Tristan lets out a little sigh. “You can trust Dyfri.”
Does he know that? Or is he going by blind, loyal faith? Tristan is too nice. It wouldn’t surprise me if he couldn’t see the darkness in other people’s souls.
I bite my tongue. I don’t want to get into an argument about this. I’ve said my piece, given my information and voiced my concerns. What Tristan does about Llywelyn and Dyfri, is up to him. It is no longer my business. I’m just a pet. My responsibilities are to lie around being pampered.
It is hard to embrace that when we still don't know who tried to kill Tristan with the arrow. I get the distinct impression everyone's money is on Llywellyn. Strangely, that doesn't cancel out my concern for the little shithead. I guess it would be hypocritical, since I also tried to kill Tristan.
Whatever the hell is going on, I'm leaving the plotting to Tristan, and trusting my ability to sense threats to keep him safe. That's good enough peace of mind for me.
I take in a deep breath and let it go. My body relaxes, as much as it can while being dangled over someone’s shoulder. On the plus side, it does give me a very nice view of Tristan’s ass.
I’m admiring it so hard that I’m almost disappointed when we reach our bedchamber and Tristan gently lays me down on the furs.
I look up at him and my heart goes all fluttery. I am definitely a fully fledged fey-fucker now. There is a stupidly tall, otherworldly creature looming over me with antlers and red slitted eyes, and all I am feeling is swoony. And hard. So very, very hard.
Something about my expression makes Tristan chuckle, and I don’t even mind.
His fingers go to the ties of my silk robes and in no time at all, he has opened them and peeled them back and I’m completely naked.
His heated gaze slowly tracks over every inch of me. I swear I can feel it on my skin. It is making me tingle and causing my nipples to pebble.
“You are so very beautiful, my love,” he whispers.
I squirm as waves of hot and cold consume me. Too many emotions to name. Far too many to deal with.
“Are you going to fuck me or what?” I snap.
He laughs and reaches for the oil that lives on the bedside cabinet. “Is that what you want, Little Nisny? My cock in your hole?”
I shudder. Heaven knows there are very many different ways for Tristan to make me cum and take my magic, but being stretched and stuffed to bursting by his cock is my absolute favourite.
“Yes!” I demand, with absolutely no shame at all.
He grins and his oiled fingers go straight to my hole. They tease around it and I gasp. Oh fuck, that feels good.
“Why are your clothes still on?” I whine.
His fingers leave me to go to the waist of his robes. Me and my big mouth. Though, as his manly naked perfection is revealed, it doesn’t seem like a bad tradeoff.
He preens before me for a moment, then his fingers go back to my hole. Oh stars. That’s better. Fingers where I want themanda wonderful view. Perfection.
Although, it could be even better. There is one thing missing.
“Kiss me!” I demand.
Tristan raises an eyebrow. “Remember when you used to resist my kisses?”
I scowl at him. So? I fail to see his point. People are allowed to change. He should be bloody ecstatic that I now allow him to kiss me. There is no need to tease me about it.
His head lowers. My heart goes crazy. Then his soft lips are brushing over mine. The contact is like static electricity. Instant and sharp. I moan helplessly. My arms lift of their own accord. They wrap around his neck and pull him closer.
His tongue slips into my mouth at the exact same time as one slick finger eases into my hole. I groan. My back arches. Heat floods through me. Along with hunger.
My arousal was a coiled, lazy thing. Now it is consuming me. Pushing away all rational thoughts and leaving me a carnal beast. I am pure instinct and primal need.
One finger becomes two, but it is not enough. I crave more. I’m aching for my guts to be rearranged. Nothing else will do.
The kiss intensifies. He is kissing me as if he is trying to devour me. And that’s just fine by me. He can have me. All of me. I am his.
