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Jilted By Prince, Claimed By King
img img Jilted By Prince, Claimed By King img Chapter 3 3
3 Chapters
Chapter 8 8 img
Chapter 9 9 img
Chapter 10 10 img
Chapter 11 11 img
Chapter 12 12 img
Chapter 13 13 img
Chapter 14 14 img
Chapter 15 15 img
Chapter 16 16 img
Chapter 17 17 img
Chapter 18 18 img
Chapter 19 19 img
Chapter 20 20 img
Chapter 21 21 img
Chapter 22 22 img
Chapter 23 23 img
Chapter 24 24 img
Chapter 25 25 img
Chapter 26 26 img
Chapter 27 27 img
Chapter 28 28 img
Chapter 29 29 img
Chapter 30 30 img
Chapter 31 31 img
Chapter 32 32 img
Chapter 33 33 img
Chapter 34 34 img
Chapter 35 35 img
Chapter 36 36 img
Chapter 37 37 img
Chapter 38 38 img
Chapter 39 39 img
Chapter 40 40 img
Chapter 41 41 img
Chapter 42 42 img
Chapter 43 43 img
Chapter 44 44 img
Chapter 45 45 img
Chapter 46 46 img
Chapter 47 47 img
Chapter 48 48 img
Chapter 49 49 img
Chapter 50 50 img
Chapter 51 51 img
Chapter 52 52 img
Chapter 53 53 img
Chapter 54 54 img
Chapter 55 55 img
Chapter 56 56 img
Chapter 57 57 img
Chapter 58 58 img
Chapter 59 59 img
Chapter 60 60 img
Chapter 61 61 img
Chapter 62 62 img
Chapter 63 63 img
Chapter 64 64 img
Chapter 65 65 img
Chapter 66 66 img
Chapter 67 67 img
Chapter 68 68 img
Chapter 69 69 img
Chapter 70 70 img
Chapter 71 71 img
Chapter 72 72 img
Chapter 73 73 img
Chapter 74 74 img
Chapter 75 75 img
Chapter 76 76 img
Chapter 77 77 img
Chapter 78 78 img
Chapter 79 79 img
Chapter 80 80 img
Chapter 81 81 img
Chapter 82 82 img
Chapter 83 83 img
Chapter 84 84 img
Chapter 85 85 img
Chapter 86 86 img
Chapter 87 87 img
Chapter 88 88 img
Chapter 89 89 img
Chapter 90 90 img
Chapter 91 91 img
Chapter 92 92 img
Chapter 93 93 img
Chapter 94 94 img
Chapter 95 95 img
Chapter 96 96 img
Chapter 97 97 img
Chapter 98 98 img
Chapter 99 99 img
Chapter 100 100 img
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Chapter 3 3

Ignatius's free hand moved from her shoulder to her throat. His fingers were long, calloused, and cool. He traced the line of her jugular, his thumb pressing lightly against the frantic pulse point.

It felt like he was testing the ripeness of a fruit before crushing it.

Edris let out a sound that was half-whimper, half-moan. She arched her neck, exposing the vulnerable column of her throat to him, to the gun, to anything that would stop the ache.

The sound seemed to snap something in the room's atmosphere. The air grew heavy, charged with static.

Ignatius lowered the gun, tossing it onto a nearby armchair with a careless thud. He grabbed her waist, his hands spanning nearly the entire width of it, and slammed her back against the thick glass of the window.

The impact knocked the breath out of her. The glass was freezing against her bare back where the dress had slipped, a shocking contrast to the fever radiating from her skin.

"Do you know who I am?" he demanded, leaning in. His face was inches from hers, his breath smelling of mint and tobacco.

Edris blinked, trying to focus on his features. The sharp jawline, the cruel mouth, the scar cutting through his left eyebrow. He was death. He was the devil.

"You're..." She struggled to form the words, her mind a slush of desire and panic. "You're the ice."

It wasn't the answer he expected. His eyes narrowed.

"And you are a mistake," he murmured.

Edris reached for his belt. Her fingers were clumsy, desperate. She needed skin. She needed weight.

"Stop," he said, but his voice lacked the command from before. It was thicker, darker.

"Make it stop," she begged, tugging at his shirt. "Make the burning stop."

Ignatius watched her, his expression unreadable. He was a man of absolute control. He ruled a kingdom, he controlled markets, he dictated lives. But this woman-this unknown, disheveled, desperate creature-was unraveling his restraint with terrifying speed.

He captured her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head against the glass. "You will regret this when you wake up."

"I won't wake up," Edris whispered, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. "I'm already dead."

The despair in her voice was the catalyst. Ignatius crashed his mouth down on hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a claiming. It was violent and hungry, tasting of blood from her bitten tongue. Edris met him with equal force, her body seeking his like a magnet.

The dress tore. The sound of ripping silk was loud in the quiet room, but neither of them paused. His hands were everywhere-rough, demanding, grounding. Every touch was a brand, searing away the chemical itch of the drug and replacing it with a different kind of fire.

They moved blindly, stumbling toward the center of the room. They didn't make it to the bedroom. They collapsed onto the thick fur rug in front of the fireplace.

The heat of the fire licked at her skin, but it was nothing compared to the friction of his body against hers. It was a blur of sensation-teeth, skin, sweat, the rough wool of the rug, the hard lines of his muscles.

Edris wasn't Edris Mcclure in that moment. She wasn't the disgraced daughter or the rejected fiancée. She was just a body on fire, and he was the rain.

For hours, or maybe minutes, time ceased to exist. There was only the rhythm of their breathing and the silent, desperate language of survival.

Eventually, the wave crested. Edris collapsed against him, her body limp, the drug's hold finally broken by exhaustion. Darkness crept into the edges of her vision, soft and welcoming.

She felt Ignatius pull away slightly. The loss of contact made her shiver.

"Stay," she mumbled, her eyes heavy.

He didn't answer. He reached out, grabbing a heavy velvet throw from the sofa and tossing it over her. He tucked it around her shoulders with a strange, rough gentleness.

Edris's eyes fluttered closed.

Suddenly, a sharp noise cut through the haze.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Your Majesty?" A voice from the hallway. "Sensors indicated a breach on the terrace."

Ignatius went rigid. The predator was back.

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