Hunter's Season (Elder Races #4.7)(32)

The oiled, slick friction of their bodies drove him out of his mind. He bit her neck, suckled at her ear, sank both fists into her hair and muttered, “Climb on top.”

The glazed look was back in her eyes, arousal shimmering out of her flesh in waves of velvet heat. He held her by the hair down to him, while she straddled his hips with hers. She groped for his c**k blindly; when she took hold of him, she brought his tip to her entrance and sank down, down, sheathing him again in that tight, wet fist.

She was off balance, bent over, her weight on her elbows, but he could not seem to make his fingers loosen from her hair. It was uncivilized, possessive in the extreme. It was either unlike him or it was the truest manifestation of who he was becoming with her.

He hissed against her lips, “Fuck me, just like this.”

She groaned and obeyed, her hips moving on him in a primitive rhythm that he met with upward thrusts, spearing into her with c**k and tongue, blind to everything but the need to enter her, enter her. She sobbed for breath, the jagged puffs of breath against his face as erotic as anything they had done together.

Her face was reddened; tears streaked her eyes, and strands of her hair were plastered to her damp face and neck. “Gorgeous, gorgeous,” he said into her mouth. “You gorgeous woman.”

At that she gave a sharp cry, her whole body going taut as a bow, and he felt the ripple of her orgasm deep inside of her as she clenched on him. It sent him over the edge. He slid a hand down to her ass, pressing her down hard as he ejaculated deep inside of her. It satisfied everything primal inside of him.

The world pulsed with their heartbeats, their sweating bodies fused together. She lay across him, her head resting on his chest. Finally he was able to loosenhis grip on her hair. He pushed the strands back from her face and tried to smooth the tangles out.

“I’ve loved you for a very long time,” she said. Her voice was very soft, almost inaudible. He stilled, straining to hear every word. “Of course mostly that was hero worship and not very realistic.”

“I’m no hero,” he said.

She snorted softly. “You’re a hero to everyone, Aubrey. Just not to yourself.” He frowned, but she was continuing. “Then I got to know you better. The real you. The real, cranky, kind, funny you. Gods help me.”

He cupped her face. “Why do you need the gods to help you, darling?”

Her eyes were closed. She whispered, “We’ll be going back to our lives soon enough.”

His frown deepened. “Xanthe,” he said tightly. “I don’t know what this is for you, but this is not just an interlude for me. Yes, our time here at the cottage is outside the boundaries of normality, and yes, we have our jobs and duties waiting for us back in the city, but I am living an authentic life—who I am here is who I am back there too. I said I love you. I didn’t say it because we just had sex. I said it because I love you. You had better tell me if you don’t want to see me when we get back—and even then I’ll try to persuade you otherwise—”

She rose up and kissed him quickly. “No, that’s not what I meant! I—I didn’t want to presume anything just because we—we—you know.” She made a gesture that encompassed them and the bed.

His tightness eased. He smiled at her. “Please presume all the ‘you knows’ that you want. I strongly encourage all kinds of presuming from you.”

That startled her into a grin. As she opened her mouth to say something—

They heard voices approaching the cottage: Niniane’s and Tiago’s.

Panic flashed across Xanthe’s face. She rolled off the bed and peered out the window. “We didn’t shut the cottage door,” she muttered. She flew at her clothes.

While she yanked on her shirt and trousers, Aubrey rolled off the bed. He strolled over to the bedroom door to shut it firmly.

Just outside the cottage, Niniane called, “Hello, Aubrey? Xanthe? Are you here?”

He called out, “We’re here, but we’re not dressed. Give us a minute, and we’ll be right out.”

Silence. Then: “Okay.”

He turned to Xanthe. “Darling, don’t panic,” he whispered. “Take your time.”

“She’s only the Queen,” Xanthe hissed. She dragged her fingers frantically through her hair and braided it. Apparently it wasn’t straight enough to satisfy her, so she yanked it out and did it again. “And she’s my employer. Oh holy gods, Tiago’s out there.”

He started to laugh as he dressed. When he slipped on his shirt, he couldn’t find any buttons, so he left it open. Xanthe was still trying to get her hair into a plait when he opened the door and walked out.

Tiago stood in the doorway, facing the outside, arms crossed and harsh profile expressionless. Niniane stood by the table, unpacking canvas bags of supplies. She did not look expressionless. Her small, piquant face was full of suppressed glee.

“Hello,” Aubrey said. “How are you today?”

“We are quite well,” Niniane said. Her eyes danced. “You are looking so much better, Aubrey.”

“I’m feeling better than I have in a long time,” he told her, as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. He whispered, “Xanthe is in a panic. Tell Tiago to be nice or I will hurt him.”

“Oh, he’ll be nice,” Niniane whispered back. “Or if he can’t manage nice, he’ll be silent if he knows what’s good for him.”