I pump a few more times until I’m spent. With a sigh, I let my head fall back on my shoulders and take in deep breaths.
She shudders and turns to look back at me. Her cheek is pink, and her hair falls in wavy tendrils as our sex-sweat coats the strands. Beautiful. Perfect. There is none that can compare to my love. I run my hand up her spine, then grab her hair and pull it away from her neck. “I want to stay inside you all night. I need to make certain your punishment sticks.”
With a breathy laugh, she says, “In that case, I intend to be bad much more often.”
8
Beth
Gareth doesn’t so much as wince when Chastain presses molten iron to the bite I’ve left on his neck. His hands grip my ass hard as I straddle him on a stone bench outside of the slavers’ quarters.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” I press my palm to his cheek, the one furthest away from the sizzling iron.
“It is an honor to bear your mark, my beloved.” His jaw tightens, so I reach up and stroke his dark hair.
Some of the former slaves stand and watch. Baralja in particular has something of a wistful look on his face. Perhaps he hasn’t found his fated mate yet.
I re-focus on Gareth. “It’s an honor to bear yours, too.”
Parnon shakes his head. “I’ll ready the wagon.”
“There. Done.” Chastain backs away and carefully drops the iron to the floor. He pulled it from the mangled gate at Gareth’s request.
I hate that the metal hurts him. I can feel the pain though he tries to hide it, but I’m also proud that he wanted my little bite on his neck.
“Claimed.” I peck him on the lips, then lean over and stare at the indentions from my teeth. “All mine.”
“Forever.” He pulls me closer.
“Forever.” I nod. It shouldn’t be so easy to agree to something as far-reaching as ‘forever.’ But with Gareth? It’s as basic as breathing, as eating, as sleeping. I need him like I need air, and I only wish I’d admitted it to myself sooner. Lust? Sure, I could admit that. But love? I hid from it at every turn. Now, though? Now I’m smitten.
I cup his face in my hands. “I love you.” The words are maybe a tinge shaky, but they’re bolstered by the light that enters his dark eyes.
“Love?”
I nod. “I love you. Like love, love,loveyou.”
He whispers a sweet prayer in the Old Language and weds our mouths together with a fervent exhalation. I wrap my arms around his neck as he kisses me with such abandon that my aching ladybits try to wake from their slumber. His hands on my ass aren’t helping, especially the right one that wanders ever lower until he’s cupping my sex from behind.
“Hey now.” I try to scoot back, but he doesn’t let me get away.
“Say it again.” He nuzzles me almost like a cat. I headbutt him gently right back, and his purr starts up.
“I love you. And I love your fluffy feral.”
“My feral is fluffier than those gremels.” He pulls back, a near-petulant look in his eyes. “You prefer my feral, yes?”
“Of course!” I stroke his hair. “Those gremels were evil and tried to kill us.”
“You like my fur better.” He nods, perhaps to himself. He’s so cute when he’s jealous.
“I love your fur.” I kiss along his throat. “I want to scratch your tummy and bury my face in your fluffiness.” I mean, the gremels were super cute and all. No lie there. And Iwoo wassofluffy. But I’m always going to prefer my tiger to any other creature in Arin.
“Good.” He clears his throat and stands, lifting me along with him.
“I can walk.”
“I can carry.” He shrugs and totes me over to Iridiel, then hands me up into the saddle.
