Andhers.
Kyan
KYAN COULDN’T FORM A COHERENT SENTENCE.HAD BARELYbeen able to since he saw Nicole naked beneath the water, every line of lithe muscle and soft curve gloriously unveiled. And now, with the feel of her around his fingers, her wet mouth on his, the sound and scent of her as her fingers gripped his—
Fuck.
He was nothing but every long-forgotten desire.
Nothing if not ruined and saved, bound and freed.
He was raw andaliveafter the fight, as if he’d yanked a tarp off emotions he’d been suppressing for years. He’d used all of them. Let them all pour out of him to stop Logan.
The love and anger.
The sense of duty, and revenge.
The need to prove himself in front of Nicole,toher, even to thememory of the Druids. It had unlocked floodgates that made him feel so much lighter, even if he was also near trembling and wrung out, trapped in some strange, primal place.
A place that needed her skin against his lips, her heartbeat where he could taste it on his tongue.
Kyan stepped closer, bending to hook her leg around his waist and lift her clear off the slick tile. It forced her to wrap her arms around him. He’d never let her fall, but he couldn’t let her keep touching him like that.
Not if he wanted her screaming his name first.
He’d made her a promise in Estwood, and while he couldn’t yet keep it to the letter – not until she was completely safe – he intended to fulfil as much of it as he could.
She watched him beneath her lashes with all that explicit hunger.
She was a hunter.Hishunter. She wanted him.
And he was damned if he wasn’t going to give her whatever the hell she wanted.
Kyan’s eyes nearly shut as she told him more: about what she’d thought about him doing to her.
About how itfelt.
His chest shuddered as he tried to keep ahold of himself. But she had done this since Estwood: unmade and challenged him with every glance, every word.
He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind in those narrow, cot-like beds in the Wake’s mission apartments. He hadn’t wanted to touch himself thinking of her, but his body had ignored him. Grown hard, his muscles tense, trembling when he’d remembered the feeling of her tongue gently stroking across his bloodied lip, the sound of her moaned gasp as he’d gently parted her legs that last night in Westmoore House and shown her how good he could make her feel. How he’d wanted to give her everything, anything, again and again.
How he neededhermore than he’d ever needed anything.
It didn’t scare him. Empyreals were immortal. Their loves, when they found them, he now had no doubt, were long and unbreakable. He knew that kind of love was a little feral in its hunger and fiercely protective, even with the deep calm that came with knowing each of them could protect themselves. That didn’t matter.
He kissed her through the haze of pleasure and she began to shudder as his thumb worked in tandem with his fingers. Then he wrung the release from her until she screamed and bucked and clamped around him.
‘There she is,’ he groaned against her mouth, his pulse hammering. ‘The things I’ve thought of doing to get you to make that sound.’
‘Kyan.’ It was a sob, a sigh.
It was so fucking glorious he could have died.
She nearly sank down the tile and satisfaction swam hot and gold in his veins.
So, he carried her from the bathroom one-handed, the other grabbing a towel to lay over the bed. And as he laid her down, the glow of firelight gilding her warm skin, he wanted to ask,cadé mar a mbíonn tú san oíche…
How are you at night …
