Dark Skye

FORTY-SIX

Thronos was tempted to fly to the Hall, but didn’t want to deal with that grinding pain right now. So he ran, withstanding a lesser agony in his leg.

He was actually going to claim Melanthe tonight! He’d been so close in Feveris—or in his hallucination—yet then he’d had that bliss wrenched away from him.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something would befall them before he could return to her. He resolved to avoid Aristo. Though his brother might be away, Thronos entered the Hall quietly.

He passed the sorcery power vault and the sacred scribe’s room, where the extensive list of offendments was kept. This close to the hallowed writings, he experienced a twinge of guilt for all the things he’d done with Melanthe before they’d been wed.

Some things couldn’t be helped. They would marry this night, a proper wedding.

He headed toward his family’s storage room. Inside, he combed through boxes of ancient mementos and books. By the time he’d located the specific case he sought, in the most out-of-the-way spot, he was covered in dust.

Whoever had organized this closet clearly hadn’t thought Thronos would ever get married.

Case in hand, he hastened back to his mate. Though pain coursed up his leg, he found himself growing hard in anticipation of this night. He could feel his horns straightening, becoming more sensitive—

He froze. Had the distinct impression of being watched. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned and scanned the shadows. Spied nothing.

Surely any Vrekener or Sorceri ward drifting about would hail him, and no one else could find this place.

He shrugged off his disquiet by the time he’d reached the house. He swallowed nervously as he unlatched their front door. When he passed the bathroom, he saw her mesh top hanging beside the shower, with her skirt and hose folded atop a hamper. Her blue mask dangled from a towel hook.

Seeing her things here gratified him to a staggering degree.

She’d showered. Should he? Another delay. He glanced down at himself, at the dust.

With an impatient curse, he set down the case, ripping off his garments. Under the water, he rested his head and hands against the wall. Though the temperature was ice cold, it did nothing to diminish his erection.

He recalled his mate’s tightness . . . would he last long enough even to get inside her? Would he hurt her?

She’d taught him how to get her ready. He bit off his foreclaws. Thinking better of it, he took the next ones over as well.

When he returned to the bedroom, he had a towel wrapped around his hips and the case at the ready.

His heart stuttered a beat. She was kneeling at the end of the bed, running the pads of her fingers over the footboard. She wore her long shining hair loose, and she’d donned one of his shirts, rolling the sleeves up to her wrists. The sight of her clad in something that belonged to him affected him in inexplicable ways, made him want to squeeze her in his wings, to rub his horns all over her trembling body.

Mine, all mine.

Melanthe in his bed, awaiting him. She was too beautiful.

He watched her gaze leisurely take in his face, his chest, lower. . . . She parted her lips on a sigh, and her little tongue wetted them. Gods almighty.

Her eyes glittered with appreciation—for him.

She mightn’t even be real. Feveris hadn’t been, nor those time loops.

Soon he’d wake from slumber, aching for her, greeted by his customary pain—always more excruciating in the morning. He would clench his fists, renewing his determination, resuming his search. . . .

With a grin, she waved at his blatant erection behind the towel. “Are you doing your Nereus impression?”

A laugh escaped him before he even realized it. “You really are here.” Her mischievous smile got him tied up in knots, always had. “I never thought I’d see you in this bed.”

“That makes two of us.” She had removed her prized necklace, setting it on his nightstand. On their nightstand. “By the way, the hot water’s broken.”

“Oh?” Probably not a good time to tell her that there was never any hot water for showers.

“So what’s in the case?”

He sat beside her, opening it to reveal the claiming sheet sewn for him ages ago. The material carried the pleasant scent of preserving herbs.

She unfolded it with a frown. “This is what you had to retrieve? It won’t be big enough for your bed.”

“We’re expected to keep that sheet between us. It’s tradition.”

“How is that going to work . . . ?” She trailed off when she found the stitched opening in the middle of the material. “Well, how kinky. But isn’t this supposed to be rubber?” She poked her forefinger through the gap, waggling her eyebrows at him.

