Forbidden Craving Read online

  His taste was pure sexual heat, raw masculinity, exotic and addictive; his tongue worked hers with expert precision, her every nerve endings leaping to blissful life. Her nipples hardened, the apex of her thighs ached, and her stomach quivered.

  She wound her arms around his neck, accepting him fully, demanding more; a feral growl of satisfaction escaped him.

  “I want you,” he whispered fiercely and as always, the sound of his wine-rich voice excited her.

  He was made for her, only her—his every action, every breath, they happened simply to please her.

  The thought intoxicated her. Like the man himself.

  “I want you,” he repeated. “Give me everything.”

  “Never,” she forced herself to say. Then, of course, she contradicted herself by running his bottom lip between her teeth.

  His callused hands slid down the ridges of her spine to settle softly on the curve of her hips.

  “I need your breasts in my hands. Please, Shaye.”

  Yes! Oh, yes. Her nipples hardened more, and they hurt. They actually hurt, desperate for contact.

  He tunneled his hands under her shirt, his fingers tickling her skin. She gasped in wonder when his thumbs grazed each aching crest.

  “I wish I could stand you in front of a mirror and slowly remove your top, baring your flesh inch by precious inch,” he said. “I would cup your breasts in my hands, framing your nipples with my fingers as they pearled for me.”

  Her knees trembled. “I should hate the thought,” she told him, breathless. She brought her hands to his chest, brushing her thumbs over his nipples. They were hard little points she wanted to lick and suck. And, as her fingertip curled in the steel loop anchored in the right one, she wanted to lick and suck that, too. “Should absolutely, positively hate it.”

  He groaned. “If this is the way you hate...”

  “The pheromone. Only the pheromone.”

  “No.” He grated the negation.

  Angry with her now?

  She licked the seam of his lips, and his anger returned to passion. Their breaths had mingled. Now their gazes locked, a sultry clash of turquoise against brown, passion against passion.

  “Hate me some more,” he told her.

  She rose on her tiptoes—her body seemed to have a mind of its own—placing her lips just in front of his.

  He kissed her harder than before, his hands returning to her waist and tightening, his grip needy, firm and commanding.

  His message was clear: she could not escape.

  Why would she want to escape?

  He pulled her closer, until she nestled against the long, rigid length of his erection. A hot, raspy gasp left her, spears of pleasure arcing through her, spawning other bursts of sensation.

  “I want to hate you, too,” he told her in that same soft tone. “I want to hate you hard and fast the first time, slow and tender the second.”

  Behind them, someone cleared his throat. “My king?”

  Shaye heard the voice distantly and despised the interruption. More kisses. She wanted more of Valerian’s kisses. And he very clearly wanted to give them to her. Wicked intent gleamed in his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, my king,” the voice said. “The fight...”

  Valerian’s fingers clenched on her hips. “I don’t want to stop hating you,” he said softly, the words nothing but a growl.

  Saying “You must” almost killed her.

  He brushed his nose against hers. “Must hate you?”

  “Must stop.” Never stop!

  He ran his tongue over his teeth. Then his nostrils flared, as if her taste lingered there. “For now,” he stated. “I will.”

  She gulped. She’d never been kissed with such passion or fervor. As if the man claiming her lips truly savored her and would be utterly destroyed without her.

  He’s dangerous, her mind whispered. He made her hope, even though there was only one way the relationship would end. Painfully.

  All relationships ended. Period.

  But going from the beginning to the end will be worth the heartbreak later on, her body responded.

  She tugged from his embrace, suddenly cold and empty. Hollow, as she’d been through her entire childhood.

  His eyelids compressed to tiny slits, his thick lashes nearly intertwining top with bottom. “You melted for me. That isn’t reason to withdraw from me, Moon. That’s reason to rejoice.”

  “Valerian,” yet another man called. Joachim, this time. She recognized the deep baritone, now filled with impatience. “Have you decided against fighting me? Do you concede the victory to me?”

  Shaye drew her arms over her middle, tamping down a tremor of dread. “No,” she said. “He doesn’t.”

  Valerian cupped her cheeks. His gaze searched hers. He had to wonder why she’d protested the fight before but supported it now.

  The answer—whatever he’d decided it was—didn’t please him. He scowled.

  Did he think she wanted him to lose now that they’d kissed? Now that fear held her in an obvious choke hold?

  “I will never concede,” Valerian said, the words more lethal than the sword strapped to his back. His eyes never left her face. “Never.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  VALERIAN REELED, HARD, as he peered at the exquisite Shaye. Her eyes were wide and haunting—haunted—her lips puffed and red, and a pulse hammering at the base of her neck as she struggled to catch her breath. If he hadn’t already known she belonged to him, he would have known the moment, the very second, he tasted her sweetness. Nothing and no one had ever affected him more profoundly.

  I’m owned. She owns me.

  Joachim—the man who had interrupted Valerian’s first kiss with his one and only mate—awaited him.

  Wrong phrasing. What he and Shaye had done had been more than a kiss. Joachim had interrupted Valerian’s first consuming with his one and only mate.

  Yes. Better. They’d consumed each other.

