sized up her competition. Her opponent, Vengeance, had lived with Kaysar for thousands of years and provided his only source of joy.
What could she provide? What, exactly, did she offer? Something he could get nowhere else? Cataclysmic sex, if their bump and grind was any indication. Sass and trouble, definitely. Comfort? Maybe?
You had to work with what you had. So. Her strategy was clear. Her sexuality would just have to suck it up and take one for the team.
Kaysar opened his eyes and...smiled at her. His irises were animated. Had any man ever exuded such sublime fulfilment? “Oh, dear.” He eased to the side and motioned to her clothing. “I seem to have ruined your dress.”
Cookie’s stomach fluttered. Sex made him playful. And absolutely irresistible. Good to know. “Shall I remove it?” she said, playing right back.
“Most definitely. I’ll have it cleaned.” He raked his claws down the gown’s center, splitting the sides from collar to ankle. Buttons flew in different directions, and the material fell from her curves. Material he removed from beneath her with only a flick of his wrist. Suddenly, she was naked, cool air enveloping sensitive skin. “And repaired.”
He’d slashed precisely. His claws never scratched her skin.
“Thank you.” Cookie rolled her shoulders, luxuriating in the lack of starch. The time for cold disdain had ended. “But you’ll have the dress cleaned, repaired and replaced. I expect something even more matronly. I’m eager to discover which of my personas you’re able to seduce.” Only all of them?
He went still, his hand paused midair as he reached for her breast. “You’re allowing me to stay in your castle? Am I more forgiven then?”