The Centaur Queen (The Dark Queens #7)(55)

I sucked in a sharp breath. My palm tingled and burned with the need to do it. But I was scared, terrified out of my wits that she wouldn’t like it, that I would be lost in the act and she would plead with me to stop. What if I couldn’t stop? What if I was too weak to stop?

I grimaced, bearing down on my molars as I ground them back and forth. “You don’t know—”

“Stop telling me what I do and do not know or want. I want this. I want you. Now sing for me beast, and make me yours in every possible way.”

With an inarticulate cry, the magic poured out of me in a sharp burst. Song pierced the heavens from my horns. Instantly her body turned pliant, supple, and a long, low moan reverberated in her chest. A look of such sensual beauty stole over her already lovely features, turning her into something mythical and enchanting.

I was on her then, shoving her down to the ground, keeping one hand behind her head to bear the brunt of the impact. But all she did was laugh that tinkling, lovely, bell-like sound that shivered over my skin like bursts of electricity.

“If you say stop, I promise, my álogo, I promise I will stop. I vow it to you.”

Molten eyes gazed up at me with unflinching adoration. “I will never say stop.”

A hungry moan tore from my lips, and then I leaned down and bit her flesh right above her heart, not enough to break the skin—I would never do that to her—but enough to leave my mark upon her.

She gasped, but she did not push me away. Instead she circled her arms around my neck and pulled me in tighter. Her legs cradled me, and I could no longer contain myself. I slid into her welcoming heat, pumping in and out as I pinched, bit, and even smacked her arse when we’d twist and turn so that I could reach.

It was enough to make her cry out, to turn her pale skin a blooming shade of angry red. But Tymanon was no shrinking violent. She gave as good as she took. Clawing at my chest, she even drew faint beads of blood, and I shook, spasming beneath her touch, amazed and enraptured at the ferocity of her lovemaking.

I never knew my Ty could be like this, would want this kind of passionate lovemaking.

Somehow we’d rolled over, and I was now lying flat on the ground and she atop me, writhing and undulating above me, gorgeous breasts swaying hypnotically in front of me as I pinched her nipples hard enough to make her cry out with shuddery sobs. Our bodies were coated in sweat. My song filled the night. Jasmine bloomed all around us.

The sky danced with the light of a million stars and I knew the memory of this night would remain with me forever, the night I finally let myself go with her, the night my centauress surprised me yet again by accepting me as I truly was.

No nymph had ever made me feel this whole, this perfect. No nymph had ever owned me heart and soul, as my Ty did.

Again her nails scored my flesh, and I could no longer hold on. With one final thrust of my hips, I poured my seed deep within her, wishing for just a moment that she and I could bear children someday, wishing we too could create life. But we were not of the same species, we could never create anything other than the cries and magic that now filled the night.

But it was enough.

She was enough.

With one last shriek, Tymanon went stiff upon me, and I felt the flutters of her orgasm convulse around me, keeping me stiff and in delicious agony all throughout the night.

It was several hours later when we finally cuddled, content just to remain in one another’s arms and dream about our future together.

“When this is all over, where will we go?”

She turned, looking up at me with a bright, contented smile as she ran her finger over my bottom lip. I loved her. With all my soul, I loved her.

“Where would you like to go?” she asked, eyes shining back at me.

I shrugged. “I do not care. Wherever you want to go. Libraries.”

“Libraries?” she giggled, sounding carefree and effervescent, and I couldn’t help but grin.

I loved this side of her, this open and tender side only I would ever get to see or know. To the rest of the world, Tymanon might seem reticent or even shy. But she wasn’t, not at all. My woman simply saw the world through a different set of lenses.

She was so very special to me.

I picked up a curl of her hair and rubbed it between my fingers. I loved the softness of it, loved watching her comb it out faithfully every night, loved knowing that for the rest of our long lives, I would get to watch her do it again and again and again.

Tomorrow we were free.

“You love your books. I would take you to all the libraries of all the realms and watch you read to your hearts delight all the rest of my long days, so long as I’m with you.”

“And this is why—” she whispered, leaning up until her mouth grazed mine “—I love you so, my gída.”

She kissed me, and my toes curled. I would never, ever have enough of her. Not now. Not ever. This female had become my sole addiction in life—having her, pleasing her, seeing her smile all the rest of her days.

“And your sister?” she asked.

I froze because I had forgotten. In all the time we’d spent together, the years we’d spent inside the labyrinth of time, the pain of Myra had, shamefully, become a distant memory. How could I have forgotten her so easily? How could I have thought Tymanon and I would have forever? To free Myra, I would have to swap places with her. I sucked in a sharp breath, hurting to the very depth of my core.