Kinked (35 page)

It couldn’t have been balanced of her to tell him that she would live for him, even if she couldn’t see how right now. She noted the thought as it passed through her mind, and she gave a mental shrug. Balanced was not who she was. She threw everything she had at life, and this was no exception.

She stood and put her arms around his neck, and he clenched her tightly against him. As they came together, they fit, skin to skin and soul to soul.

Then he loosened his hold to reach for a jar by the side of the tub. Pouring a fragrant liquid into his palm, he rubbed
his hands together and began to work the soap through her hair. When his fingers rubbed at her scalp, the sensation ran all through her body. Still tired, stressed and half-healed, she felt as if he had unzipped her. The muscles of her inner thighs started to shake, and she had to force herself to stay upright.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to take much of this,” she said unsteadily. Somewhere deep inside, something prideful glared at her. She ignored it, concentrating all of her attention on the exquisite sensation of his large hands moving along her skin.

“That’s not true,” he murmured. “You can take as much as I can give. You can take anything I dish out. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and you can take this too.”

He coaxed her forward until she rested her head on his shoulder. Then he washed her, his callused hands gentle as he stroked her aching back and shoulders, right at the place where, in her harpy form, her wings joined her body. She went boneless, floating against him as she trusted him to hold her up, and he did.

“It’s going to be all right,” she whispered. Somehow she would make sure of it.

“I trust you too.” He kissed her temple. “If you tell me it’s going to be all right, then it will be.”

He wasn’t any more balanced than she was, because no Wyr in their right mind would mate with someone who was in danger of suicidal behavior or getting themselves killed. Yet here he was, without a single hesitation.

She lifted her head and framed his face in her hands as she told him, “You’re crazy.”

He shook his head slightly. “No,” he told her deeply, conviction in his steady gaze. “I’m just turning sane. Or maybe I’m coming fully into myself, and that feels like it has been a long time in coming.”

“Duck down,” she said, growing as hungry to touch him as he was touching her.

He obliged her by submerging in the water, then straightening again. The strong bones of his face stood out with his wet hair lying sleek against his head. She took
some of the fragrant soap in her hands and began to wash him. Every line of his hard body felt like a revelation, and the intensity of his reaction was blinding.

His body shuddered, and he sucked in air as if he were running hard, running desperately with all of his might to reach some essential destination. Soapsuds slid down his neck and chest, and her fingers followed them, lingering over the bulge and hollow created by his muscles. There was a little oil in the liquid, and it made his skin even more silken. She felt like she was painting him with an invisible message.

Run here. Find me. Love me.

Stay.

He responded as if he had read every word, pushing her forward and coming with her on a wave. As the water closed over their heads, he hugged her against his body as his hardened lips found hers. They turned, floating together as they kissed and kissed, piercing each other ravenously with their tongues, because while they would fight with all their strength for tomorrow, tomorrow might not be there, and now was all they had.

And it felt like flying. It felt like home.

It felt like everything she might have confessed to herself that she wanted, on dark nights when there was no one else around to hear.

She murmured wordlessly, and the water swallowed the sound as she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on to him with all of her strength. Gripping her just as tightly, he rolled to his feet and stood.

Water cascaded off of them as he strode up the steps, carrying her. When she loosened her legs and made as if to stand on her own, he yanked her back up. “Don’t you dare let go of me,” he muttered. Without the water to buffer them, he felt as if he was burning up, and the full, hard length of his cock pressed against the underside of her ass.

Complying, she tightened her legs and embraced the contradiction that lived inside of her. While she would almost never want a man to carry her, a primitive part in
her reveled in the fact that he was so strong that he could, effortlessly.

He strode for the massive bed, never once looking away from her face. How strange, that this man would look at her with such need and desire when once all he could do was look at her with hate. He felt and did everything so passionately, she knew that he would make more mistakes down the road. They both would.

But just like his dark blond hair, he was gold treasure in shadows. He was worth every bit of the effort it would take for her to learn how to forgive him, worth every bit and more.

They reached the bed and he fell on top of her, his big, powerful body arcing over her in need. He ran his shaking mouth down her throat to her breasts, first sucking hard at one then the other quickly, as if he was so ravenous he couldn’t wait and had to have them both at once.

The brilliant afternoon sun fell through the windows across her face, blinding her with light. She squinted, gasping, as she felt pierced everywhere, in her eyes, in her body that stabbed her with emptiness, and in her emotions, as every barrier she had constructed against this man fell away.

He lifted his head, a black silhouette against the sun, and paused. Even though she couldn’t see his face, she knew he was looking down at her. Then he leaned away as he reached for a pillow, and she could see him again. His expression had turned wicked and tender at once.

“We need to get that sun out of your eyes,” he said, his voice raspy as he started to purr—literally purr—again. She watched as he tore a strip of material off the pillow. As he turned back, the look in his eyes was rotten with velvet mischief. “This will give you some shade.”

Comprehension dawned, and she sat up. He wanted to blindfold her?

Despite all the uncertainties and danger that lay ahead of them, she smiled, suddenly more happy than she could ever remember being. She said very gently, “I will if you will.”

He hesitated, but this time she could sense there wasn’t any struggle in him. He merely made an adjustment in his thinking. “Absolutely.”

She tore a strip from the shredded pillow, and they blindfolded each other. The last knot was barely in place before he hauled her against his chest, imprisoned her head between his hands and kissed her. He had to quest across the skin of her cheek to find her mouth. The exploration was unbelievably erotic.

Greedily, she ran her hands all over his body as he plunged into her with his tongue. Finally she cupped his stiff penis, and they both made a hoarse, anguished sound. His breathing turning harsh and uneven, he put one hand between her legs and curled his fingers into her slick, hypersensitive flesh.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he muttered against her lips.

