Page 43 of Consort's Glory
“Not particularly.”
“Do you want to explain to me why you didn’t let me or my staff know you needed protein supplements?”
“No.”
He nodded. “Do you want to talk about us?”
She made a low sound of disapproval.
“Darling, you’re laying in my arms.” He gave her a small squeeze. “You can’t say there isn’t an ‘us’.”
“Theodore.” His name slid off of her tongue in a rebuke, but it still made every muscle in his body stiffen. “I told you, you’re not—”
Curling his claws into her hair, he gently fisted a handful and used it to tip her head back. Margot sucked in a sharp breath and met his hungry gaze with wide eyes. Her round pupils were blown up into huge, black discs.
Roughly, he demanded, “Say it again.”
Margot licked her lips. “Sovereign.”
“You must really want me to bite you.”
He could feel her heartbeat against his chest. It was fast, almost birdlike, and the feeling of it made him ache so much worse. His cock was a hot bar in his sleek pants, his hormones a raging storm in his blood. It would be so, so easy to drop his head and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. It would be even easier to flip her over, cage her in, and close his fangs over her vulnerable throat like his instincts screamed at him to do.
As if sensing his intentions, Margot’s lips parted, inviting him closer. Still, she rasped, “You said you wouldn’t kiss me.”
Theodore squeezed his eyes shut. Why the fuck did I say that?
Because he was trying to give her as much time to adjust, to get to know him, as he could. Because he wasn’t that ravaging beast that howled inside of him. Because he wanted Margot to want him as much as he wanted her.
Even so, not kissing her was one of the single most painful tasks he had ever encountered.
“This is torture,” he muttered, hauling her onto his chest so that her head was tucked under his chin. If he couldn’t see her, maybe the temptation would lessen.
Except that meant having her slight weight draped across his body — including her soft thigh, which was currently pressed against his erection. Theodore tipped his head back and opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling.
Mercy, he prayed. Perhaps Glory would listen, but it was more likely that Tempest, the god of wind and love and ceaseless, changeable lust, would hear him and laugh.
Margot shifted, unintentionally rubbing her thigh against him. “What’s wrong?”
He breathed deeply, but it didn’t help when the air was saturated with the scent of her, with that golden thread of desire that made him want to tear her pajamas off with tooth and claw.
“I’m doing my best to keep my promise,” he tightly explained. “Now relax and go to sleep, darling.” For both our sakes.
“I never intended to use you as a pillow.” It was cute that she would say that even as she settled more heavily on his chest, her cheek resting just above his heart. One soft hand curled into the fabric covering his side, anchoring them together in her own way.
Husky, he said, “I like being used as a pillow.”
“Does everyone know that the sovereign likes to cuddle?” Her voice was delightfully drowsy.
“No.” Theodore smoothed his claws through her drying hair, his heart a huge, aching thing in his chest. “Just you.”
Margot’s breath began to even out, but just before sleep could claim her entirely, she whispered, only a touch slurred, “Good. I like that you’re mine.”
Mercy.
