He gripped her ass tight, shifting her for a more perfect fit as his c**k pummeled her depths faster and more furiously, making Misty cry out his name again and again. It was the sweetest music, and he could listen to it all day.
“I love you.” He had to say the words even though he knew she didn’t believe him and wouldn’t return them.
He had to say it because that was what he felt, what he would always feel.
Her head had fallen back, her lips slowly parting open, and Domenico knew Misty was close. Keeping his gaze on her beautiful face, he withdrew all the way to the hilt, knowing it would make her look at him.
He shoved his c**k back in full force, and Domenico was rewarded with the loveliest sight, Misty falling apart in ecstasy as she came, her body shuddering. Weakly, she held on to him as he sought his own release, his h*ps wild in its movement, his c**k hungry for more of her depths because it had been so f**king long.
“Misty!” He threw his head back as he came, and he shuddered anew when Misty’s arms locked around him, as if wanting to be close to him. That had been so f**king long, too---the feeling of Misty wanting to be next to him.
“Misty,” he whispered against her hair even as he pulled her closer, urging her silently to wrap her legs around his waist more tightly.
“Misty, I love you so f**king much.”
She still didn’t answer but he could feel her tears leaving a hot wet trail on his cheeks and down his neck. His own eyes burned. “All those months, I gave you time to heal, but now it’s my turn. I want you back, Misty.” He touched her hair with his lips, and his words were both a promise and a threat.
“I won’t stop until I have you back and you understand that you’re meant to be mine.”
Something had happened between Misty and Domenico.
Lysander knew it right away the moment he met with Misty the next day. “Hello, my pretty.” He kept his voice light and casual as he came to her.
She tiptoed to kiss him on the cheek, and again the gesture surprised him. There was nothing sexual about it, but even so it made his c**k harden. Why did she appear so irresistible to him?
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to check up on you yesterday,” she said guiltily. After what happened in the armory, Misty had allowed Domenico to take her back to her cottage. How could she not when she didn’t have anything to wear but his shirt? Just remembering her walk of shame, with her in the arms of a bare-chested Domenico, made Misty want to knock her head against the wall as many time as it took to get some sense back into her.
How could she have let herself make love with Domenico again? Hadn’t she learned anything? He was not to be trusted – no matter how much he seemed to care for her!
Lysander sighed. “I admit to feeling hurt.”
She felt even guiltier. “Tell me how to make up for it?”
He grinned. “I was just teasing you. It wasn’t even your prince’s fault.”
“He’s not my prince,” she said automatically but this time she paused afterwards, as if troubled by the words.
That pause troubled Lysander, too, alerting him to the fact that he had to move faster if he wanted Misty in his bed. He wasn’t stupid. He knew his worth, but not even the most impressive skills in bed would be able to seduce Misty away from the Moretti heir if she fell in love with him again.
“Of course he’s your prince,” he teased. “If the rumors are true, you worship him so much that everyone in the entire realm heard you screaming his name.”
Misty choked. “Lysander!”
It was the first time she had called him by his name, and the pleasure it caused disturbed him. She was beginning to matter to him too much, and that wasn’t something he had counted on. It was not a good thing.
Misty was gnawing on her lip. “What else did people say?”
Lysander’s lips tightened. Was he supposed to tell her that the women who did hear her screaming had all thought Domenico Moretti was so good in bed to make her sound delirious with pleasure? He did not want to think about that, not when he wanted to be the one to make Misty’s body go soft and tight with pleasure, to see her pu**y filled to bursting with his come.
His c**k strained against his pants at the thought.
He answered slowly, “I don’t think you want to know.”
“I want to!” Did they think she was a slut? Did they---
“They were talking how your prince was such a stud because after what happened, they saw him taking Ivory to dinner next.”
She involuntarily took a step back. That was not what she had expected to hear at all.
Lysander’s conscience stirred at the way Misty had paled at his words, but he did not retract them. It was not his fault if women made fool of themselves – even if the woman was as kind as Misty.
“Stop looking so glum, Misty.”
She mustered a smile. “I’m not.” But her heart was heavy. Could it be true? After what had happened between them, could Domenico take another woman to his bed?
“Tell you what, why don’t we have a picnic and forget about all our problems and responsibilities for now?”
Misty hesitated. There were still terms of the agreement that they hadn’t yet ironed out, and the longer that took, the more danger they were in. Many of the other races would not be willing to offer the Faeries a helping hand without the Alliance agreement formally signed.
Lysander sighed. “Misty, stop being a martyr. It’s just one day – surely you deserve that much?”
She flinched at the term he used. A martyr. Had she been done that all the time? Could it be the reason why Domenico never thought her fit to be his true mate?
Squaring her shoulders, she smiled brightly at Lysander. “Okay, picnic that is. Let’s walk to my home first so I can grab some stuff and then we can go.”
While waiting outside Misty’s cottage, Lysander caught sight of Sir Belmont walking up the lane. Snapping his fan open for the sole purpose of antagonizing the old man, he called out in his soft languid drawl, “Sir Belmont, what a pleasant surprise!”
“Seeing you is a surprise but it is not pleasant,” the old man grumbled. “And stop with that fan. We all know you are as homosexual as I am.”
He snapped the fan closed, grim-faced. If Misty had heard what the old man said, he would not be accountable for his actions. “What’s your angle, old man? Why are you being so nice to her?”