Page 152 of Hellbound

A beat longer.

She wished with every fiber of her being that she could fill the silence with a scalding response—anything.

He filled it for her.

“You are a force I cannot fight.” The words were low and reverent on his lips.

And they unraveled something deep in her.

Her golden eyes snapped to his pure green ones and found no trace of a lie.

His mask fell away.

All pretenses of his rules went out the window as their hips rolled in unison, his fingers working against her, pushing her over the edge until she came, his name breaking through her lips as if he was keeping her anchored through the powerful waves rolling through her now.

Bohdan never slowed his hips, and she was helpless to do anything but take him. It was carnal the way he fucked her to pieces, lacing one hand in hers and forcing her other arm behind her back as she held on to him for dear life.

Finally, he tumbled over the edge himself, his hips falling out of rhythm as he filled her to the brim. Her name was a strangled whisper against her heaving chest.

She was plastered against him as they struggled to regain their breath.

She had gotten too close.

She’d wanted to weaponize his desire for her, and somehow, she had become entangled in him.

Her reverie broke when he traced lazy circles against her damp skin, up and down her spine, and she let slip a soft moan.

She could practically hear the stretch of his smirk on his face, and it renewed her sick desire for him.

With effort, she pushed herself up off the hard, toned planes of his chest, forcing down her whimper as she unsheathed his cock from her and reminded herself to ignore the urge to slam herself against his hips again.

She’d gone far enough.

“This—was a one-time thing.”

He tilted his head, eyes trained on hers as he knit his hands behind his neck. Every muscle was stretched and taut before her as he tore apart her lie with his gaze alone.

She flushed a deeper red.

“Of course, it won’t happen again unless you ask.”

“As if I would.” Her gaze daggered at him.

He hummed.

37

Once a year, the crystal conservatory—a structure topped with a glass oculus that symbolized Karsan’s politically laced desire for transparency and unity—would open its doors for Kindling.

Unlike the black stone facade of Hearth, the conservatory was made of sheer panes of colored glass arranged in complex mosaics and held together by black metal tracery, along with quatrefoils and finials in looping patterns. The structure was multi-leveled, with all of the central balconies overlooking the ballroom on the ground floor.

Tapestried banners hung from the ceiling, displaying noble houses, insignias, and royal crests from generations past. Their rich, silken embroidery was infused with metal strands, gleaming in the light. Dotted between them, sumptuous chandeliers dripped with chains of crystal and jewels.

The Saranov crest was displayed most prominently atop a marble pedestal at the head of the ballroom, with which peace accords of the lands between Drenvar, Grastel, and Kraal were inscribed. On top of the pedestal sat a brilliant golden chalice.

At its stem, a ring of a hundred tiny swords radiated outward like a sun, with swirling gold filigree and a mirror in the center that reflected the approaching person’s gaze.

The cup itself was clear and crystalline, accented with emerald spikes in a gold band wrapping around its middle.