Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(103)

“How long is that?”

“Long enough that I’m not putting a number to it.”

“Then I’ll be gentle this time,” she whispered.

In truth, she wasn’t certain she could wait. Her wet heat already slicked across him, and she couldn’t stop the rhythmic canting of her hips. His arms flexed, and he pulled the dress over her shoulders.

Hands roamed down her shoulders, lingering upon the curves of her breasts and sliding across her thighs.

“Gentle?” he asked. “When have I ever asked for gentle?”

She had never felt like this before. He willingly gave her full control over the situation, and she wanted to devour him. She wanted to mark him for all eternity. To shred him until all he could do was whisper her name.

The newly discovered part of herself, the animal, the beast, wanted to see him on his knees. She understood what men felt like when they came to the brothel. She could order him to do whatever she wanted.

Sorcha leaned forward, sank her teeth into the lobe of his ear, then soothed the ache with her tongue. “What do you want, Eamonn?”

He growled and lifted his hips.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Is that all?”

She reached between them and wrapped her hand around his hard length. He pulsed between her fingers, eager and wanting. As a reward, she slid her hand up and down until he was breathing so fast that he rocked the bed.

But not yet. She wasn’t done with him yet. She paused, waited for him to catch his breath, then notched him at her opening. He was broad, too large, too thick, and far too enticing.

She wanted to see him as he entered her. She wanted to watch his eyes and brand herself into his soul.

“Eamonn,” she whispered, knowing how much he liked to hear his name on her lips.

“Now, Sorcha.”

A rush of heat tensed her belly, and she groaned. Throwing herself down, she seated him all the way to her core.

They both gasped, arched, ached for each other as two became one. The candles blew out as a gust of magic rushed through the room.

He filled her to the brink of pain. She stung, but the needles of sensation were agreeable. Erotic tingles danced down her spine, multiplying as he groaned in appreciation.

Sorcha leaned forward. His breath feathered over her lips, and she couldn’t bring herself to move. Not yet. She wanted to savor each moment that passed. Each clench of muscle that dragged him ever deeper.

A drop of sweat dripped down his temple.

“You feel like coming home,” he whispered. The words tasted sweet against her lips.

She knew how long it had been since he felt like he had a home. He’d been the outcast for centuries. And now, he admitted that sliding into her heat filled that piece of himself.

The earth could have split open, and Sorcha would not have been able to stop. She lifted up and drove back down. She gasped, clenching hard as she set a rhythm that made him grip the sheets again.

He didn’t touch her until she picked his hands back up. He gave her all the power, all the freedom to use his body as she saw fit. She pressed his palms against her breasts, dragged his hands to her mound and encouraged him to touch, to learn her body as she learned his.

Slow movements became frustrating. She braced her hands on his chest and sped up but her thighs were quivering and her mind fractured.

He growled and lifted her away. She spread across the bed, her hair a wildfire of curls, as he plunged back into her.

The time for tenderness had passed. The animals inside them clawed to the forefront. They fought beneath the sheets, twisting for power and control. She sank her teeth into his shoulder again, fitting them into the marks she had already left. The howling in her soul grew louder as he reached between them and slid his thumb across her molten heat.

“Eamonn!” she shouted.

She tensed, her whole body reaching for the stars. Higher and higher he brought her, forcing her further than she had ever gone until she arched her back and cried out in release.

Her eyes opened wide to watch as he threw his head back and groaned. The crystals that wrapped around his throat pulsed, his arms shook, and his hips stilled.

They had battled, drawn blood, and in the end, they lifted each other towards the stars and emerged victorious. Both alive, and undone.

Eamonn fell onto the bed neck to her, chest heaving.

He tucked her against him, a wide hand spread across her spine. Sorcha hid the smile blooming across her lips. It was strange how easily he lost the self-conscious way he carried himself. First, he stopped wearing the hooded cloak, then he grew comfortable with her seeing his scars, and now he didn’t flinch when they were pressed against her skin.

A woman could get used to this. Even the stones on his hands didn’t bother her, they had heated in their passions and warmed her back. She was cocooned—safe within his arms.

The sheets rustled as he shifted his legs closer to hers. His lips pressed against her brow, gentle so that he did not break her skin with the crystals. “Stay with me.”

Sorcha shivered. “There’s far too many meanings for me to guess what you mean.”

“Stay with me here on Hy-brasil, for as long as you live.”

“It’s a bold question for a faerie. Your kind despise humans.”

“You aren’t human. You’re druid, and beyond that, you are mine. They will love you, or I will bring them to their knees.”