Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(30)

“You’re not too cold?” he asked her again, stroking her cheek. She shook her head, leaning into his touch. “We can spread my coat on the ground.”

“And we can use my cloak as a blanket,” she murmured.

“You deserve a much finer bed than this.” Unable to resist, he leaned forward to caress her lips with his.

She said against his mouth, “This is the best bed I could hope for.”

He shrugged out of his coat and laid it out on the ground. The fire was beginning to die down, so he took a moment to add the last of the wood to the blaze. As it flared up, he turned back in time to see her pull off her leather boots and pants.

Her long, bare legs were flawless. Muscles flexed over narrow, graceful bones as she bent to scoop up her pants and drape them over the log. Her hair fell longer than her shirt, the feathery ends brushing against her thighs. As she bent her head, the tip of one pointed, elegant ear peeked out of the dark, shining strands.

Transfixed, he stared at her.

Sex, for him, had always been rowdy and affectionate, and an altogether temporary condition. It was damn fine physical exercise, and an excellent way to release tension and get a comfy cuddle or two.

The next morning, he would feel fit as a fiddle. With a whistle and a spring in his step, he was ready to get on with his day. He honestly didn’t mind paying someone generously for a good time, as long as she wanted to do it, was happy to be paid and enjoyed her work.

In contrast, he was stricken by the depth of emotion he felt when he looked at Beluviel.

With a silent roar, hunger banished his soul to live inside his skin. It became the raw, feral force that drove the beat of his heart, the pulse of his blood. In all the countless ages in which the gryphon had taken flight, this was the first time he left himself behind.

Tearing off his shirt, he rolled it into a bundle, so she would have a pillow on which to rest her head. As she took note of what he did, she gave him a smile that softened and lit her beautiful features.

Rising swiftly to his feet, he pulled her against his bare chest and took her mouth again. Kissing her drove the hunger to a fever pitch. He felt more than a little mad from it, as he dug his fingers into her hair and plundered the soft, secret recesses of her mouth.

A shudder rippled through her body. Protectively, he nestled her closer and murmured against her lips, “You are cold.”

She shook her head. “Not when I’m near you. You throw off heat like a furnace.” She ran her hands over the bare expanse of his chest. He had a deep suntan, and his pectorals were liberally sprinkled with hair that was a darker shade than the hair on his head. It narrowed to a sleek arrow that shot down his abdomen.

Pleasure washed over him at her caress, along with a hint of self-consciousness. He muttered, “I’m a lot hairier than most Elves.”

“I love it,” she breathed, looking down his length. She leaned forward to rub her face against his chest, a gesture not only affectionate but so sensual and animal-like, it touched a deep, atavistic part of him.

His hunger sharpened to an uncontrollable spike of need. Bending, he scooped her into his arms and laid her on the ground. As she settled back onto his coat, she flung out a hand, snagged a corner of her cloak and dragged it close.

He wasn’t cold either. The heat from the fire and the chill night air felt invigorating to him, but still he allowed her to shake out the cloak and drape it over his back. She was taking care of him, and he loved that.

He needed to see all of her. With shaking fingers, he unbuttoned the front of her shirt, until the edges fell to either side, and she lay exposed to his scrutiny.

Absolutely, without a doubt, the most important and lovely part of her was her spirit. Feminine and quietly strong at the same time, she drew him in like a lodestone. Even knowing and believing that, the physical sight of her overwhelmed him.

She was exquisitely shaped everywhere, with the same narrow, long bone structure. Her flat stomach was punctuated by the graceful arch of hipbones, and her pelvis, which was sprinkled with a small tuft of dark, silken hair. In contrast to her slim rib cage, her breasts swelled in generous curves, tipped by jutting, pale pink nipples. As he watched, they crinkled and stiffened in the night air.

At the sight, a guttural croon broke out of him. Bending down, he took one nipple in his mouth ravenously and sucked.

Arching, she cried out, the silvery sound spearing through the quiet predawn. Astonishment overcame him at the intense pleasure he found at flicking the delicate, plump morsel of flesh with his tongue.

While he suckled, he ran a greedy hand all over her body. His hunger for her had become a driving need, and he was fast losing any sense of finesse he might otherwise have had.

While he stroked and petted her, he was vaguely aware of her hands working at the fastening of his pants at his waist. She yanked his clothes open, and, once freed, his erection spilled into her hands. Her fingers closed somewhat clumsily over his cock, and he felt as massive and hard as an oak tree in her grip.

He was losing control, losing it. Arching his back, he pushed his cock into her hands, while he suckled at her breast and thrust one hand between her legs.

As he discovered the satiny, soft petals of her private flesh, he found her deliciously wet. Caressing her deeply, stroking into the entrance of her passage, he drew more of her moisture out, until her arousal coated his fingers.

She groaned, or he did. They might be eternally separate but they moved as one. His lungs worked like a bellows, the breath sawing in his throat as he switched from suckling on one nipple to the other, drawing on her deeply while he rubbed and explored her, until he encountered a tiny, precious nubbin of stiffened flesh.