Black Crown (Darkest Drae, #3)(37)

Tyrrik indulged me with a tender kiss before pulling away. “All you have to do is tell me if you like this?”

“Like what?”

He trailed his fingers down my neck to the fold of my purple aketon, pulling the thick fabric open enough so he could trace first above and then below my collarbone. “Do you like this?”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “Yea—”

His fingers dipped lower, tracing the swell of my breast, and air hitched in my throat. Holy-Drae-babies.

“Do you like this?” he asked, stopping to look me in the eye.

His touch was fire, and I nodded, swaying closer.

“What about this?” he asked, guiding me back with his body until I was sandwiched between him and the wall.

His hand went to the tie at my waist, and he pulled the knot loose.

I wore a chemise to bed most nights, so it was stupid to feel shy about him exposing my underclothes, but the concentration with which he did it sent a deep flush into my cheeks.

He undid the tie on the other end and pushed the outer garment off my shoulders.

“You’re getting rid of our clothes?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, but two could play at this game.

I pulled the tie at his waist on one side and then the other. Pushing my hands up the smooth planes of his chest, I asked, quirking a brow, “Do you like?”

“Yes,” he growled, and the warm embers of his voice called to me.

He pushed his body into mine, dipping his head to my neck where he pressed his lips to my pulse. And then to our mate mark. I stilled as Tyrrik groaned deep in the back of his throat and applied more pressure to the mark than ever before.

I gasped, heat flooding through me at the small, dominating nip.

“Do you like this?” he asked. Before I could answer, he gripped my waist, kneading his way to my hips. “What about this?”

Is that even a question? I moaned and pushed my hips to his in response. He dipped his hand under the gathered fabric of my chemise and asked, “Do you like this?”

I swallowed, and my voice was thick when I answered, “Yes.”

He pushed his calloused hand up the side of my body, lifting the chemise over my head. “This?”

My breaths were shallow, and I nodded as Tyrrik dragged his eyes over my mostly naked body. His low, throaty growl reverberated from him to me. Aching want tugged deep in my stomach, and I moved toward him in a blur.

You are ethereal. Tyrrik traced his fingers down between my breasts, only the barest of essentials still covered with my bralette. “Come,” he said, his voice rumbling between us. “Let me warm your bath.”

“Bath?” We were stopping for a bath?

He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above my mouth, and then brushing my lips, he said, “Tell me if you like this.”

Tyrrik kissed me, nipping my bottom lip, and I opened my mouth to him. His tongue stroked mine and his hands caressed me, his touch my entire world. When he put distance between us, I whispered his name. A plea.

He stood me at the edge of the bath, dropped his undergarments, and glanced back as he got in. “You’ve still got clothes on.”

Problem solved. I followed him into the bath.

Steam rose from the water, swirling around us. Tyrrik’s onyx power seeped through the room. My lapis energy danced and dipped, and as the two powers met, they tangled around each other and flared, the sudden glow bursting through the bathroom.

Tyrrik continued the pretense of his game, asking question after question, driving me steadily insane until there was no me or him, no separate bodies, no separate powers.

There was only us. Tender touches, the silken stroke of fingers, whisper-soft caresses, and soul-deep sighs.

We pushed each other to places of aching desperation. And when the stars and moons exploded, lights burst behind my eyelids.

Our lives intertwined, indiscernible as mine or his.

Tyrrik was mine.

And I was his.





“Tyrryn?” Tyrrik asked, tracing his finger down my face.

I groaned, batting his hand away, too lacking in sleep after our love-making to want to be up this early.

“Tyrryn,” he growled. “Mate.”

Then I processed what he’d said and sat up holding the sheet to my chest.

“Tear-Ryn?” I scrunched my nose at the name on my lips. It sounded . . . odd. Not that I was opposed to our mate-bond, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be Tyrryn, tearin’ through the sky. Tearin’ to the gems.

“Tearing through the sky?” he asked, faint amusement in his voice.

But underneath the forced humor, I could feel his confusion and hurt. Whoa. The bond-thing was legitimately stronger.

“I don’t understand,” Tyrrik said, his brow furrowing. “You don’t like my name?”

Okay, that might’ve sounded a bit . . . rude. Tyrrik leaned over me, and heaviness settled in my chest as I peered up at him. “I’ve only ever been Ryn, and my mom was Ryhl. The r-y is kinda the only thing I have left from my mother, Tyrrik. It’d be like me asking you to be Ryrik. I’m just not sure . . .”

He searched my face, his expression serious, not even going for the Ryrik-bait. He nodded and asked, “What would you like to do?”

“I could still be Ryn, and you could still be Tyrrik?” I said weakly. “We’re mates. Officially, if we have to write it down somewhere, I’m from the house of Tyr. I’m one hundred percent team Tyr. But everyday . . . I’m just going to be Ryn. Maybe we dispense with that part of human tradition?”