Kings of underland a bri.., p.12
Kings of Underland: A Bride for Beasts, page 12
A prophesied curseworker. A savior. A hero. A queen.
Patently ridiculous.
“There must be something wrong with you.” I lean back slightly, ignoring the frothy ruffled bunch of her skirts around her hips, the way her bare legs are exposed up to mid-thigh, the heat between our pelvises. “What is it, huh? Do you collect old butter ads? I once knew someone who had thousands of flyers in a crate out back of the house. All for butter. Salted butter. Grass-fed butter. Wildflower butter. Butter-flies. Butter-face. All sorts.”
“It sounds like a fatal flaw,” Allison chokes out, averting her blue gaze from mine.
“Oh, it was, I assure you,” I promise her, my hands tightening ever so slightly on her hips. I’m stalling for time here because I’m not sure what it is that I intend on doing. “So what’s your flaw, Doll? There must be something.”
“The real question is: who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle!” She grins cheekily at me, but I’ve lived here all my life, and I’m more than used to word games and language play.
“Nonsense. Maybe you don’t have any flaws, is that it?” I slide my hands down her legs and then slip them up and under her skirt, taking hold of her hips underneath. Allison makes a sound, pushing her skirts down so that my activities are somewhat obscured to the rest of the room. I lean in and put my mouth against the side of her jaw, one fingertip stroking beneath the strap of the thigh holster hidden beneath her dress. “And trust me, love, the sex plays a huge role.”
“I have more flaws than most,” she retorts, as if she didn’t hear what I just said. All around us, people are dancing and drinking and singing off-key. The room reeks of jasmine and peppermint, of rose hips and bergamot oil and citrus. Underneath all of that there’s the kiss of saltwater and grilled oysters, and underneath that, I can taste the pheromones of the crowd. It’s heady in here, almost intoxicating for a bandersnatch’s sense of smell. It’s a trait that came when I took on the form, but it’s never worth shifting such an ability off. “I’m rude, loud, impertinent, sassy, deeply opinionated, impossibly lazy, and dreadfully introspective.”
“Those are flaws?” I query back, and then I find that I can’t help myself. I push even closer, until my pelvis is pressed flush against hers. “I don’t see things that way: I like those attributes in a woman.”
My hand drops between us, flicking the button on my pants. It shouldn’t be so easy to end up with my cock in my hand, but there it is. I play with myself as I kiss down the side of my girl’s neck.
There are plenty of shadows over here to keep us hidden, plenty of debauch acts going on around the tavern to render us anonymous and invisible. Everyone is buzzed on boosted tea—with some exceptions for safety purposes, of course—so it doesn’t really matter what we do in here.
This is Underland.
It runs on sex and blood, violence and magic, whimsy and word games.
“I’m going to fuck you in here,” I inform her, just before I slide my hand down and stroke two fingers along the front of her bright red panties. She makes a cute, little noise for me, fisting the sides of my purple trench coat and pulling me closer. Her gaze lifts up and meets mine, and my skin ripples with the need to touch more of her.
She slides her hands up and over my shoulders, then into my hair, going for my ears next. They’re absurdly erogenous for me, causing a growl to ripple through me as I resist the urge to shift and fuck her in an entirely different form. I’m not sure how well that’d go over.
My fingers hook the crotch of her panties, pulling them aside so that I can rub my knuckles against her velvety folds. Her nectar collects on my hand as I pet and tease, running my tongue up the side of her throat. When I hit the edge of her jaw, I kiss down to her mouth, taking her parted lips with one hand fisted in her hair while the other buries two fingers inside of her.
And ah, Christ, the sound she makes.
“How is that, Doll?” I murmur against her mouth, tasting her between words. “Do you like that?”
“You …” A small gasp as I crook my fingers. “I love that …”
I push myself in to the knuckles and withdraw until just my fingertips are touching her slick heat. When I drop my head down and sample her taut nipple through the fabric of her shirt and bra, she drives her hips upward and does the work for me, fucking my hand while I turn the white fabric damp with my tongue.