He blinked at her. “Why would it be rubber?”

She sighed. “So many things I’ll have to teach you. I’m all for tradition, but do you really want something between us?”

He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. “Somehow we managed to get to this bed before sleeping together. I want to do this right. A proper marriage.”

“This claiming business is important to you, huh?”

“It is.” His forehead rested against hers. “But, Melanthe, you must be certain of this. We haven’t been together for long. And while I can’t have others—obviously wouldn’t even if I could—you could find someone else.” He began stroking one of her supple thighs. “If we take this step, you’ll have to pick me over all the men you’ll meet in your eternal life. Because I won’t ever let you go.” As if I would now . . .

She laid her silken hands on his face. “I picked you over all others when I walked through that portal with you. I want to be your wife.”

His heart felt too big for his chest. “My wife.” He dipped down, rubbing the base of one horn up and down her neck. Mine. She had to know he was marking her with his scent.

When she tilted her head away to give him more access, to let him do as his instinct commanded, he wanted to kiss her until her little toes curled.

“Just one last consideration,” she murmured absently. “I’m probably not even in season anymore, right? We could’ve been in the belly of the beast for weeks.”

He raised his head. “Though I’d wanted to impregnate you so you’d feel bound to me, I can’t lie. I scent you’re in season. It’s waned, but still there.”

“Then our already slim odds waned too.” She pressed her lips to his neck, then his jawline, then to the corner of his mouth. “You amaze me, Thronos. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to your honesty.”

“You’re going to have to. Because I’m about to marry you.” Season or not, she still wanted this. He turned to slant his mouth over hers.

Lanthe’s lips parted, welcoming his tongue as it slipped toward hers. She loved how leisurely he took their kisses, working the slow build—despite the tension in his massive body.

Despite the scorching hardness of his shaft beneath her ass.

As they tangled tongues, he reached higher between her thighs, his fingers trailing upward. There was something so erotic about wearing his shirt, his hand moving unseen beneath the fabric.

Against her lips, he rasped, “Need to get you ready.”

Seeing his gorgeous physique in that towel had already primed her pump. But who was she to disappoint the Vrekener? “I told you: I look at your body and mine grows wet for it. Anything else will be a bonus.” She spread her thighs for him.

He took the invitation, gently cupping her sex, pressing the heel of his hand against her sensitive clitoris.

With his other hand he started to rub her stiffened nipples, one, then the other.

Lightly pinching. Thumbing the very tip. Rolling each peak between his fingers . . .

When he dipped down to suckle her through the fabric, she gasped, threading her fingers in his damp hair. With each pull of his lips, she arched to him for more.

“Love suckling you. Could do it for hours.”

She was moaning when he moved to her other nipple, his breaths hot against the sensitive tip. As he sucked, he eased his finger inside her, groaning to find her so aroused.

The electricity that always sparked between them grew like a lightning storm. His finger was just a tease, a precursor to the delight she’d almost experienced with Thronos before—when he’d started to wedge his huge shaft into her.

At the thought, she rocked to meet his thrusting finger, her ass rubbing over the hardness she’d soon enjoy.

He grated, “This will be over before it starts.”

She was ready for him. She cupped the back of his neck. “Then get inside me. Quick, before something interrupts our wedding.”

His brows shot up. “My thoughts exactly.” He moved her from his lap, laying her back on the bed. Once he’d stripped her of the shirt, he dropped his towel, revealing that mouthwatering erection.

She took her time admiring all seven feet of his warrior’s body. His wings were unfurled, her demon’s sexy backdrop. His horns had gone ramrod straight.

When he’d run those lengths against her before, her sex had clenched in reaction. He’d marked her with his scent—and she’d loved it. She wanted to kiss and stroke those horns. Then lick his firm lips. And his flat nipples. She wanted to run her mouth along the rigid edges of his pec muscles before following his goodie trail down. . . .

What was her type? Voilà.

He moved to kneel between her legs. Because they were about to do this. Without protection.