“Good. Come here.” She lay back on the bed and he came with her, settling his weight onto her. Together, by feel alone, they brought his cock to her entrance. The tip felt wide, and he paused again to rub himself against her moisture and make sure she was ready for him.

But she had lost all patience. She hissed against his mouth, “Do it!”

He responded as if she had laid a whip across his back, arching his body and plunging into her in one long, hard push. As he impaled her, there it was again, the good kind of pain mixed with pleasure, like brandy and chocolate.

Overcome by impulse, she cheated and pushed her blindfold up, squinting against the sunshine.

He leaned on elbows that were braced on either side of her head, broad shoulders hunched and his head thrown back. What she could see of his half-covered face was etched with some kind of sexual crisis. He shook his head, growled something under his breath that she couldn’t understand, and began to move.

Gods, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She raised her hips each time he thrust into her, and his full, hard length gliding into her tight sheath was everything that she needed, everything. She laid one hand gently
against his cheek while she raked her nails down his back, scoring his skin and marking him as hers.

His face twisted. He bared his teeth, reached up to snatch his blindfold away. They both froze a moment, staring at each other, as the thief caught the cheater.

A smile broke over his face, keen and brighter than the sunshine, as he rocked inside her. “I’m tacking that onto your debt.”

The mounting pleasure was so great, she could barely manage to pant a few words. “I’m okay with that.”

His smile slipped away, and he came down over her, winding one arm around her neck and the other underneath her hips, holding her in such a tight grip he would leave bruises.

She loved it all, she loved him. She brought her mouth up to his and urged him to go harder, deeper, until he pistoned into her, driving her higher and higher toward an unseen peak.

She stretched everything she had toward it, arms over her head and arching her body up to him.

And there it was, that singular moment where she could almost leave the shackles of gravity behind.

Almost.

She reached the peak, and for that one instant in time she existed weightlessly, no longer straining to rise but flawless, floating.

Then the climax took her over completely. Somebody cried out. She didn’t know if it was her or him. He bowed over her, shuddering all over, and even as the rhythm of her climax faded away, she felt his cock start to pulse.

It was too good, too beautiful. Need gripped her. She cried out, “I’m not done.”

He met her gaze and growled, “I’m not either.”

She rolled him over and came up sitting on him, all while keeping him inside. Still gripping her around the hips, he pulled her down and bit her neck. He held on to her, fucking her as she rode him, and overcome by the urgency, she screamed into the bedcovers as she came again.

As did he, bucking up with his hips and swearing.

She clawed at him, beyond words.

He gave her everything she needed, everything she asked from him, and more than she ever expected to receive. In return, she gave him everything she had, every last chaotic, passionate piece.

Matched. Mated.

Perfect.

T
hey did not quite wreck themselves on each other. That would take a few days of the mating heat. Instead, conscious of the passing time, they simply reached a place where they managed to stop.

Need still roared like a race car through his veins, but when Quentin noticed that the angle of the sun had changed, he said against her lips, “We’ve got to think of tonight.”

Breathing unsteadily, she pulled back, and a sliver of rational thought appeared in her stormy eyes. “Rain check,” she whispered.

“You know it, sunshine.” Because he couldn’t help himself, he passed a hand over her breast one more time. “Just as soon as we possibly can.”

Foregoing blankets in the late afternoon heat, they sprawled together, limbs entangled. Despite the mating urge that nagged at him, he fell into sleep as quickly and completely as a stone dropped into a dark, quiet pond.

Just as quickly and completely, he woke several hours later.

The sun was close to setting, shadows lengthening throughout the Elven lord’s luxurious room.

Aryal lay on her stomach, her black hair falling over her face. Quentin’s head rested in the small of her back. He had wrapped one arm around her thigh in his sleep. Her scent filled him with carnal memories. She smelled like fragrant soap and sex.

When he lifted his head and looked along her length, he saw bruises on her hips where he had gripped her. They would be gone entirely in another hour or two. He clenched with the need to lick her everywhere and begin all over
again. To avoid starting something he knew he would not be able to stop, he lifted carefully away from her sleeping form.

Out the nearest window, shafts of light lanced the panoramic view of the deserted city like unimaginably long spears thrown by the gods. Soon the city would lay silhouetted against the fiery colors of sunset. Despite his growing obsession with the woman lying next to him, he had to stop and stare. Nature was sending them off to battle in style.

Aryal had bunched bedcovers under her head as a pillow. She muttered into them, “Time to get up?”

“Yeah.” Then he couldn’t help himself after all, and he bent over to press a kiss to her shoulder, watching covetously as a shiver rippled across her skin. He forced himself to say, “We better move if we’re going to pick out a suitable boat before the light goes.”

She picked herself up off the bed in one smooth movement, and her expression settled into a harpy’s unshakable focus.

They washed quickly. Quentin spared a few minutes to use the Elven lord’s flat razor and shave off his new beard, which had begun to annoy him, while Aryal combed through the massive wardrobe. She found sleeveless silk tunics and trousers that were slightly large on her and tight across the shoulders on Quentin, but the lightweight material would breathe while it provided a little buffer against the armor, so it was perfect for their purposes.

Last came the weapons: long swords belted at the waist, short swords strapped to their thighs, and unstrung longbows strapped to their backs along with quivers full of arrows. Aryal used Quentin’s blindfold to tie back her hair. When she noticed that he watched her, she muttered, “Souvenir.”

He cocked his head, immeasurably charmed by the sight. There she stood, looking as lethal as he’d ever seen her, and …

He asked, “Did you just blush?”

She made a face and strode for the door, saying over her shoulder, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“And now you’re running away.” He prowled behind her. Inside, delight filled him with airy lightness.

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I didn’t. And I’m not.” She wrestled with the locked door.