His responding growl is more beast than fae.
“Thatfuckingrune,” he echoes, sliding his fingers over that nub of nerves. Parting.
Spreading.
When he rubs around it again, he’s so wet withmethat every slow swirl threatens to tip me over the edge, all the ligaments low in my belly pulled taut enough to fray.
“While we’re on the topic,” I pant, hands in his hair as I tilt my hips, making it easy for him to delve deeper. “You should know, I battled a Tri-Councilor while you were being dragged from the Citadel. And unfortunately ran out of time to pulverize his lungs.”
Just.
He sighs.
Rather than push me full like I so desperately want, he pulses his fingers at my wet and throbbing entrance, teasing me into a desperate frenzy. “They’ll be slapping both our faces on wanted posters—”
“And it’ll be the death of them.”
He snarls, his spare hand tangling with my hair, gently tugging until my gaze is cast on the ceiling, offering him free access to rove kisses across my neck.
It’s a devastating combo—holding me in a pleasurable knot while he wreaks havoc on my pulsing nerves. Until I’m a writhing mess of bottled tension, desperate to explode.
“Evenyoucan’t suffocate them all,” he growls against my flesh.
Fucking watch me.
Overcome with the rabid urge to open my mouth against his throat and show him exactly how feral I can be, I’m about to rip my hair from his hold when he pushes his fingers into me, obliterating my primal rage in one smooth stroke.
I almost buckle with relief, a deep groan moving up my throat as he works me in slow, tender thrusts, finally loosening his hold on my hair. Allowing me the freedom to kiss him.
Adorehim.
“Unfortunately for … them and anyone …elsewho threatens your existence,” I pant against his lips, rolling my hips to meet his languid beat and chase that hungry throb, “there’s nothing that … spurs me more than … being underestimated.”
“Is that so?”
Yes.
“They come for … you or The Burn … I’ll fucking …decimatethem.”
“Oh, Moonbeam. I do not doubt it.”
He sounds about as thrilled by my admission as I was about catching a ride across the Boltanic Plains in Rygun’s mouth.
Zero percent.
“You’re awfully vocal for being so wet and swollen,” he rumbles, pulling his fingers out to massage me in tender sweeps. My cheeks burn in the wake of his words. “Perhaps I ought to try harder?”
“Don’t … overexert yourself—”
He’s up, lifting me.
My legs wrap around his waist for only a beat before he flops me onto my back and spreads me across the furs. Punches one hand into the pallet beside my head and perches over me like a mighty Creator given flesh—muscles bulging as he works me into a rolling, moaning, unintelligible mess.
The look of him, the smell of him, the feel of his fingers moving inside me … it’s enough to melt me into a wanton puddle. Certain beyond question that this isright. That he and I were built to fit together.
Two parts of a whole.
The thought breaks the banks of a river that was barely holding shape to begin with, my core clamping down as a wild throb rakes me through. As I tip, clawing at him. Falling over a soul-shattering peak that threatens to split me into a million pliant pieces.
