If he was going to ruin her, she wanted to ruin him, too.

Let him remember this night of passion, think of her hips crashing against his, their bodies shattering long before their stubborn wills ever would. She wanted him to shout her name, his orgasm ripped from the deepest depths of his soul.

“More,” she said, pulling him closer, tasting every inch of his salty skin she could.

She tugged his hair harder, his mouth crashing against hers before falling over her neck, her chest, her breasts. He licked and kissed and nipped until she thought she’d go mad.

He slipped a hand between them, playing with her sensitive clit, his cock still pistoning in and out. She was drenched, her body holding on to him tightly, needing him deeper.

He was branding her, forever imprinting himself in her body and worse, her heart. She reached down, gripping his length too. Her hands slick with their passion.

“Camilla.” He swore, fucking her so hard the chandeliers began to sway above them.

She hoped they’d bring his throne room crashing down around them. Still making love in the debris. Powerful. That was what she wanted to feel right now. She wanted him to remember this night the same way she would never forget it.

“Wait.”

He stopped instantly, his breath ragged. He was still buried deep inside her, cock throbbing with his heightened pulse. It was almost enough to make her forget her request. The way it hit that spot deep inside her… he was her god in that moment.

Though she’d never admit it.

She pushed at his chest. “I want to fuck you on your throne.”

He looked her over carefully, his expression inscrutable. Then he grinned.

“Lovely little deviant.”

His smile was radiant, warmer than any summer’s day, his eyes just as bright. It was an expression she’d never seen on him before, an expression that made her breath catch.

For a male whose displeasure chilled the air around them so often, she really shouldn’t have been surprised that his joy could rival the sun with its warmth.

In a flash, he was seated on the throne with Camilla on his lap, facing away from him.

She steadied herself by gazing out at the chamber. From where they sat now, with the tall arched windows directly behind them, they were both bathed in an otherworldly glow.

Camilla ran her fingers across the arms of the throne, admiring the silver filigree she hadn’t noticed from afar. Hunter-green velvet cushions softened the back and seat, with two covered sections on the arms. It was a beautiful throne. Powerful and sleek. Like the male who ruled from it.

Emeralds glittered in the metal, the gemstone meant to inspire envy. Across from them, towering canvases hung along the walls. Winged beings, florals, scenes of war and glory.

This, too, was a battle. One she’d not fought before.

Envy leaned back, legs spread wide, allowing her to do with him as she pleased. She shifted forward, flattening her palms on his thighs for better leverage.

Envy positioned himself against her entrance, waiting for her to make her move. His other hand stroked up her spine, encouraging, tender.

He misunderstood her hesitation. Camilla hadn’t paused out of nerves, she was allowing him to drink her in from behind, freezing the moment so it would imprint on him in some way. She knew he’d have a wonderful view of her backside, knew it would drive him wild. The idea of him being turned on, losing control, made her so wet it ought to be a crime.

She wanted him to picture her there, poised to take him. Right there on the seat of his power. Camilla wanted Envy never to forget that he might rule over his sinful court, but she’d ruled his body for one blissful moment in time. Just as he’d owned hers.

He expected her to take him inch by inch again, and she earned a surprised huff as she sank onto him in one hard motion. They both swore, their panting a mixture of pleasure and pain. He filled her so incredibly much, from this position, he went deeper.

Camilla slowly lifted herself up, all the way up his shaft, then dropped again, this time circling her hips. He swore. His mouth finding her shoulder, his teeth grazing her skin.

Envy gripped her hips, kneading her flesh as he allowed her to set the pace.

She rolled her hips, her movements slow and purposeful. Until she leaned forward, hitting a spot that made her moan, and fire seared through her veins.

After that, their game didn’t matter. Only their pleasure. Soon his thrusts matched hers, his hands moving her up and down as she bounced on his length.

Her muscles ached from the movement, tightened. She didn’t care.

Envy kissed along her spine, his fingers digging into her sides. His cock swelled inside her the same moment the most intense bolt of heat raced through her.

They both swore, fucking harder, knowing the end was upon them. She was no longer sure whether he was making love to her or she was making love to him. They were frantic, feral, pounding against each other as if their very lives depended on it.

Right before she came, his fingers slid across her slick folds, teasing her clit until she lost herself in the sensations, her orgasm roaring through her. Wave after wave of sparking pleasure hit her, tugging her under, over, and she yelled his true name.

“Leviaethan!”

Warmth spurted inside her as his release found him, and Camilla plummeted over the edge again, riding the last waves of pleasure until she turned boneless and fell back against Envy’s chest, breath heaving.

His arms circled her, drawing little shapes along her stomach, under her ribs, along the curve of her breasts with his own quivering muscles.

“Fucking hell.” His breath was warm on her neck, her skin pebbling pleasantly. He’d softened a little but remained inside her. “You kiss like a saint but fuck like a deviant.”

“I wanted our one night to count.”

“Fucking hell,” he said again, quieter this time.

Perhaps she had ruined him.

Her lips twitched upward before the smile faded.

Dawn wasn’t far off, and they needed to get the next clue. Their time was over.

The moment she stood, she knew she’d be leaving this fantasy behind.

To his credit, Envy didn’t seem to be in a rush to leave their little bubble behind either. She knew he must be thinking of the game again too. Of what it meant to his court.

Yet he stayed right there. With her. Like he didn’t wish to be anywhere else.

His hands moved to her arms, lightly tracing them.

Their breathing had long since evened out, and the silence hung heavy between them.

The slow, light touches moved along her silhouette, her waist, the curve of her hip, then meandered below her navel, sliding closer to where their bodies were still joined.

Her breath hitched as his hand dipped lower. He was hard again.

“What about the game?” she asked, hating that she had.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Thank fuck.”

He shifted so that Camilla was fully seated on him but he was in a more commanding position. While she was still facing away, her back to his chest, he was the one in control, lifting her up along his shaft, teasing her with the ridge as he slowly pumped in and out, making love to her like he’d never let go. There wasn’t anything hard and fast about his movements.

Now that he was back in control, he focused solely on wringing as much pleasure from her body as he could. The ridge of him hit a spot inside her that stole her thoughts.

He pulled out, then thrust in again, hitting that same glorious place.

She leaned against him, hands curled back around his neck, playing with his hair. He reached around, cupping her breasts as he moved, allowing himself room to thrust.

“See that mirror over there?” he asked, pointing to a gilded mirror she hadn’t noticed across the room.