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He steps from the tub with ease, dripping all over the carpets. “Do you mind if I’m filthy?”
“No.” I circle my arms around his neck, though I’ve never felt so securely held, despite being soaking wet. “I think I like you filthy.”
Sigurd lays me on top of the bed. His gaze rakes my naked, panting form as he says, “Good, so do I.”
A needy whimper escapes from me as he crawls onto the bed. I let my tented legs fall open, giving him a view of where I need him. Yes, he just made me come all over his hand, but the release did nothing to dampen my need. If anything, he only made it worse.
“My beautiful Wren.” He pushes my thighs even wider as he fits himself between. Sigurd leans over me, bracing himself on one hand to keep his weight off me. With the other, he runs his cock along my folds, making me squirm in anticipation. “I need you to tell me you want me, Wren. Tell me you’ll accept my mark.”
I’d almost forgotten that part, the reason he wouldn’t give me what I wanted before. His mark would be a magical and physical signature on our bodies. Proof of our bond. Something no fae would fail to notice.
“Please,” he says, “promise me you want this.”
“Yes, Sigurd.” I caress his cheek, savoring the way his eyes briefly flutter closed. “I want this. I want to be yours. I want your mark. I want all of you.” Now. In the future. I don’t know exactly what lies beyond this night, but I promised to come back to him. Iwillcome back, no matter how long it takes, and I hope he’ll be waiting for me. No matter what though, I know I want him right now. No doubts. No second guesses. “I want you so much I can’t stand it. Mark me. Make me yours.”
Sigurd notches himself at my entrance, sliding in the barest bit, before he takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together on the sheets next to my head. His face hovers an inch from mine, heavy breaths mingling, and then he fills me in one sure stroke.
I cry out at the fullness of it, the rightness. At that instant, his eyes blaze as blue as I’ve ever seen, the bright light basking us in its glow. It fades a bit but doesn’t recede as I grip his hand tighter, savoring every point of connection as he moves in a steady rhythm.
“Wren. My Wren,” he murmurs, never breaking eye contact.
And then his face is buried in the crook of my neck, planting one kiss after another as some of his weight settles atop me. My free hand tangles in his hair. No matter how eager his movement, I want this to last. I want to hold on until I can’t breathe and my mind is numb to everything except the touch of this man—this fae.
My release dances closer, and I move my hips to meet him. He’s relentless, but somehow I want more. Ineedmore. In my eagerness, my palm brushes over his pointed ear. He moans, thrusting deep and wrenching a shocked cry from my lips.
“Are you—” Sigurd jerks his head back, stilling within me. “Did I—”
His gaze rakes me, but there’s nothing to find.
“Fine. I need—” I try to pull his face down to mine as I wiggle under him, but he holds firm.
“I think I know.” And then he’s flipping us, moving me so quickly I barely have time to register what happened. He slides free in the act, and I whimper at the loss, even as I straddle his abdomen, grinding myself against him.
Not enough. Not near enough.
Then his hands are on my hips, urging me up. “Ride me, Wren. Take what you need.”
My lips part in a silent O. I follow his lead, giving him space to position his cock at my entrance once more. But he doesn’t move. He holds absolutely still, waiting for me to take control. So I do. Without another thought, I take him in hand and begin to slide down his impressive length. In this position, he fills me so completely I can’t help but gasp at the way we fit together, the way it brings every nerve ending in my body to life.
“Good girl.” His hands slide up and down my hips and thighs, his thumbs working little circles across my skin as he urges me to move. “I want to watch you as you come all over my cock.”
“Filthy fae,” I tease as I move on him.
His gaze sweeps over my body, so intense I can almost feel it on my skin. The way he watches me, drinks his fill, is more intoxicating than any whiskey. Pleasure coils tight within me. My motions are no longer my own, given over to pure instinct. Sigurd’s fingers find their way to the apex of my thighs to rub against me, and then I’m coming harder than I ever have before. Tears leak out the corner of my eyes. Words flow from my mouth, but I couldn’t say what they are.
And then his arms are around me, cradling me on the sheets as he thrusts into my warmth, drawing out the last of my release and following me himself. My name is a hoarse cry on his lips, our bodies a tangle of damp limbs and wet hair.
Something cool tingles across the skin of my hip, so different from the inferno still raging through my core or the warmth of Sigurd’s body against mine.
Smooth palms caress my face, pushing away tangled, wet hair. Sigurd stares at me in silent wonder, our heavy breaths mingling. His heart beats so hard I can feel his pulse against my skin as I come back to myself.
“Did you do it?” I ask, still breathless. “Did you mark me?”
Laughter rumbles in his chest as he places his forehead against mine. “You truly have doubt?”
I bite my lip and stare at him sheepishly. “It was my first time with a fae, after all.”
His palm coasts down my side, stirring up goosebumps. “I hope I lived up to expectations because I have no intention of sharing.”