Her biological clock was screaming: Roll. The. Dice.

Yet then he spread that sheet over her. It was about eight feet square, with a strategically placed slit. The politics of this rankled. She didn’t get contraception, but he got this barrier?

No, no, this was important to him. Her self-help books told her compromise was vital to a developing relationship.

Then she lit on an idea, a way for them both to be happy with the sheet; she decided to play along for now.

As he aligned the opening with her sex, he asked, “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“If you go slow.”

He levered himself above her, resting on one straightened arm. “Slow?” His gaze fell upon her nipples jutting against the sheet. “I fear I won’t last. I’ve craved you for too long.” With his free hand, he gripped himself, aiming for the sheet’s gap.

She rested her hands on his broad shoulders as she awaited that first contact. When the bulbous head bumped right at her hungry core, she moaned in readiness. “I might not last long either!” Blue sorcery shimmered from her hands, tendrils of it swathing them.

He hissed in a breath, determinedly pressing against her. “My sensual sorceress.” He gazed down with possessiveness ablaze in his expression.

His silver eyes were telling her he was about to claim her, that nothing could stop him.

When he’d raised himself up on both arms, she kneaded his shoulders. “Can you feel how slick I am? How wet for you?”

“Lanthe . . .”

“When we were in the glade, I imagined what your shaft would feel like plunging inside me.” Her words were throaty. “Tonight you’ll show me.”

A shudder strangled whatever he’d been about to say.

His unpracticed reactions, the honesty of his responses, ratcheted up her arousal to a shocking degree.

Honesty was a turn-on. Who knew?

Subtly rocking to his pulsing rod, she murmured, “You couldn’t be sexier, Thronos.”

He canted his head, as if he didn’t believe her. But whatever he saw in her eyes convinced him otherwise. Whatever he saw made his shuddering grow worse.

By the time he’d planted the crown inside, he was sweating. His voice broke lower as he said, “You’re so tight around me. Never knew you’d be so hot.” The wonder in his tone made her toes curl.

The sheet rose and fell with her shallow breaths. She arched her back so that her nipples strained against the material, which seemed to bespell him more than the nymphs had. “Don’t you want to bare my breasts at least?”

The dilemma was clear on his face. He finally tugged down the sheet just past her breasts. “Too lovely to cover.”

And she lost a little bit more of her heart to him.

Eyes rapt on the pebbled tips, he licked his sensual lips. He’d expressed a particular pleasure in suckling her. If he did now, this might truly be over before it started. To distract him, she rolled her hips—

Which impaled his shaft even deeper.

She gasped at the sudden fullness; he grunted, “Tight.”

His gradual pace was the only reason she hadn’t cried out. “Slow is good, Thronos.”

With a solemn nod, he fed her sheath more of his throbbing length. Already he waged an obvious battle not to come. His wings were furling and unfurling like a fist opening and closing. Sweat slicked the breathtaking swells of his brawny chest, the rippling muscles of his rock-hard torso.

As he sank ever deeper, a drop of his clean sweat splatted over one of her swollen breasts, making her shiver—and undermining her own control.

“Sorry,” he bit out.

“For driving me crazy?” She cupped his nape, arching up to graze her breasts across his chest—sending the sheet to her waist, sending him deeper inside her.

“I feel your nipples . . . so stiff . . . ah, gods—” His hips bucked forward in an uncontrollable rush, till he was seated deep within her, a growl wrenched from his lungs.

Her own lungs were squeezed for breath. His body was inside her, surrounding her, seeming to vibrate from his struggle to regain the control he’d lost.

“Lanthe! I didn’t mean—have I hurt you?”

She wriggled beneath him, adjusting to his length. “Just give me a second.” Deep within her, she could perceive his cock pulsating to the beat of his heart. His invincible heart. “I’m good, Thronos. All good.”

He clasped her face in his big hands, touching her with reverence. “I just wed you,” he rasped, making her melt.

I’ve waited my entire life to see that look. “Since I’m also engaged in the act”—she shimmied beneath him, eliciting a groan—“I’d say we just wed each other.”

