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She bucked in an effort to dislodge him, even as her lips moved against his. And then she flicked her tongue out, ran it over the curve of his mouth. Lifted her head off the pillow to take him more deeply, in a hungry, devouring kiss that turned him inside out.
He broke away only long enough to take her captured arms, place them over her head.
She glared up at him. Not all her anger spent, then. But the battle had definitely changed. Entangled with desire and desperation. He couldn’t see a loser in a fight like this. He offered her a wicked smile. “I seem to remember being in a similar position once before.”
“Apparently you haven’t learned much.” She wasn’t going to give in gracefully. He’d have to coax her into surrender. The rush of pounding heat centered in his crotch, the luscious curve of her breasts crushed skin on skin against him made him more than happy to oblige.
“Let me show you how much I’ve learned,” he said, lowering his mouth back to hers.
Even as she returned his kiss, she struggled, thrusting up with her hips to dislodge him. The movement sent a spasm through his system. He returned the favor, rubbing against her, letting her feel his erection.
“I hate you,” she said, but the fight was gone from her voice. “You’re arrogant, conceited, big-headed…I could go on and on.”
“So could I,” he murmured as he trailed kisses down her throat, nibbled the slender sweep of her collarbone, the soft flesh of her breasts.
She shivered, arching up to meet him. “I hate you so much.” She writhed beneath him as he drew out the seduction. Took his time. Each caress, each suggestive brush of his lips and hands meant to torture. “Oh God, Conor. I hate you,” she moaned as he took a nipple into his mouth. Tongued it until it went pebble-hard.
He broke off. “I know you do,” he said, his control dangerously close to slipping with every sinuous rock of her body. “I hate you too.”
Ellery grit her teeth against the exquisite mastery of Conor’s touch. Even so, a throaty purr escaped her lips. Made her cringe with humiliation. How could she be so easy? How could he make her so both so mad and so hot that she wanted to scream? She fought to free her hands, but his grip was too strong. He clamped down on her wrists until she gave up in frustration. Taking her in his mouth, he sent her senses spinning, sweet jolts shooting straight to her center with every lave of his tongue.
He raised his head, his breathing raspy, his voice reckless. “If I let go, you’ll not harm me.” A statement, but one of trust—not control.
She shook her head, too impassioned to speak. He released her, but only to unfasten his breeches. Now was her chance. She could make him pay for his arrogance. Make him suffer for the pride that wouldn’t let her in even when all she wanted was to help.
Instead, she fumbled with the buttons, pushing his breeches down over his hips. Anything to have him back. On top of her. In her. Their joining a bulwark against the crouching fear that threatened.
She clung to him as he plunged deep, sent the black emptiness howling inside her to another place. His arms braced on either side of her head, he thrust again. Hard. Fast. As if he could outrun his own uncertainties by taking and possessing her with a raw, animal hunger. Arousal surged along her every limb, sparked down every nerve until she burned with it, until she lay poised at the edge of oblivion with nowhere to go but down.
She grabbed his shoulders and with a shift of her weight, flipped him onto his back. Let her gaze steal over his impossibly perfect body.
He reached up, caressed her cheek. A look of such infinite tenderness and regret on his face, she wanted to weep. Instead, she leaned over him. Kissed his forehead. The end of his nose. His lips. With delicious turnabout, she took his nipple into her mouth. He gasped, almost coming off the bed, his whole body radiating excitement.
Her hands and then her mouth skimmed his shoulders. His chest. His washboard abdomen. Following the arcing path of his tattoos, she tasted the salty-sweet musk of his body. Filled her nostrils with the scents of sweat and sex and skin that kept her wet and throbbing with need.
His cock stood erect, heavy and gleaming and moist with her essence. She stroked the length of it. Glided her fingers across the tip. Loving the tremors that passed through Conor at her touch.
Glorying in this strange new strength she’d discovered, she bent to take him in her mouth. Reveling in the slick softness of his member on her lips, she slid her tongue over it. Felt him jump under the tantalizing assault.
Cursing, Conor caught her arms in a steel grip. Dragged her up and off of him. “Not that way,” he ground out between clenched teeth, “I want to be inside you.”
She smiled as she straddled him. Lowered herself onto him with a long, shuddering moan. His hands encircled her hips as she rocked forward, slowing them down. Drawing them into a long, wicked dance. Raising herself up, she took him again into her. Slowly. Inch by inch. Watching his face. Watching his hunter’s eyes glaze with a hunger only she could satisfy. This was power. Wanton, erotic, sinful—and oh so glorious.
For a split second, her mother’s life gleamed clear in front of her. The squalor and the insecurity she had suffered for these moments of perfect strength. In the end, they had killed her.
Conor gasped, his muscles taut, his chest glowing pale as marble in the light from the banked fire. Ellery leaned forward, twining her fingers around his neck even as she exploded, the pleasure washing over her body in a wave of lush heat. She held on to Conor as each successive wave pulled her back into herself. Back into reality.
She lay her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, tasting the damp of his skin.
A perfect moment.
She shivered. It would kill her, too.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Asher scanned the skies. Whispered dark words into the wind. And nature bent to his command. The sun, orange as flame, sank into a white-capped sea. Clouds stretched black fingers over the stars. Obliterated the moon. Tonight was his. And all the mornings after. Only Bligh kept him from the reliquary and his brothers. And the amhas-draoi would die before the sun rose again.
He summoned the glamorie one last time. Donned the ridiculous raiment of man. Slid a finger down the long, barbed sword, licking the blood that welled from the cut. He was ready.