  He wanted to consume her again.

  My cousin’s death warrant has been signed, sealed and soon, delivered.

  Looking away from a female had never been difficult, but fury seethed and bubbled in his veins, a rushing river of acid, giving him the strength he needed to glare at Joachim.

  “You will pay for this,” he snapped.

  “Only if you beat me,” Joachim replied, smug expectation coloring his face.

  The man truly thought to win and become king.

  “I’ve changed my mind about the fight,” Shaye muttered. “He deserves a royal spanking pronto.”

  Valerian reached back, palm extended, waiting for her to willingly place her hand in his. To his delight, she laced her fingers with his without a moment’s hesitation. Her hand was soft and delicate, the bones fine, the skin smooth. Her perfectly rounded nails were painted the color of coral shells.

  One day, he would suck them into his mouth.

  She tightened her grip, and his delight only magnified. Was she offering him...comfort?

  Was she coming to care for him?

  Perhaps, perhaps not, but he had made progress with her. Never had a woman reacted so passionately to him, erupting from ice-cold to white-hot in seconds.

  I’ll have that—her—again, he vowed. Soon.

  “I’m waiting,” Joachim said, tapping a booted foot.

  “So ready to die,” Valerian snapped.

  His cousin ignored the threat. “Unless you’ve decided to challenge me to a staring contest?”

  Valerian lifted his chin. “Come,” he said to Shaye. As he ushered her down the rest of the hallway, determination fueled his steps.

  He barreled past Joachim, shouldering the foolish man out of the way. Such disrespect would only ever be met wi
th pain—more than the warrior had ever before experienced.

  By the time their private war ended, any other male who’d ever harbored thoughts of taking the crown would apologize.

  A thought occurred to him. Should he have Shaye escorted to his chamber rather than take her with him, allowing her to watch the fight? If she bore witness to his most vicious side, the animal inside him...an animal that maimed and conquered...

  She might grow to fear him.

  The thought of her cowering from him...

  It was more than he could bear.

  But already she doubted his ability to win. Let her see the true depths of his strengths and know beyond any doubt he could take care of her at all times, in all ways.

  “Um, I feel silly saying this, but it’s got to be pointed out,” Shaye said. “He’s wearing armor. You’re still shirtless.”

  “I know. He is such a fool,” Valerian replied.

  “He’s protecting vulnerable organs, and he’s the fool?”

  “Have you ever been in a sword fight?”

  “Metal, plastic or lightsaber?”

  There were other kinds of swords in the surface world? Might be worth another trip topside to gather supplies. The lightsaber, especially, piqued his interest.

  “Metal,” he finally said.

  “Then no. No, I haven’t been in a sword fight.”

  “I’m unencumbered. He’s weighted down.”

  “Quick reflexes over blocking. Got it.”

  Wait. He stopped to gape down at her. “Are you taking notes, actually planning to engage in a sword fight of your own?”

  She lifted her chin in a mimic of him. “Perhaps I’m planning to challenge you.”

  He couldn’t stop his smile. “I look forward to the day you do.”

  A blush stained her cheeks.

  Joachim stalked past him, his boots flinging sand in every direction, and a chorus of “boo” rang out.

  Valerian resumed his journey and the chorus turned to cheers. The arena overflowed with men and women brimming with anticipation and eagerness.

  The females were draped in traditional nymph robes—scarves that had been woven together with golden thread. Fine, metal links cinched the material at the waist, showcasing the shapely curves of some and the lean delicacy of others.

  He would love to see Shaye draped in one of those robes.

  Valerian stopped in front of Broderick. “Is all ready?”

  “I’ve taken care of every detail.” Broderick grinned and wound his arm around the curvy beauty at his side. “Women and war in one day. Would only be better if I could watch the battle while having sex and eating grapes fed to me by a bevy of beauties.”

  “Our definition of better differs,” Shaye muttered. “Hey! New card idea. Barbarian Mentality 101 for women stuck with a Neanderthal. It could say something simple like, ‘Got Razors’ or even ‘Ugh’?”

  Valerian sometimes had no idea how to decipher her words, but this he understood. He grinned. “Broderick, my friend, you’re going to watch this little morsel for me.” He gently thrust Shaye in the warrior’s path.

  She humphed.

  “Guard her well and allow no one to touch her.” He paused, considered Broderick’s past liaisons and current desires, and added, “Not even yourself.”

  Broderick lost all traces of amusement. “What do I do if she tries to run away?”

  “She won’t.” He turned his gaze on Shaye and met her rebellious stare. “Will you?”

  She buffed her fingernails. “We never agreed on a time frame.”

  He expelled a hot breath. “Promise me you’ll stay here while I fight. If I’m worried about you, I won’t be able to concentrate on the sword being swung at me.”

  She paled, a lovely ice queen. “So. The only thing I get out of this newest bargain is the life of my captor?”

  “Contain your excitement. This isn’t a dream,” he said dryly. “Just...promise me.”

  Her expression softened ever so slightly. “Fine. I promise. But after the fight...”

  Satisfied, he looked to Broderick. “When I return, I want her in the same condition I’ve left her.”