Allison is tugging on my ears now, yanking on them so hard that it almost hurts. I don’t care—I like it.
When her body starts to flutter around my fingers, I draw back, pausing briefly to kiss the sweat from her temple. The panties come loose with a sharp yank, rending the thin, silky fabric. I step closer, hands locked onto her hips, and look her dead in the face.
The way she peers up at me makes me reconsider Raiden’s question.
“What do you think about Allison?”
I think that she looks like trouble—and I love to get myself into trouble.
I might’ve shown up to greet the Alice because it’s what Hatter wanted, but it’s not why I’m sticking around. Oh, no.
Violent chemistry does not a love story make—but it sure as hell can start one.
Allison – the Queen of Hearts
March cuts an impressive figure with his wide shoulders and black silk dress shirt with the silver heart buttons. The pants, too, are a treat for the bare skin of my inner thighs, a sumptuous buttery leather that makes me want to rock my pelvis just to feel more of his fabrics, let alone the man wearing them.
His eyes are brown, but there are red and orange undertones that draw me in, those long lashes fluttering as he blinks down at me, almost like he’s as surprised to find himself in this situation as I am.
We … connected before, obviously—I’m not such a silly person that I’d marry someone I wasn’t sure about—but there’s this still, quiet second there where I’m staring up at him and he’s looking down at me and … I can’t think about anybody else. There is nobody else. It’s just me and March, and I don’t know anything about him other than that he’s been there for me over and over and over again.
Without him, I would be dead.
Without him, I wouldn’t have my mother by my side.
Without him, Underland might very well lie in burning ruin.
“Do you feel that?” I whisper, but he just shakes his head suddenly, nearly dislodging the hat that is spelled to stay on his head. He reaches up to run a finger along the brim—a finger that’s just slightly glossy from touching me—and then pulls it low.
“Just sex,” he rumbles, but he doesn’t mean it.
Doesn’t matter.
We both know he’s a Rabbit and, as both he and Rab stated earlier, that makes him a liar.
“Fuck me, you filthy liar,” I grind out, but he’s already in position, and there’s nothing more to do. March pushes in at the tip and then gathers me up with his hands on my ass, drawing me to him and coupling us in an instant. I exhale to make room for him, and he breathes in, like he’s absorbing all of me.
He’s wide and long, and he fills me in such a way that I feel snug, full, like I can’t quite pull in a complete breath. My breathing is harsh and quick, my pulse fluttering in my head. This is the feeling and the act of discovering someone anew, of getting to know them in an intimate and carnal way.
I’m not sure what to look at, but I can’t look at March, not even when he starts to fuck me against the barrel underneath my ass. My skirts rustle with the movement, but it’s a sound that only we can hear. It’s like we’re alone in a crowded room, people cheering and shouting and stumbling by just outside this pool of shadows.
Underland in a word is ribald. It’s a bacchanalian affair. It’s a dark rebirth.
My arms wrap March’s neck, and I look past him, toward the crowd and the vague spots of color in the room that are my husbands. A dark figure moves up through the press of strangers, pausing several feet back from us, orange eyes watching curiously.
It’s Raiden, staring at March’s back for a long moment before he turns his attention to me. I stare back at him as another man moves inside of me, and I have no idea what to feel. He takes another step forward, but I adjust my attention back to March.
He slows briefly, tightens his grip on my ass, and meets my eyes.
When he starts to move, I do my best to keep up with him, our mouths locking, our bodies grinding together. The air around us is heated and humid, almost stifling. I don’t pay much attention to it until it changes, a sudden stagnancy that’s a far cry from the charged air of the tavern.
Oh. Oh no. No, no, no.
March and I are falling down the Rabbit-Hole together.
A horrible wrenching feeling yawns open in my belly as I cling to him for dear life. It’s like that sensation at the top of a rollercoaster, a brief primal scream of fear in the heart.
My heavy lids crack open as March pants heavily, fingers digging indents into my ass.