With a pained smile, he grated, “That sounds fairer.”

She couldn’t stop grinning back at him. As if they’d pulled off a stupendous achievement. Which, she supposed, they had.

But their amusement receded when he began to withdraw. The friction of his cock and that flared crown wrested a plaintive cry from her.

Before he gave his first thrust, he said, “Ready?”

She nodded.

When he tilted his hips forward, he threw his head back, the muscles of his neck bulging. “My Lanthe!” Then he faced her once more, to gaze at her—with awe.

He was still swelling inside her, much more than she’d expected. Apparently, he was a show-er and a grower. She did her best to stifle a wince. Brave little soldier, and all that.

Lanthe had always thought the term joined was hyperbole in a sexual sense. Now, so much of his body was within hers, she did feel joined to him. If she could just get herself accustomed . . . “Stir yourself in me.”

“Stir?” He circled his hips, grinding against her sensitive clitoris.

“Oh, yes.” Pleasure seared her with the intensity of flames.

A sharp exhalation escaped him. Puh. His expression was thunderstruck.

In the quiet of the night, his heart pounded like a drum. His wings were stretched wide, the pulselines glowing like shooting stars from the diadem above.

His starry eyes, gazing down at her, outshone them all.

He stirred himself again, stretching her, filling her thoroughly. Bliss suffused her, warmth coursing throughout every inch of her. She felt brimming with him, with emotions.

Replete.

But her emotions confused her. Amid the tenderness she felt for him, she also experienced gratitude, relief—and even joy.

With her hands meeting around his nape, she murmured, “Thronos . . .” I’m yours. You’re mine. You confuse me. This confuses me. She hadn’t even orgasmed, and it was the best sex she’d ever had. Never had sex felt like coming home to someone.

Like she was being showered with fate’s gold coins.

He laid his big palm on the side of her face. “I don’t recognize . . . what your expression’s telling me,” he admitted in a gravelly voice. “But I think I like it.”

“I’m trying to tell you a thousand things at once. I’m telling you I’m ready—to be taken by you.” Not only was she accustomed to him; his cock now felt so critical that she wondered how she’d survived without it. “I’ll give you anything you need.” Her hands moved to his ass, digging into the flexing muscles. “Do you need to thrust?”

“By all the gods, yes.” He drew his hips back, sinking himself more slowly.

Ecstasy surged inside her. Her lids fluttered as she moaned.

Another painstaking thrust. “Is it always like this, Lanthe?”

“Emphatically no.” She couldn’t stop writhing on his hardness, wanting ever more of it. “More, Thronos!”

“The way you move . . . maddening.” He clamped her restless hips, his body driving forward. Then again. Each time he hit the end of her sheath, her clitoris got a shot of delicious stimulation. Her orgasm mounted.

“You’re squeezing me so tight.” His pace quickened. “I can’t hold out!”

“No, don’t come,” she said, feeling her sorcery rising. “I won’t let you.” The air blurred near her lips.

Had she just used her power on him?

He thrust hard, groaning as if in pain. “Lanthe . . .” His skin sheened with sweat, his muscles corded. Just looking at him like this—her steady Vrekener in the throes, a massive warrior about to unleash centuries of need—brought her right to the edge.

She was going to come for this male, and she could almost fear the intensity of the escalating pleasure.

“Need to . . . thrust harder. Can’t go slow.”

“Don’t. Take me as you need to.”

With a groan, he shoved into her body. Again. And again, until he was railing between her legs, to her delight. His hands dipped beneath her, his remaining claws biting into the curves of her ass—a primal sign of possession that sent her spiraling.

So close, so close.

He gave a frustrated yell, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Lanthe, I can’t come.”

“I might have . . . commanded you.” Though she’d been tripping headlong toward her climax, she sucked in a breath and resisted it, wanting to torment them both.

“Undo it!” His tendons stood out with strain, his mighty body toiling to free its seed.

“Hmm. We’re going to have such fun tonight. . . .”