Shadow's End (Elder Races, #9)(84)

His own body felt molten hot, his erection so thick and tight, it jutted straight out from his body. As he sprawled on his stomach, pushing down lower on the bed to feast on her, the slight friction of his cock rubbing on the coarse sheets caused him to ejaculate.

Gritting his teeth, he endured the unsatisfying pulse of pleasure/pain. He needed to be inside her oh gods so badly, yet he couldn’t leave the sensual wealth spread underneath him.

Carefully spreading her plump, ruby-tinted flesh, he found her clitoris. When he put his mouth over it, a breathless cry broke out of her lips. She lifted off the bed, head arched back, while the long, shapely muscles of her inner thighs clenched.

That was what he wanted. He needed to hear her scream. Contentment eased the fire of his own need. It wouldn’t last, but he would make it last long enough.

Suckling at her tiny, powerful peak of flesh, he stroked the petals that surrounded her entrance, caressing the dainty folds. More of her liquid arousal coated his fingers. She sank shaking fingers into his hair, sobbing, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

What don’t you know? the monster whispered in her head.

“It’s so intense, I don’t know if I can stand it.” The confession tumbled out of her trembling mouth.

Trust me, he murmured. You can take it.

She was stronger than she knew. She was stronger than almost anybody he knew.

Briefly, deliriously happy, he flicked her clitoris with tense care over the edge of his teeth. Finally he was able to make his talons retract, as he plunged two greedy fingers deep inside of her. With his invasion, he felt her convulse.

The climax rippled out from her core to the rest of her body, and it was so f*cking beautiful. So f*cking beautiful, suddenly, he could barely wait for her to finish. Somehow, he did, massaging her internal passage to help her through it.

When her pleasure ebbed, he pounced. Crawling up her body, he brought the tip of his cock to her entrance. Her hand collided with his as she reached to help him in.

Savagery returned. As he thrust into her tight, hot sheath, he sank his fingers deep into the mattress, clawing at it from a pleasure so deep, it was like agony.

He needed her so badly, he started ejaculating again with the first thrust. His face twisted, his back arching. Eyes wide, she stared up at him in wonder. As she stroked both hands down his chest, he shot harder into her.

It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.

She’s your chance, man.

Take it. Take her.

“You’re mine,” he growled into her face.

She whispered through lips swollen from his kisses, “Yes.”

Almost apologetically, he confessed, “I can’t stop. I’ve got to do it again.”

At that, she wound her arms around his neck again. He could never get tired of how passionately she held him. She said against his mouth, “Take everything you need, my love. Everything I’ve got is yours.”

She’s your chance, man.

He took everything she had to give.

Such a precious gift.





NINETEEN


The day before the masque, they cremated Constantine’s remains. Everywhere in New York City, flags were flown at half-mast. Traffic was muted, and many shops closed their doors.

The weather had warmed as well, and a light drizzle fell from the gray sky. It felt as if the whole world mourned his death.

Dragos had ordered a special brazier created, one large enough to hold a man. It was set on the roof of the Tower. The sentinels took Constantine’s body, dressed in simple, everyday clothes, and laid him gently on it.

Then everybody who could fit onto the roof of the Tower came. Those who couldn’t fit on the roof stood on the stairs, all eighty flights down to the street, where people gathered around the building on the sidewalks. Bel heard later that the crowd extended for several blocks in every direction around the Tower.

She took her place beside Graydon in a circle of the sentinels, holding his hand. Rune and Carling joined the circle. The harpy Aryal wept openly, while her mate Quentin rubbed her back, his jaw tight. Grym and Alexander stared fixedly at Constantine, while the fourth gryphon Bayne bowed his head, covering his face with one hand.

Dragos, Pia and Liam stood nearby. Pia’s eyes were puffy and red, and Liam kept wiping at his face. Pia kept her arm around the boy’s shoulders. Occasionally she whispered in his ear and tightened her hold, hugging him against her side.

And Dragos . . . Bel did her very best not to stare, but she couldn’t help stealing a glance or two at his bleak expression. The fierce gold of his eyes had gone dull, and she thought she saw something hot and smoking on his lean cheeks. It was almost as if the dragon cried tears of fire.

The Great Beast could feel love and loss. He could feel grief. Her understanding of who and what he was metamorphosed into something new. While she could never imagine becoming close to him, she could finally accept he had grown into someone else. He was no longer the animal that had preyed on the Elves so long ago.

Graydon gripped her fingers tight. His expression appeared stony as he clenched down on his grief. He didn’t shed tears or speak, but she knew how raw his grief was inside. While she hadn’t known Constantine, she grieved for Graydon’s loss.

When everybody was assembled, Dragos stepped forward, to the edge of the brazier. Looking down at Constantine’s quiet face, he stroked back the tawny hair. He didn’t speak any words. Nobody said anything.