His groan is my only response, and I focus my attention back where we both want it. Leaning forward again, my need to taste him is overwhelming, and I let my tongue dart out and trace across the tip, the moisture beading there washing across my tastebuds.
It’s my turn to groan as a burst of salty power coats my tongue, and I find myself opening my lips to take more of him inside, my tongue swirling as I suck his length into my mouth. Roman shifts under me, my weight not enough to hold him still, but I don’t care, already lost in the sensation of giving him pleasure like this. Giving us both pleasure if the damp heat between my thighs is any indication.
“Nova,” he rumbles. “I need to touch you now.”
I growl against him, wolfish rumbles sounding in my chest. “Mine. No.” Coherent speech is beyond me, so I’m fairly impressed I managed to string those two words together.
My hand slides across his shaft again, and it feels so hard that I wonder if it’s hurting him. My mouth works in time with my hand, and even though he’s too big for me to do much more than take the tip in, I find myself trying to relax my jaw as my rhythm increases.
His taste is stronger as I take in his essence and power, and even though I was the one who told him to sit back and enjoy it, my body aches with a steady painful thrum, and I’m not sure how much longer I can wait to feel him inside me.
Just when I’m about to shift my weight onto one of his thighs to press my core against the muscle and ease the ache, he lets out the loudest rumble of all. Reaching for me, he says, “Nova.”
He sounds animalistic, and it makes sense now that I know his true heritage. His wolf might have been killed, but it never fully left him.
Swiping my tongue across him one last time, I lift my head, and before I can blink, his strong hands wrap around my biceps, hauling me up so that our lips can crash together in a powerful kiss.
Before I can catch my breath, he switches our positions, my back pressing into the bed, and I cry out as his hard length slides inside me. Up until this point, outside of a few shower sessions, he’s been consistent in prepping my body for his size, so I expect some resistance. Only it turns out that giving him pleasure is all the preparation I need, and as he pushes inside, I orgasm then and there.
“Rune.” I cry out, arching and trembling against him, spirals of pleasure exploding from my center, spreading up through the rest of my body.
The intensity of his gaze hasn’t lessened, and as he moves faster, his control gone, new swirls of pleasure build within me. It’s slower now that my initial need is sated, but as his strokes grow longer, his shaft almost leaving my body completely before he thrusts inside, I start to tremble.
Digging my nails into his shoulders, I hold on as he destroys me.
When I can’t halt the vibrations of pleasure any longer, I scream both of his names because that’s who he is to me.
Rune and Roman. A demon I’m not sure I can live without.
“Nova,” he groans, and with two more thrusts, I feel him swell inside me, which only increases my pleasure and draws out my orgasm.
His power explodes into mine, and the moment he finds release, darkness dances across my vision. The color of his skin blurs with the dark light, the deep amethyst adding to the shadows growing around me. For the briefest moment, runes glow across his body, lighting up in an intricate script I’ve never seen before, but one mark is familiar to me.
As his energy surges around me, I fall into his power. Fall intohim.
Breathing hard, Roman rolls us onto our sides, our bodies still connected, and I collapse against him, completely wrecked. He kisses me on the lips once, and then on the cheek and then my forehead, until he pulls away and my body mourns the loss of his.
With no breath to complain, I silently moan as he stands, only to find myself scooped up in his arms as he takes us both into his bathroom.
Once there, he cleans me, his hands slipping across my skin, both soothing and teasing as the steady stream of heat washes over us.
I’m lethargic, relaxed, but I brush his right shoulder with my fingertips, tracing the location where the three claw marks lit up before. When alight, it appears as if a beast clawed him, the gouges so deep, they’re like thick scars. The first time I saw this mark, we were racing to escape the goblins’ tunnels. I’d asked Roman what this rune meant, but he told me I should pray I never found out.
Since then, I’ve seen the same mark on Reaper’s face, too, and it doesn’t feel like a coincidence.
There’s so much truth between Roman and me now that I don’t hesitate to ask again, “What is this rune?”
He stiffens a little but relaxes again, continuing to rinse soap from my chest and stomach. “It’s not a rune. It’s called a death bond.”
It’s my turn to tense up, since nothing to do with death could be good. “What does it mean?”
“A death bond is a binding promise you give to someone,” he says, continuing to stroke my skin. “If they die, you promise to carry out their particular wishes after their death.”
My forehead creases. “You mean… sort of like carrying out their last will and testament.”
His lips twitch upward. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
“I take it this isn’t like a blood oath,” I say. “This bond actually binds demons.”