We’re not in the tavern anymore.
Oh no, we’re not even in Underland anymore.
March curses under his breath, and then our eyes meet again.
There’s nowhere to go in here, no way to stop the inevitable. My eyes flick past his and over to a desk that’s floating nearby, complete with inkwell and parchment paper and pretty quills with peacock feathers.
He turns in frustrated fury and spots it. His right hand reaches past me, snagging the edge of the desk and yanking it close with a hard tug. My bare ass is deposited on the surface of it, knocking the inkwell off and sending it downward at a slightly faster pace than we’re currently moving.
With another little snarl, March shoves his tongue into my mouth and I use my legs to push his pants down, so I can rub my skin against his bare ass. He holds me tight, screwing me into the side of the desk.
This is ridiculous and fucking ridiculouser.
We can’t fuck while we’re falling through a Rabbit-Hole!
Yet … we are.
Doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters but for this.
My arms tighten around his neck as he drives balls-deep, the sound of our joining echoing in the ethereal silence.
“Yes … right there …” I groan, letting my head fall back, red hair sticking to the sweat-slicked skin of my throat and forehead. “Don’t stop …”
“Not a chance in fucking hell,” he grumbles, and then I’m coming with a fractured explosion behind my eyes, like reality is cracking into glass shards. I go completely limp, just barely managing to hold onto his neck.
March’s tight grip is the only thing keeping me from tumbling off the desk and down the tunnel by myself. He works himself deep, making these wild sounds against the side of my neck, part-curse, part-growl, part something else that reminds me that he’s in no way human.
He finishes with a low, agonized groan, burying himself to the hilt as he shudders all over and then relaxes suddenly. March slams his palms down on the top of the desk, panting.
“Where in the fucking fuck are we?” he mumbles, peering at our surroundings from half-lidded eyes. He curses again, his English accent so thick that I almost have trouble understanding him. “Is this what happened to you last time, love?”
I nod, but I’m having trouble maintaining a conversational tone with the way things are right now. I push back against March’s chest, and he hesitates, resisting the movement with a mulish expression on his face.
“Wait until we’re on solid ground, eh?” He at least pulls out of me, but he doesn’t let go, waiting until that horrible sensation of falling starts up again, and we’re hurtling downward at far too quick a pace for my liking.
March shifts in midair, switching into his bandersnatch form before we hit the ground. His massive body hits the stone floor first, claws spread, legs braced for impact. He snatches me in midair by the skirt until I’m hanging upside down with my bare ass pointed toward the ceiling.
“Put me down!” I grumble, my dignity leaking out of me along with … with other things. “Now.”
March drops me into the pile of sticks and leaves where I landed with Tee just a day earlier. Crap, shit, fuck, son of a bitch.
I shove up to my feet, swiping my hands down the front of my skirts to straighten them out as I glare over at March. His bandersnatch form is brown with marbled spots and a furred tail that sweeps back and forth like an irritated cat’s. He curls his lips back over his sharp teeth as he drops his nose to the ground and breathes in deep. I’d call him part wolf, part cougar, part otherworld beast. At the shoulder, he’s at least as tall as I am—at least. With huge paws, a long muzzle, and a body crafted of pure muscle, he’s a force to be reckoned with. The rabbit ears add just a dash of cuteness to an otherwise terrifying monster.
I cross my arms to wait as he shakes out his coat and then shifts quickly back into his regular form.
“Here.” He digs around inside his jacket and offers up a handkerchief, all the while averting his eyes. “If you don’t get yourself tidied up quick, I might just go again. I don’t give a fuck where we’ve landed.”
“Stop that,” I hiss quietly. “Rule Number Forty-Two: never get caught with your pants down. It’s the oldest rule in the book. And here we are, with our pants down.” I gesture at March as he curses and yanks his pants back into place.
Don’t ask me why the oldest rule in the book would be number forty-two when it should rightfully be number one. It doesn’t matter. In Underland, everything is a game or a trick or a tease.
