Dragos Goes to Washington (Elder Races #8.5)(6)

“That’s pows. Plural,” he told her. He cupped her breasts, massaging her nipples with his hands. His voice lowered into a growl. “You’re too preoccupied with your multiple pows to keep track of what I’m doing. And I’m going to make you pow until you scream.”

Her chuckle turned husky, and her eyes darkened with pleasure. She whispered, “Give it your best shot, big guy.”

She hadn’t called him that in months. A corner of his mouth lifted as he picked her up and dropped her on the bed.

Her eyes widened as she landed in a sprawl among suits and outfits. Her pale blond hair spilled over her face. Laughing, she started to roll away. “Clean clothes! Clean clothes!”

“Screw the clothes,” he said. Bracing himself with one knee on the mattress of the bed, he picked handfuls of material up and tossed things aside.

Her laughter turned breathless. “I was going to pack all of that,” she protested.

“Screw packing,” he told her. As she tried to wiggle off the bed, he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her toward him.

“That’s easy for you to say,” she scolded, but there was no heat in her words. “You never pack your own stuff. Things just magically appear, clean and pressed, and ready whenever you need them.”

She sat up, and her unsteady fingers caught the hem of his shirt and pulled it up his torso. He obliged her by pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it.

He picked up a handful of her hair, studying it. Pale gold strands gleamed in the late afternoon light. Obeying an impulse, he rubbed his face in the luxuriant mass. It felt like raw silk against his skin.

“Of course things magically appear when I need them,” he told her. “That’s why we have so much house staff.”

She pulled back to glare at him. “Hey, I have news for you—all this prep work neatly laid out on the bed that you just threw on the floor? Your house staff had nothing to do with that. Your wife did.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “We are both half naked on the bed, about to practice getting pregnant and giving each other multiple pows, and we’re arguing about laundry?”

Her glare faded into uncertainty. After a pause, she said, “I guess so?”

Immensely satisfied, he nodded and pulled her up against his chest. They knelt there, skin against skin. Running his hands down the elegant curve of her back, he whispered against her mouth, “We are so married.”

Her uncertainty vanished, to be replaced by happiness and heat, and a gleam of returning laughter. “Yes, we are, aren’t we?”

“And twice mated,” he whispered against her mouth. Her lips were plump and soft, and molded to his as he kissed her. “In case you were thinking about trying to get out of it.”

“Well, technically, you’re twice mated,” she pointed out. “I didn’t suffer amnesia, so I’m not.”

His questing fingers found the fastening of her shorts. As he thumbed the fastening open and pulled the zipper down, he heard her breath catch.

“Don’t give me semantics at a time like this, woman,” he growled. “We’re married, twice mated, and I’m about to get you barefoot and pregnant with my mighty sperm, so lie back and take your pows, will you?”

“Ooh.” Her sexy little murmur of anticipation shot straight to his crotch.

As he eased her back, she went willingly, and when she was prone, she lifted her hips for him to yank off her shorts and undies. He tossed them as well without looking where they landed.

All his attention was fixed on the gorgeous woman lying in front of him, spread out like a feast. She glowed gently in the late afternoon sunlight, and he realized she had stripped away her dampening glamour so that she lay utterly naked for his perusal. Because her Wyr form was so rare, and it would be so incredibly dangerous for her if it ever became public, she hid her true nature from everybody but him, Liam, and the most trusted of their associates.

Warmth spread through him, pleasure and some kind of emotion he didn’t know to put a name to. She gave him so much, before he ever thought to ask for it. She gave him everything.

He took off his jeans and lowered his body down over hers, watching her eyes darken as their nude bodies came flush against each other. When his rigid cock brushed against the graceful arc of her pelvic bone, he pulsed, and by the catch of her breath, he knew she had felt it too.

He reined in the impulse to cut loose. It was too soon, and she might not be ready for him. Growling under his breath from the buildup of internal pressure, he allowed himself to ravish her plump, inviting mouth, while with one hand, he roamed restlessly over the gentle curves of her body.

She twined her arms around him, kissing him with the same feverish need as he kissed her. The internal flames grew hotter, wilder. He cupped her breast, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger, while his tongue plunged deep into her mouth.

“You’re burning up,” she whispered against his lips.

“I’m on fire,” he muttered.

Clear thinking disappeared in a haze of red. He bit down the soft skin of her slender throat, shifting his weight down so that he could suckle and tease her full breasts. Moaning, she moved restlessly under him. She held the back of his head with tense, shaking fingers, while the intoxicating scent of her arousal bloomed in the air.

His sucking bites brought the blood up under her glowing skin, so that the shadows of his touch clearly marked her.