“It wasn’t the buttons,” he murmured, and his mouth found mine again.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was relentless, famished. His hands glided down my arms while mine clutched his waist, tugging him closer to feel his weight against me. He yielded slightly, his tongue plunging so deep it made my head spin. For this, I would gladly surrender all my senses.
I dug my fingertips into his lower back, silently urging him on. Reagan dragged my bra aside, letting my breast brush the cool air just before his hand cupped me, fingers rolling and pinching. I moaned, arching into him, feeling his lips curl against mine.
My own thoughts repeated,Yes. Yes. Never apart. Never again.
He brought my thighs around his waist, aligning our bodies until his length pressed against the spot throbbing between my legs. Groaning, he pressed harder, every solid part of him grinding against me, each press bringing me one step closer to molten heat.
“Here?” I murmured, my breath catching as his mouth dipped, lavishing attention on my breasts. “In a room anyone could walk into and catch us? I thought I was meant to be the Lady of this estate.”
He stilled, doubt flickering across his face.
I muffled a laugh and angled my chin toward the door. “At least ward the room, so I can be as loud as I want for you.”
Reagan didn’t smile, as if he were already past humour. The ward quickly sealed us in with a muted thrum.
“Then let me hear you,” Caedmon said, his mouth coming down to bite my breast.
A whimper tore from me at the scrapes of his teeth, my attention reducing to the wild feeling of them nipping my flesh. Distantly, I felt his hands slide to my feet to tug off our shoes. The soft thud of boots echoed, mingling with the faint crackle of the mantel. He undid the buttons of my trousers, giving me a warning look before every fabric vanished from below our waists.
His hardness pressed against me, the friction setting fire coursing through my veins. I couldn’t wait any longer. I pushed at his shoulders until he sank back against the couch and I straddled him. Reagan’s chest rose sharply beneath my hands, warm and taut.
Firelight threw us into shadow, yet I could still see his eyes, ravenous and intent, tracking every inch of me. I reached behind me for the clasp of my bra, my hips grinding slowly as I worked it free. Reagan hissed between his teeth, his hands cupping my backside, his fingers flexing hard on the cheeks, like he wanted to control my every motion.
I lifted my hips, aligning us before letting him slide in. More. More. Reagan cursed. And then we were moving faster, thrust after thrust, until I was nothing but heat and skin and moans.
Reagan surged upright in a blur, his face flushed, his overwrought nerves evident in his rapid breathing. His hands clamped around my hips, holding me down so I felt every single thrust.
My hands cupped his nape as we held each other’s gaze, and somehow, it felt more intimate than ever, as if we were stripped bare to each other in every sense of the word. The choices lay before us, and we made them together. I chose him. I would choose every ordinary moment with him just as willingly as the chaos.
A gasp tore from me, and he slowed.
“Don’t stop,” I whined.
The hand on my hip tightened, anchoring our rhythm once more. “Thank the Grimoire.”
The shock of him, the depth of him, sent rippling pulses through my hips.
Heat built to a breaking point and shattered. I rode the waves with my face buried in his neck. Reagan grunted, his grip bruising as he stilled beneath me and shuddered.
Feathers shimmered in blinding light behind my closed lids, intertwining with a horned shadow shaped like a great beast. The forms, so different yet drawn inexorably together, faded until only darkness remained.
I had no words, only the exhaustion that weighed heavily on my eyelids. He tucked me against his side, something solid beneath my cheek, something soft drawn over me. When sleep came, it was dreamless and restful.
Chapter 45
Reagan
Light pierced through the bookshelves, and the motes of dust drifting in each beam were so fine they shimmered. Reagan realised the room must smell of what they did last night.
He smiled to himself, not caring about it, about anything. Except the cold.
Even with their warmth tangled beneath the thick blanket he had summoned after Jane fell asleep, the room’s freezing air refused to let him shed the cover. Each breath fogged as he stared at the mantel where the fire had withered to a measly tongue of flame overnight, and Reagan willed it to rise.
Jane’s shallow breathing told him she was still fast asleep, half lying on her side with her face turned towards him, the blanket drawn to her neck. Not surprising if the crescents beneath her eyes were any indication of how little rest she’d had in previous nights.
Folding the arm she had leaned on, he brushed a tangled strand from her face and studied her, the russet curls draped over the couch. He lowered his nose to them, breathing them in until the scent of her crowded his senses.