I do my best with what I’ve got, trying to focus on the dire nature of the situation and not on the fact that March and I continued to fuck even after we knew that we were in deep shit.
“Is this where you and Tee came before?” he asks, stepping close to me but not touching me. I’m fairly certain he knows that if we touch, we won’t stop at a simple hand on the shoulder.
I swallow down a lump.
“It is.” I look around, but there’s no cute little white rabbit with pink eyes this time. It’s just us and the smashed remnants of crystals, some blood from where my knee and Tee’s wings dripped, and glittering toadstools for company.
The sound of the miniature waterfalls echoes back to us, but it’s too dark to see in here now. Thank you, Vampire Bunny Monster, for that one.
“Imperial fiddlesticks,” March murmurs, rubbing at his chin. “What fresh hell is this?” He gestures at the absurdly neon colors of the crystals before turning to face the darkness of the tunnel.
“The small door I mentioned is at the end of this.” I flick my hands in that direction, and then reach beneath my skirts in such a way that March actually takes a strong step toward me. “Don’t let your mind fall into the gutter, Dear Sir.” I open a small pouch on the holster strapped to the top of my left thigh and withdraw a bit of mushroom flesh.
It’s contained in a small gauze bag with a mouse embroidered on it; if we take it, we’ll shrink to a size small enough that getting through the tiny door will pose no problem. I give the White Knight’s sheath a pat for further reassurance. If I shrink, anything on my person shrinks with me. I’ll remain armed.
“How dare you be so practical,” he challenges, reaching out to take my wrist so that he can pull me closer. “What’s going on with us?”
“You want to talk about that now?” I ask, blinking wildly at him. “You’ve lost it. Really, truly. You’re nuts, March.” I move past him and into the darkness, coming up short when I realize how disturbingly dark it really is in here. This isn’t nighttime dark; it’s not even country dark. This is cave dark, and it’s an entirely new experience for me.
“Can you, I don’t know, summon a ball of light or something?” I ask, trying not to embarrass myself but unsure what else I’m supposed to do here. If we have to, we can feel our way down in the dark—there’s only one way to go, after all—but I’d rather not. Who knows what other weird shit is lurking down here?
“I can’t, but you can.” March pauses next to me, his front half cloaked in darkness while his latter half is backlit from the last remaining crystal. “You’re the Alice, remember?”
Right.
The Alice.
I crack my knuckles, but the memory of my most recent magic-induced seizure is a fresh wound in my mind. I’m not sure that I want to risk it. Then again, I also don’t want to be stumbling through perfect dark in an unknown world.
Closing my eyes, I hold out a hand, palm up, and try to conjure some of that raw power inside of me. Based on what Lar can do with his magic, what the Knave can do, I know there’s years of study ahead of me.
For now, I can at least try for this.
“On the other hand, baby Doll, maybe you shouldn’t risk—” March starts, just as I feel this horrible wrenching sensation inside of me. My power bubbles up in my chest and rockets down my arm, bursting from my palm with so much heat and light that I’m not only blinded but burned.
The pain is overwhelming, knocking me backward and into March as the ball of light I just created slams into the far wall and blasts straight through it. The tunnel rumbles around us, rocks falling and crashing into my head, bruising my arms.
I’m tossed over March’s shoulder just before I feel his body changing forms in the darkness, the warm, musky hide of the bandersnatch pressed into my cheek as he takes off running and I cling for dear life.
I cringe at the sounds coming from all around us, pinging pebbles and booming echoes from larger boulders, all of it accompanied by a fine, dusty mist that coats my skin and makes me cough. Water sprinkles down on us as March dodges around invisible dangers and springs from the mouth of the tunnel and past the ruined little door.
I can actually see now, a veil of diffused golden light bathing the scene as March skids across the grass and turns a hundred and eighty degrees. Better view for him, not so much for me. With a groan, I sit up and adjust myself so that I’m riding him like a horse. There are certain, um, issues with that I won’t bring up just now.
