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Marrok grips my hips and shoves forward, driving in and bottoming out in one rough thrust. I gasp and toss my head back as desire threatens to undo me.
My head tells me to hurl insults or insist he leave me alone. My body isn’t having it.
Then he pushes my shoulders to the bed and braces his palm on the mattress. His chest covers me as he begins toying with my clit and shoving inside me over and over.
“You are mine,” he growls in my ear. “All your pleasure belongs to me. Never. Withhold. Your orgasm. From me. Again. Now scream.”
I grit my teeth. “No.”
“Stubborn wench. Scream,” he demands.
Then he spanks my pussy.
Pleasure bursts, burns, and merges with the unrelenting tingles. The sensation is so sudden, so staggering, what few defenses I have left crumble.
As he fucks me like a man possessed, I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I can’t hold out. Rapture overtakes my body.
I scream so loud the sound of my satisfaction drowns out the banging of his headboard against the wall and the frantic roaring of my heartbeat in my ears. I’m left with nothing but the pulsing of my womb and the feel of him deep inside me, pounding away until he drives me up and over again.
I scream until my throat hurts, until I run out of air, until I’m utterly spent.
Dimly, I wonder how the hunter became the hunted. Then all thought disappears.
I’m too busy begging him for more.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lucan
The coming winter unleashes a howling, unseasonably chilly wind. I’d give anything to be at home with Anka.
After Bram’s party, I left her deliciously naked in our bed. Sadly, I was not able to spare the time for seconds. Duty called, damn it. Or rather, Bram did.
Fucking Shock didn’t see fit to stand for the guard duty I’m now stuck with. No surprise.
My best friend is barking mad if he thinks a Denzell will ever truly hunt Anarki. Help them, more like.
So I sit deep in shadows, watching Marrok’s cottage in what Bram aptly named the Creepified Forest. Alone and silent, the place seethes with something disquieting. Pain. Haunting loneliness.
The very things I saw in Marrok’s eyes—until the immortal looked at Olivia. Even without their blended signatures, I would have known she was his mate. Idly, I wonder if Marrok himself realizes how besotted he is. My guess? The man has yet to figure it out. Poor bastard.
Then again, all the feminine screams I hear tell me he’s enjoying mated life to the fullest.
As the night wears on, I watch branches sway in the wind and listen to Olivia beg for mercy. I adjust my aching cock and vow that as soon as Bram turns up, I’ll return to Anka and finish what she started.
But I can’t budge now. Unfortunately, Olivia mentally shouted to everyone at the party that Marrok possesses the Book of Doomsday. They need protecting, and contrary to what the Arthurian warrior thinks, that old magic circle won’t keep out true evil for long.
The mental tap on my shoulder makes me smile. Apparently, Duke, stationed on the other side of the cottage, has had enough of listening to the Le Fay woman scream in ecstasy, too.
Then a whoosh a mere handful of feet away breaks the quiet. I freeze. That isn’t Duke coming by to chat.
Five figures materialize on the path to the front door. Gray capes and masks emblazoned with the upside-down M most of magickind dreads means one thing.
Anarki.
Bloody hell! I slide behind a tree and bewitch a nearby frog to deliver a message to Duke that we have uninvited guests.
Five is a small squad, and only one of their signatures is particularly vivid. Then again, why would Mathias imagine he’d need a great deal of force to capture a human and an untransitioned witch? The better question is, how did Mathias learn where to find the diary in barely five hours? Who at Bram’s party is a traitor? I have my suspicions…
