CHAPTER 467: ON HIS KNEES

"Then say no, Salviana, and I’ll stop right now. But if you don’t—if you so much as stand here for another breath—I’ll take it as yes."

Silence. Only the rush of the garden fountain, the scent of fresh blooms, and the sound of her racing heartbeat between them.

Salviana swallowed, her lips parting as if to speak...

But she said nothing.

Alaric’s smirk returned, softer this time, filled with both reverence and hunger.

"That’s what I thought."

And with that, the demon prince, the vampire feared by all of Wyfkeep, pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, reverent, worshipful, and hungry all at once.

Alaric’s lips ghosted over the inside of Salviana’s thigh, a feather-light kiss that made her entire body stiffen. The sound barrier shimmered faintly around them, sealing them in their private world where only their breaths, their hearts, and the soft rustle of leaves existed.

"Alaric..." Salviana whispered, her voice trembling, one hand clutching at his shoulder for balance.

"Shh, fiery wife," he murmured against her skin, his breath warm, his voice husky. "You’ve been teasing me since last night. Now, let me worship you properly."

She bit her lip, her pulse racing under his hands as they slowly slid up her legs. His grip was firm yet reverent, as if she were the only thing in existence that mattered.

"You’re on your knees for me..." she whispered, almost shyly, glancing down at him, and gods—he looked devastating like this. A demon prince, feared by an entire kingdom, kneeling for her like a devoted sinner at an altar.

Alaric smirked up at her, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his gaze glinting with wicked devotion. "I’d fall to my knees a thousand times if it meant tasting you."

Salviana’s breath hitched, her heart slamming against her chest as he slowly pressed another kiss higher up her thigh.

"You smell divine, Salviana. Sweet. Addictive. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to sit across from you and not think about this every second?" His words were half-growled against her skin, his lips brushing closer to the heat between her legs.

"Alaric... i want you too, it doesn’t mean–we’re in the garden—"

"No one can see. No one can hear. It’s just you and me, fiery wife," he interrupted, his tone soft but unyielding. "Now... let me love you."

Her legs trembled slightly as he eased her closer, his hands cupping her thighs, guiding her to part them just enough for him to settle between them comfortably. He looked up at her once more, his eyes glowing faintly crimson with hunger—not for blood, but for her.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

Salviana’s breath caught. She nodded quickly, almost desperately. "Always."

That was all he needed.

Alaric leaned forward, pressing his mouth fully against her through the thin fabric of her dress, inhaling deeply as if savoring her scent alone was intoxicating. Salviana let out a strangled gasp, her knees almost buckling, and his hands immediately tightened on her hips, steadying her.

"So sweet," he murmured, his voice dark and velvety. "Even through this. Gods, Salviana, you’re going to ruin me."

And then he hooked his fingers into her dress, gently tugging it up, his lips brushing her skin as he slowly revealed more of her thighs.

Salviana’s hands fluttered uselessly at her sides, her breath shaky, her face scarlet. "Alaric, I... I don’t know if—"

"You’re trembling, but you’re not stopping me," he teased, his mouth curving into a wicked smile against her skin.

"I don’t like you," she whispered breathlessly, but the way her hips tilted slightly toward him betrayed her.

"You love me. You want me." His voice was low, almost reverent. "And gods, Salviana, I want you too badly to pretend I don’t."

And then, he tasted her.

His tongue dragged slowly, reverently along her heat, and Salviana cried out softly, her hand flying to his hair, gripping instinctively. Alaric groaned low against her, the sound vibrating through her in a way that made her knees quake.

"Alaric—oh gods—"

He pulled back just enough to whisper, his lips brushing her sensitive skin, "Say my name instead, fiery wife. I want to hear it."

"Alaric..."

He growled softly, pleased, and then buried his mouth against her, his tongue working slow, deliberate strokes that had her gasping. His hands gripped her hips tightly, keeping her steady as she squirmed slightly under the overwhelming sensation.

Salviana’s mind felt like it was spinning out of control. She had been nervous, shy, even hesitant moments ago, but now all she could do was hold onto him, her fingers tangling in his dark hair as pleasure began to coil in her belly.

"Gods—Alaric, stop— I can’t—" she whimpered.

"You can," he said between licks, his voice husky and desperate. "And you will. Give it to me, Salviana. Let me have it."

And he didn’t stop. He worked her with a skilled, unrelenting rhythm, alternating between slow teasing licks and deep, hungry sucks that had her biting her lip so hard she almost drew blood.

"Alaric, please—"

"Say it, Salviana. You know you’re mine?"

"Of course I’m yours, gods, I’m yours—"

And that was it. Her body arched slightly, her breath catching in her throat as a wave of pleasure crashed through her, and Alaric didn’t stop until she trembled against him, her thighs tightening around his head, her soft cries muffled in the silence of the sound barrier.

Only when she sagged slightly against him, breathless and flushed, did Alaric finally pull back. His lips were glistening, his dark eyes half-lidded, watching her with an almost feral satisfaction.

He kissed her thigh one last time, reverent, before looking up at her with a slow, dangerous smile.

"Now that..." he said, licking his lips, his voice husky, "was mine. Every sound, every shiver—"

Salviana, cheeks burning, tried to push him gently. "You’re...—"

But Alaric only stood, pulling her flush against him, his forehead pressing to hers as he whispered, "And you, fiery wife... are perfect."