The breeze slipped through the broken window, laced with the cool scent of rain and something wilder—something that made the fine hairs along Kaete’s arms lift and her nipples tighten into sensitive peaks. The petrichor of a storm approaching. The chill only sharpened her awareness of the slow-blooming heat building inside her again. She could feel it in her belly, in her thighs, a quiet hum of need that had only one name.
Sterling.
He sat by the window, bare-chested, pale sunlight gilding the faint shimmer of his skin. His dark curly hair fell messily over one eye as he lazily plucked blackberries from a ceramic bowl, each movement languid and deliberate. There was an elegance to the way he held himself, every motion a reminder that he wasn’t entirely of this world - that he was Fae—beautiful, dangerous, cunning.
Kaete didn’t think he noticed her watching, but then he spoke. “We’ll have to change rooms,” he said, frowning slightly out the window at something that she could not see. “There is a storm is coming. We will be drenched from the rain. I can’t have my little wife grow sick with cold.” He turned his gaze to her with a smirk. “It would be... negligent of me.”
He stood. She watched him cross the room to the bell. Moments later, there was a soft knock at the chamber door.
“Yes, my lord?” Wexley’s voice was muffled.
“Find us another suite and have someone reinforce this room. Perhaps a ward? Or whatever humans use when windows break. I can smell that a storm is coming.”
“Right away, my lord.”
Sterling returned to her, rolling his sleeves up as he approached the bed. “You’ll want to freshen up, I imagine,” he said, his long fingers undoing the knots around her ankles.
What she wanted—she wasn’t sure. Her body warred with her mind. Part of her still clung to the dignity she’d had before the heat had taken hold. The other part of her—the traitorous part—craved him. Craved the feel of his hands, the way he made her feel beneath his touch.
He leaned down, trailing his fingers up her calf to her knee, and further—close enough to draw a gasp from her lips but not to touch. Not quite.
“Your skin is burning to the touch again,” he murmured with a malicious smile, enjoying himself. “And I can feel the way you ache through the bond.”
She hated that he could sense her arousal. Hated that he liked the advantage over her that it gave him. But the moon gods, he was sexy when he smiled like that.
He undid the final knot and crawled between her thighs, lifting them around his hips. His eyes glowed faintly from within, Fae fire dancing within their silvered depths, and she could feel the magic of their bond against her skin—thrumming as if alive. The tip of his cock brushed against her entrance, and her body answered with a shiver.
“I like this,” he said huskily. “Having my mate bound and begging for me.”
He thrust forward, groaning as he filled her. She gasped, the stretch sharp and perfect, her legs tightening around his waist. She could feel every muscle in his arse, hard and flexing under her heels. He moved like magic—devouring her, body and soul—and when she came, the magic between them surged, burning along the fragile cracks of the bond, as if trying to melt them whole.
Sterling followed with a deep, guttural sound, collapsing over her, his breath hot against her collarbone. His skin was slick with sweat, and his heartbeat fast against her chest. He reached up and untied her wrists almost lazily plucking at the knots.
She wanted to touch him. Gods, she wanted to run her hands along the lines of his chest, up his arms, to rest them over his heart. But she didn’t. Couldn’t.
Since their wedding night, their couplings had never been tender. He came to her in the depths of night, fucked her in silence, and left as soon as he came. She didn’t understand the man that shared her bed now, whose words shifted between dry amusement and sharp anger, and whose hands and body lingered on hers as if he wanted to touch her.
She lay beneath him, unsure, trembling with need and restraint.
He grunted and rolled away. “Bathroom. Then robe.”
Kaete obeyed, unsteady on her feet, her legs trembling from the bindings and the aftermath of pleasure. She half-stumbled into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.
