Pia Saves the Day (Elder Races #6.6)(24)

Until death might call an end to their lives, but even then, death couldn’t part them. They were Wyr, mated for life.

One or the other of them might linger to finish their affairs. When she thought Dragos might be gone, she had made that commitment, silently, to Liam. She cherished the fact that her mother had done that for her before leaving this earth, and she would do no less for her son.

But in the end, she would always orbit around Dragos, always look for him, always reach for him. Whatever bridge he crossed, whatever journey he might make, she would always follow.

His rough-hewn features and body clenched tight, as he focused on some internal landscape only he could see. Sprawling over her, he burrowed his face into her neck and sought her skin with his mouth, while he reached between her legs to finger the plump, delicate folds of her sex.

He sucked, licked, bit at her, his sharp teeth causing a light, erotic sting. “This is mine,” he muttered into the curve of her breast before he suckled her nipple. “This, and this.”

Gripping his shoulders, she jerked and shuddered under the sensual onslaught.

“Yes,” she told him.

Yes, and yes.

Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against her breastbone. “What lies inside this body is mine.”

He was claiming all of her.

She lifted her head off the bed. “Dragos,” she said, even as he probed and stroked her slick, private flesh.

He paused and tilted his head to look up at her. His brilliant gaze was jealous, secretive. For the love of all the gods, what on earth was going on in that convoluted mind of his?

She so adored this difficult, arrogant man.

In a strong, sure voice, she told him, “You are mine, too. You always will be. I’ll never give up or let go, no matter how many times you get bonked on the head, or how exasperating you become.”

She could say some pretty sweet things too, when she put her mind to it.

Satisfaction flashed across his face, along with triumph, and his reaction caught her attention, confusing her all over again. After all, it wasn’t as though she had made any secret of how she felt about him.

She didn’t have time to puzzle over it for long. Holding her gaze deliberately, he penetrated her with two fingers. She was so ready for him he didn’t need to draw out any moisture.

The sensation of his fingers gliding into her felt so good, so necessary, she braced her heels against the mattress and lifted her hips up to his touch.

It caused him to growl underneath his breath. He f**ked her with his fingers, intently watching every nuance of her expression. When the ball of his thumb came in contact with her clitoris, she shattered into a million pieces.

Her eyes dampened. When she could talk again, she murmured, “I guess there were some other things you didn’t forget.”

“It must be like riding a bicycle.” He hesitated with a frown. “Except I don’t think I ride bicycles.”

At that, she burst out laughing and wrapped her arms around him. “No, darling, you don’t ride bicycles.”

He lunged at her, a quick, predatory swoop, and captured her mouth. Kissing her so deeply, he pushed her into the mattress, while at the same time he gripped his penis and rubbed the thick, broad head against her fluted opening. She lost her laughter in anticipation.

He pushed into her, and it was everything she knew and needed for it to be. Familiarity and recognition only made it sweeter and stronger, and she had room enough to ache for him that he had lost that deep, strong experience.

Then that thought fled, as he filled her to the brim, not stopping until he had sunk all the way into her, to the root. His hips flexing at the bowl of her pelvis, he clenched his teeth and muttered, “I can’t get deep enough.”

She knew that pained intensity. She had felt it so many times herself.

There was only one way she knew to make it better. Putting her mouth to his ear, she whispered, “Try.”

Growling, he started to move. With an instinct that went deeper than thought, she picked up his rhythm and matched it, lifting her hips for his thrusts.

Hauling her up briefly, he angled one arm underneath her torso, his forearm sliding up between her shoulder blades as he sank his fist into her hair. With his other hand, he gripped her by the hip as he f**ked her harder.

So possessive. She embraced all of it, the slight awkwardness of the position, the tight grasp he had on her body.

The tension was building again. Raking her fingernails down his back, she egged him on. “Harder.”

He responded immediately, pistoning in deliberate thrusts. Their bodies dampened with sweat. This wasn’t sweet, slow lovemaking. It was fierce and desperate.

Greedy, she was so greedy. She was frustrated she didn’t get a chance to climax again. He plunged ahead of her to the finish, arcing up with a gasp as he spurted into her.

Letting go of her own need, she embraced him and focused on his pleasure. She felt every gorgeous pulse of his penis. Trying to make it last for him, she gripped him as tightly as she could with her inner muscles.

He came to a halt, breathing raggedly. She stroked the back of his neck.

His fingers loosened in her hair, and he came up onto his elbows. He looked agonized, desperate.

He said roughly, “I’m not done.”

She stared. Before she could respond, he hauled her up bodily and flipped her so that she came onto her hands and knees. Incredulously, she complied, arching her back and tilting her ass in primal invitation.