“Is he okay? What if something happens? What if Igryside finds him somehow?”
“He is with Sorcha,” Mal reminded me. “And Torin’s hand-picked guards. And your fierce friends.”
“Krystin will spoil him rotten.”
“Completely,” Mal agreed. “He will come back demanding cookies at every meal.”
I laughed despite myself. “He already does that.”
“I keep imagining him portaling treats around the apartment,” Mal continued. “Cookies appearing on the coffee table. Candy materializing in his hands.”
“Oh god, he definitely is,” I said, laughing harder. The image was too perfect.
“Sorcha trying to stop him.”
“Failing miserably.”
“She raised me and Aurion,” Mal pointed out. “She can handle anything.”
“True.”
We lay there for a moment in silence, both thinking about our son, both missing him fiercely. I needed a distraction, something to pull me away from my dark thoughts.
So I turned toward Mal and kissed him, my lips crashing against his with a hunger that surprised even me, tongue slipping past his teeth to tangle with his, tasting the faint salt of sweat from earlier. He responded at once, like he’d been waiting for it all night, his mouth devouring mine in a deep, claiming kiss that left me breathless. His hand came up to cup my face, rough palm cradling my jaw, thumb stroking my cheek in slow, possessive sweeps that sent tingles down my spine.
My hands moved now, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt, the metal cool under my touch as I yanked it open with a soft clink that seemed too loud in the hushed space. I tugged at the laces of his trousers next, pulling them free one by one, exposing the hard bulge straining against his undercloth. I watched his expression, saw his reactions, the way his jaw clenched, eyes darkened to stormy gray as I reached inside and wrapped my fingers around his thick cock, hot and velvet-smooth in my grip, already throbbing with need.
He tried to stay quiet. We both knew the guards were just outside the tent, their armored footsteps pacing the forest, voices murmuring low about patrols. But he wasn’t entirely successful. Small sounds escaped despite his best efforts, a sharphiss through his teeth as I stroked him base to tip, thumb swirling over the slick head to spread his leaking pre-cum, making the glide easier. His breathing turned harsh and uneven, chest heaving under my other hand as I pumped him steadily, twisting my wrist on the upstroke to hit that sensitive ridge just below the crown.
“Fuck,” he whispered against my lips, the word barely audible, but it vibrated through me like a promise. His hips bucked into my fist, chasing the friction, the veins along his shaft pulsing under my fingers as I squeezed tighter, feeling him swell even more.
I sped up my pace, my grip firm, jerking him off with long, deliberate pulls that had his thighs tensing, toes curling into the tent floor. His free hand gripped my hip, nails digging in as he fought to keep still, but a low grunt slipped out when I focused on the head, rubbing my palm over it in tight circles until more pre-cum oozed out, slicking my skin. His eyes locked on mine, fierce and pleading, lips parted as he panted, the flush creeping down his neck.
When he finished, it hit him hard, his cock jerking in my hand, ropes of hot cum shooting across my wrist and belly, thick and sticky as he throbbed through the release. He bit his lip bloody to stifle the groan, body shuddering against me, but a ragged exhale escaped anyway. He pulled me into his arms right after, pressing his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling.
“You are incredible,” he murmured, voice gravelly, lips brushing my skin as he nuzzled my temple, his spent cock softening against my thigh, leaving a warm trail.
“You’re easy to please.” I teased, wiping my hand on a cloth, the evidence of him cooling on my skin.
“Only for you.” His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer as if he couldn’t bear even an inch of space.
I thought we were done, the exhaustion from the day settling in, but then he rolled me onto my back with a swift, dominant move, his body following to spoon me from behind. His chest pressed hot against my spine, the coarse hair there scraping my skin deliciously. His arms wrapped around me tight, one forearm banding across my ribs, the other sliding down between my thighs, parting them with insistent pressure until my knee bent, foot planted on the floor for leverage.
His fingers worked slowly at first, tracing the seam of my pussy lips, dipping into the wetness still lingering from before, coating his digits before circling my entrance. He knew exactly what I liked, exactly how to touch me. Four years of marriage meant he mapped my body like a battlefield he owned, every sensitive inch committed to memory. He pushed one finger in, then two, then a third one, stretching me with a curl that grazed my inner walls, pumping in shallow thrusts that built the heat gradually, my clit throbbing untouched but aching from the proximity.
I also tried to stay silent. Really, I did, biting the inside of my cheek, focusing on the rhythm of his hand rather than the building pressure. But his thumb found my clit, pressing down in firm, rolling motions that made my hips twitch back against him, grinding my ass into his groin where his cock was already stirring again, half-hard and nudging my cleft. The slick sounds of his fingers fucking me were obscene in the quiet, my pussy clenching around the invasion, juices coating his palm as he scissored inside me.
“Quiet now,” he breathed into my ear, his voice a dark rumble that vibrated through my back, teeth nipping the lobe. “Don’t want those fools out there getting ideas.”
His free hand pinched my nipple, twisting just hard enough to draw a gasp, rolling the peak between thumb and forefinger until it pebbled painfully. Then he moved to my mouth, covering the moans and grunts that I could barely catch.
The pleasure coiled low and tight, his fingers thrusting deeper now, faster, knuckles bumping my ass on each plunge while his thumb flicked my clit in rapid taps that had my thighs quaking. Sweat slicked where our bodies met, his breath hot on my neck as he sucked a mark there, hidden under my hair. I arched into him, toes curling, the edge rushing closer with every expert stroke. His knowledge of me turning the touch into torture, drawing out whimpers I swallowed down.
When the pleasure crested and broke over me, it ripped through like fire, my pussy spasming around his fingers, gushing wetness that soaked his hand and the makeshift bed we’d done with blankets below. I couldn’t quite contain the moan that escaped, a sharp, keening sound that tore from my throat despite my efforts, only muffled by the hand he had against my mouth.
From outside, someone coughed loudly.Deliberately.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, mortified. I buried my face in Mal’s chest, wanting to disappear.