The water was hot, but it couldn’t wash away the ache. She tried—tried to quiet the storm in her blood with her fingers, bracing one hand against the cold tile whilst she rubbed her clit, but the orgasm she managed to coax out before the water ran cold only made her craving for more worse.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in her robe, she found the bedroom empty. From the sitting room, she heard his voice and by moving to the foot of the bed she could see him sitting on the couch, his back to her, and his phone to his ear.
“No. Move it all to Wednesday. Something’s come up… Yes, that. I’m not surprised. Half of the Fae in the city probably knows by now.” His laugh was low and wicked, curling around her like smoke. She felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment knowing he meant her heat. She stepped back as he ended the call and rose.
He stepped into the room and paused, nostrils flaring as he tested the air. “At least the broken window is clearing the magic in here for the poor souls Wexley sends in to fix the window. It would be an interesting orgy to watch, but we have better ways to spend our time, don’t we?”
He touched her lower back, gently guiding her out into the corridor and to the next room. The little suite of sitting room, sleeping room, and bathroom was warmer, more opulent. Draped in soft cream and gold, with carved trim, woven silk, and a high four-poster bed veiled in gauzy curtains.
She looked around her stung that she hadn’t just been in an unused guest room, but she’d been in the lesser of unused guest rooms.
“This should do,” he approved the room.
He gestured toward the inlaid table, where a new tray waited—steaming tea, buttered scones, dried fruit, and crystal-cut water.
“Eat,” he said. “You’ll need your strength before I tie you up again.”
Kaete stared at him, wide-eyed and dazed. “Again?”
Sterling's smile was nothing human—it was wicked and ancient, all silver edges and shadowed hunger. “Yes. Again.” His voice coiled around her like an incantation; velvet layered with thorns. “Why tamper with a situation that sings so sweetly to my blood?”
With a lazy flourish, he removed the cloche from the silver tray beside the hearth. “Eat. Drink. Then get back in that bed before the look in your eyes unravels what little control I still possess.”
Steam curled from ripe, jewel-toned fruit and blood-glazed meat, sweet pastries dripping with amber honey—imported Fae food. His chef normally prepared human style food. Had this been made specifically to tempt her to eat? She sat on the couch and tried to convince herself to try something from the plate. Someone had gone to a lot of effort to prepare it, after all, but the idea of placing even a morsel in her mouth made her feel ill.
“I can’t eat,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I just can’t.”
One moment she was seated, the next she was in his arms, swept up like a human being stolen in the night. He laid her on the bed. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, brushing the robe aside with gentle fingers, their touch warm on her skin. “Let me help you with that.”
Then he was kneeling between her thighs, his expression unhurried and unrepentant. Her moan broke the air at the first touch of his tongue—sharp, knowing, relentless. Her hips surged; he pressed a hand to her abdomen, holding her down like prey beneath a predator’s mouth. He sucked and devoured as if he relished the taste of her on his tongue, drinking her down as if she were the sweetest Fae wine, and the vibrations of his moans added an extra sensation to that of his lips, teeth and tongue. The climax tore through her like wild magic, leaving her clenching at the bed cover, her body arched.
He rose over her, his beautiful face haloed in hair and shadow, eyes burning like starlight swallowed by storm clouds. He sheathed his cock within her in one greedy thrust and she gripped at his hips, pulling him tighter, greedily, fighting against the brace of his arms on the mattress, until he laughed.
“Gods!” He exclaimed. “I didn’t think your ice would ever melt like this, little enchantress.” And he rolled, taking her with him, so that she straddled him and he lay beneath her. “There,” he threw his arms over his head in surrender. “Take what you want. I am yours to do with as you please.”
Her hair swung forward, dragging over his chest as she braced her hands on his shoulders and used him as her body demanded, lifting along his length and then slamming her body down on him with enough force that he grunted in surprise, his grin unfaltering, and his fingers capturing the ends of a lock of her hair between them.
“That’s right, my beautiful wife,” he ground out between his teeth, his eyes smoldering with pleasure. “We are Fae. We take what we want and what we need. Show me how much you want and need me.”
