Page 124 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

“Are those pancakes for me?” came a sleepy voice, laced with feigned innocence. Bastian huffed, hiding his grin. He set his spatula on the counter and turned to find his girl in the doorway. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, which had become a habit of hers when she slept over. His eyes narrowed. He was almost certain she’d confiscated it from his room before coming into the kitchen. It was clean, and he distinctly remembered folding it and tucking it away in his drawers after doing laundry the other day.

The sight of her in it made his chest swell with pride.

He wasn’t even slightly covert as he traced her figure from head to toe, his eyes lingering on her bare legs. The satisfaction of her flushed skin left his cock twitching in his lounge pants. He needed to fuck her like this, with her dressed in his clothes.

After returning from their hike yesterday, they’d stayed up far too late making love. He’d let her sleep as long as he could physically manage, lying there beside her, watching her chest rise and fall, watching the beautifully calm expression on her face before slipping from bed to use the restroom and make breakfast. The desire to provide, to make her food, to see to her needs was too overpowering. His goblin side was already preening. Especially now. Seeing her there standing in the doorway with her sleep mussed hair.

It was so fucking right.

“I suppose that depends, sugar,” he managed, finally finding his words.

A slow grin spread across her lips. “On?”

“On whether you’ve got any panties on under my shirt.”

“Oh.” She bit her lower lip, then her hand dipped between her legs, but she didn’t lift the shirt, didn’t give anything away. The sight of her touching herself sent fire roaring through his veins. He emitted a low, warning growl. “Hm… I’m not really sure I should answer that. Maybe you should find out for yourself.”

His glamor broke. As usual, she had a way of tugging his basest form free. He took a step toward her, but she lifted her hands.

“Ah-ah-ah, your pancake is burning.” And indeed, the scent of overdone pancake met his nose, mixed with the smell of her wetness now clinging to her fingers. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He growled, spun around and turned off the burner, then stalked over to her, snatching her up and setting her on the counter. He managed to get control of his form enough to ensure his claws wouldn’t hurt her. His fingers slid up her legs, but he kept his eyes on hers, watched as they widened when he found her wet pussy.

“No panties,” he concluded. “I’m not sure there’ll be pancakes after all, sugar, since I’ll be too busy fucking you on this counter.”

“Bas!” she breathed as he slipped inside her. She clenched around his fingers. “Go wash your hands and finish my breakfast.”

His mouth twitched. That bossy tone—he had plans for that. But, later. First, he needed to feed his female.

“Yes ma’am.” He removed his hand and licked every drop of her off him. “There. All clean.”

“Oh, my God. That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, sugar. You just sit right there where I can keep an eye on you. I’m going to finish your breakfast, and then I’m going to finish you. Understood?” Her lips parted, a tinge of pink creeping up her throat.

“Understood,” she breathed. And that’s exactly what he did, what he planned to do from this day forward, and every day thereafter. This new feeling, this completeness he’d found in her, it was something to be celebrated. He planned to embrace the shit out of it. Every. Fucking. Moment.

EPILOGUE

Iwalked up to the library building, standing beneath the overhang and looking out over Walton University’s campus. Autumn was in full swing, the leaves changing to beautiful shades of red and orange. The air was crisp. I hugged my textbooks against my front, glad I’d worn a cardigan.

My phone chimed and I wrestled it from my pocket. It was from Bastian.

Bastian

Hope class went okay? I’m about ten minutes away.

I smiled and sent him a quick text in response.

A cluster of leaves blew across the cement in front of me, rustling my pink hair against my skin. I could have dyed it back to my natural color, but I’d grown fond of it. I didn’t bother with tinted contacts anymore, either.

As a surprise, Bastian had enlisted the skills of a couple WBI friends to dig up my hidden records from the university database. Turned out I only had twelve units left to complete my master’s degree, along with a thesis paper. Given my involvement in returning the library’s missing artifacts, for which Bastian had insisted I receive all the credit, the university was practically begging to have me here.

They had no problem making an exception for my late enrollment at the end of the summer, giving me back my position in the program. They’d even noted on my records that I’d taken a two-year leave of absence for personal reasons. Normally, only a single semester was permitted.

I wasn’t certain, but I had a mind to go for my Ph.D afterward. Possibly even take up Professor Miller’s work here at the university. Bastian had already given me his full support on the matter, encouraging me to do exactly that. He’d admitted that it would be ‘cool’ if his mate was an ‘artifact hunter.’

Of course, I’d snorted.

“Has a good ring to it,” he’d claimed, a gleam in his eyes.