  “What about him?” Shaye hiked her thumb in Broderick’s direction. “Do you want him in the same condition?”

  Valerian fought a grin. “Yes. Please.”

  The woman at the warrior’s side pointed an accusing finger at Shaye. “You’re standing too close to my Broderick.”

  Shaye rolled her eyes. “Sue me.”

  Broderick puffed up his chest. “Martina is possessive of me, what can I say?”

  Valerian crossed his arms over his chest. “Just make sure your Martina keeps her hands off Shaye, as well.”

  “You mean I won’t get to catfight over a man I have no interest in?” Shaye twisted her fists under her eyes. “Tears. Sadness.”

  “Fine,” he said in a mimic of her. “You can catfight her if you desire, but if you break her, I’ll owe Broderick another woman.”

  Broderick nodded. “He would.”

  Martina hissed at the warrior. “You would let someone hurt me? You wouldn’t protect me with your life?”

  “Yes?” he said, looking to Valerian for help.

  Shaye held up her hands, palms out. “All right. I can admit when I’m wrong, and I was wrong about the pheromone. It can’t overcome a bad personality.”

  Valerian wanted to laugh. He wanted to kiss his woman again. Wanted to luxuriate in her heat and wetness as he tasted her sweetness.

  She licked her lips, as if she read his thoughts. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “I can’t.” More important, he didn’t want to.

  “You must. Get your head out of my pants and into the game.”

  “Valerian!” A female squeal echoed behind his mate. “You’re here!”

  His muscles turned to stone. Heading straight toward him? The redhead Joachim had slept with last night. On a mission, she shoved her way through the crowd.

  “I came to wish you well.” She even shouldered Shaye out of the way, her focus solely on Valerian. “I just heard about the fight and wanted to cheer for you.”

  He scowled at her, ready to issue a stinging rebuke. Without asking permission, she caressed his bare chest and cupped his backside. He reared back.

  She chuckled. “You’re even sexier than I remembered. How about a quickie?”

  He shook his head. “Our association is now and forever at an end.” He used a gentle tone, determined not to inflict unnecessary hurt. “I have a mate now.”

  Her pink lips dipped into a pout. “So? I want you.”

  “And I want a pony,” Shaye snapped. “We don’t always get what we want, do we?”

  His first thought: What kind of pony? He would buy her an entire stable full.

  She loved pink, and he remembered seeing a pink pony on his last trip through the Outer City.

  His second thought: Was she jealous? He wanted her to be jealous. To long to keep him all to herself the way he longed to keep her.

  “Valerian?” the redhead said. “I’m fine with you having a mate. She can join us.”

  First things first. “I’ll never be willing to share my mate. With anyone.”

  “Supposed mate,” Shaye interjected, her expression softening.

  He frowned at her before continuing. “She’s all I want, all I need.”

  Color flooded her cheeks, and she looked away from him.

  The redhead’s shoulders drooped, and guilt pricked at him. He should have explained his intensions before he’d bedded the human. Should have made sure they wanted the same thing: momentary pleasure.

  “Valerian.” Joachim’s voice rang out. “I’ve waited long enough.”

&nb
sp; Everyone in the arena stopped speaking.

  “Then by all means,” Valerian replied. Time to push Shaye from his thoughts. “Let’s hurry your execution along.”

  He faced his opponent. Joachim stood in the center of the sandy arena, swinging a spear overhead to loosen his muscles. The metal whistled and zinged, like a war cry. In his other hand, he held a silver shield, two wings embossed on each side. A sword was sheathed in the center.

  Joachim slid his helmet in place, his armor glinting in the light.

  Valerian held his hand out, and Broderick slapped a spear into his grip. He felt its familiar weight and nodded.

  Next Broderick handed him a shield of his own.

  In the center rested the Skull. With it, Joachim would die, guaranteed. What Valerian had thought he wanted only seconds ago. Faced with such an inevitable outcome, his fury wrestled with uncertainty.

  He returned the shield. “Replace the Skull with one of my training blades.”

  “My lord.” Broderick gaped at him. “You’ve never—”

  “Do it.” Joachim could be killed any day. But if he died today, Valerian could never bring him back.

  As his cousin had pronounced earlier, they had been friends as children. The best of friends. Only when Poseidon had given Valerian’s father the crown had Joachim’s resentment sprouted.

  Under normal circumstances, Joachim would have been the chosen, continuing the line. Eldest son to eldest son. As young as he’d been—as sickly as he’d once been—Valerian’s father had been the better choice.

  Joachim believed Valerian had stolen his legacy, and he wasn’t wrong. But now, looking back, Valerian wondered if the sea god had known what he hadn’t. Joachim would have destroyed the nymphs.

  If Poseidon had even visited once since the coronation, perhaps this could have been avoided. But the male had forgotten them.

  “Any sword will do,” he added.

  A pause before the shield was taken out of his hand. Footsteps rang out. A few seconds later, the cool press of the shield’s handle weighed in his grip. A sharp-tipped blade now rested in the center. He nodded in approval.

  “Your helmet, my king,” Broderick said.

  “No.” He kept his gaze on Joachim. “Not this time.”