She shattered again—and with a ragged groan, he followed, one hand on her hip as he arched from them bed, burying himself to the hilt as if determined to shoot his seed straight into her womb, and then sagging in repletion before taking hold of her wrists and dragging her brace out from beneath her, pulling her forward to lie across his chest so that he could bury his face into her hair.
“Fuck,” Sterling muttered, voice rough against her throat. “Your timing’s wretched… but there are worse ways to be kept idle.”
He was content to lie with her after, his hand stroking through her hair from root to tip, caressing over her back to the curve of her arse, his chest rising and falling in such a regular fashion that if it wasn’t for that rhythmic stroke, she’d have thought he was lost to dreams, rather than lost in her. She drifted on the edge of sleep, the content, that gentle touch of his hand, answering a need even deeper and more demanding than the heat.
Eventually he sighed heavily. “I need to make a phone call.” He eased her to the side before rising, finding his pants and his phone, and taking both to the bathroom door. “This impromptu heat has played havoc on my schedule.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he stood, already grieving the end of that quiet moment of intimacy.
“Don’t be,” he said over his shoulder, and closed the door behind him. The hiss of the shower followed—and then, as he waited for the water to heat, the rise and fall of his voice as he made his phone call. Celeste’s voice answered, sharp and unhappy. The strike of water against tile disguised the words, but the tone was clear.
“Be reasonable!” Was audible however, when he snapped it out angrily. “She could not help it. We will talk more after. Don’t fuck this up out of anger. We have worked far too long and too hard for you to have a temper tantrum over nothing now.”
There was silence after, and the tone of the water against time changed as he shifted under the spray.
Kaete sat on the edge of the bed trying to soothe her bleeding heart. For that gentle, peaceful moment, it had been as she had imagined it would be finding her soul mate, but the call with Celeste had swiftly brought her back to reality.
He wasn’t gone long. When he returned, towel in hand, he was still gloriously, arrogantly naked.
“If you need the washroom, go now,” he said mildly. “After that, I’m binding you.”
“You don’t actually—” she started, then stopped. Her breath caught. She looked away, hiding behind her hair. Silently, she rose to clean herself.
When she returned, the curtain cords had been repurposed—knotted at the corners of the bed, waiting. She dropped the robe and laid herself down without command. There was no point to arguing.
Sterling moved with slow precision, his fingers skimming her skin as he bound each wrist and ankle, spreading her open to his gaze, his power, his control.
He stepped back, drinking her in. “Perfect,” he said, voice hoarse with hunger.
Then—buzz.
The sound fractured the moment. His jaw clenched. He crossed to the dresser, snatched the phone, and muttered a curse in a language she didn’t understand.
“Something wrong?” Kaete asked softly.
He glanced at her like she’d pulled him from a dream. “Nothing that concerns you.” But he returned to the bed, sitting beside her, phone still in hand, tension simmering beneath his skin.
He lay down beside her, their bodies brushing. Then, with maddening calm, he placed the phone on her stomach and began typing, one-handed, eyes flicking up to watch her squirm.
Her whole body ached. Every breath was fire.
“Don’t move,” he murmured. “Typing one-handed is not as easy as it seems.”
“I can’t,” she said, voice trembling. “It’s too much.”
He didn’t look up. “Then ask.”
The word cracked something inside her. Ask. Not beg. Ask. An invitation laced with power and punishment.
She clenched her teeth, eyes shut against the heat behind them.
Silence.
Then he stood. Cold rushed in where his heat had been.
“If you’d rather endure the rest of your heat alone, I can make that happen,” he said, voice like frost across her spine.
“Please,” she choked. “Please don’t go.”
He paused, tilting his head. “Please what?”
Her pride burned on her tongue.
“Please, Sterling Eastern, fuck me.”
His smile was slow and lethally triumphant.
“There it is,” he said, stalking back toward the bed. His cock was already hard again. “Was that so difficult?”