Fantastical (Fantasyland #3)(43)
Author: Kristen Ashley

“Sweets,” he whispered.

“You owe me!” I cried. “That’s our deal. I gave it up… three times… and now you have to pay. You have to find me a wizard or a gypsy or someone, anyone who knows how to send me home!”

Then I dissolved again, my knees buckling and he caught me in his arms, lifted me up and swung around. I shoved my face into his neck and held onto his shoulders with both arms, my body wracked with tears and I dimly heard the firm, angry beat of his boots hitting the ground as he stalked wherever he was stalking.

“Gods, what on… is she well?” I heard a woman ask.

“Find me Perdita,” Tor growled. “I’ll want an explanation for the state of my wife.”

“No!” I cried, lifting my head and looking at his hard, angry profile. “Don’t blame Perdita. I think she may be the only one who likes me.”

“I gave her charge of you and you’re a gods damned mess.” Tor’s voice rumbled with fury. “So, my love, I’ll bloody well be talking to Perdita.”

My hand went to his cheek and I pleaded, “Please, please, don’t, Tor. You do, you’ll do me no favors.”

“Quiet, Cora,” he commanded low.

“Please, honey!” I cried, swiped at my tears and tried to brighten my tone. “I’ll be okay. It’s just stress. It’s a wonder I haven’t already had a meltdown. I’ll be fine. It’s out of my system.”

“I said quiet,” he clipped.

“Totally out of my system, baby, I promise,” I assured him on a complete lie.

“Quiet!” he thundered and I shut my trap.

Oh boy. Tor was pissed.

Great. Now what had I done?

He strode angrily through the castle, up the gazillion winding, gleaming, marble steps that led to his rooms and into his rooms where he laid me gently down on his bed and straightened.

Looking down at me, he stated, “Rest. I’ll have someone bring you some wine.”

At that, I panicked, sat up and cried, “No! Don’t! Don’t ask anyone to do anything for me!”

Big, big mistake. I knew this when his eyes narrowed ominously.

“Or,” I went on, trying to repair the damage, “actually, wine sounds good.”

Better to see one of his people, who hated me, than endure Tor’s fury, which scared the beejeezus out of me.

“Rest,” he commanded.

“Right,” I whispered.

Then he turned on his boot and stalked off.

“Fucking great,” I muttered and collapsed back on the bed.

* * *

I sat curled into the heavy, comfy chair I dragged out onto the balcony patio and sipped at my second glass of wine poured from a delicately carved crystal decanter with a curlicued handle and a whirly stopper that a scurrying, pale-faced, frightened looking, silent woman delivered to me and I stared at the view.

Tor had been gone a long time.

I heard the door open and the angry pounding of boots on marble.

Oh jeez.

I turned to look around the chair and watched him prowl to me.

He didn’t look any less angry.

I bit my lip and took in a deep breath.

He made it to me, I opened my mouth to speak but shut it when he pulled the glass out of my hand, set it on the balustrade, plucked me out of the chair, sat in it, arranged me in his lap, leaned forward and nabbed the wine, handed it to me and then sat back, glowering at the view.

“Uh, is everything all right?” I ventured.

“It bloody well will be,” he growled to the view.

Hmm.

I decided to say no more.

Tor pulled the glass out of my hand and took a huge gulp.

Hmm, again.

Then he spoke again to the view. “You’ll not have any problems in future, Cora. You do, you tell me instantly.”

Oh dear.

I felt it prudent to agree, quickly and softly, so I did. “Okay, honey.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

I kind of was. I hadn’t had anything since breakfast.

“Um… yes?” I asked back cautiously and his eyes cut to me.

“You either are or you aren’t, love,” he clipped.

“I am,” I whispered.

“Do you want to eat up here or in the dining room?”

I wanted to ask which dining room since, in my lonely tour of the castle, I saw three.

“Where do you want to eat?” I asked instead.

“Up here,” he grunted. “That way, when we’re done, I don’t have to waste time walking all the way up here to get you in my bed.”

Hmm.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

“Go pull the bell,” he muttered.

“Okay,” I repeated and scrambled off his lap

Halfway across the patio, I chanced a glance back and saw him drain my wineglass.

I bit my lip and turned back.

Oh boy.

* * *

Tor was up on a hand, arm straight, body at an angle, his weight distributed on his other forearm which was in the bed, his fingers laced in mine.

And his h*ps were between my legs, he was inside me, driving deep as his fiery eyes held mine captive.

I was close, so freaking close, God, he was big, he could move and he felt so damned good.

“Tor,” I breathed, communicating it was coming.

He buried himself deep, my neck arched and he stopped.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice thick.

I forced my chin down and tried to focus on him.

“Cora, look at me,” he repeated and I blinked the haze away.

“I see you,” I whispered, my hand at his chest running through the hair down to his flat stomach. “Don’t stop, baby.”

He ground his h*ps into me and I whimpered.

“Who’s inside you?” he demanded to know.

“You,” I answered.

“Who’s inside you?” he repeated and I blinked.

“Honey –”

His elbow bent and my body took on more of his weight as his face became the only thing I could see.

“Who’s f**king you?” he changed his question.

I was confused. “You,” I said again.

“Who am I?”

Oh God, I needed him to move!

“Tor,” I replied breathlessly.

That earned me a violent stroke and heat surged through me.

He stopped again and kept at it. “Who am I?”

“My husband,” I gasped.

Another violent stroke and again, “Who am I?”

“My prince,” I whispered.

“Bloody right,” he growled and his h*ps started moving faster, harder.