Brela relented. “Tybost and Lilla loved each othervery much, and the walls were very thin…” And she’d learned the hard way what a closed door to their bedroom meant. He let out a laugh as she shrugged. “Also, I once got my hands on a very old romance novel. Even hundreds of years ago, they had some wicked ideas for pleasure.”
Cason’s smirk proved he had some wicked ideas of his own. “I assume this was a book on ancient knives or torture.”
“Not this time, and this romance was very,verydirty,” she purred, and in a swift move, she swung her leg over his and straddled him. With a grin at the hardness pressing and twitching against her heated, exposed center, she leaned closer. “You know, dragon”—she hovered her lips against the soft flesh of his ear—“we should sleep.”
He growled in response as her hands ran down his chest, lips and tongue trailing along his jaw. His pulse beat like a drum against her touch, fingers digging into her hips in near-feral hunger.
“Sleep?” Almost instantly, Brela found herself flipped and trapped between the hard muscle of Cason and the mattress.
She very nearly yelped that word again as his deft fingers slipped inside her. He’d already known what was pooling between her legs.
His gaze darkened. “There is a soft bed and averyattractive, half-naked woman underneath me, both of which will not be easily available in the next few weeks.” His fingers pumped once, twice, drawing out a soft gasp from her lips. “If you think I’m going to waste any of these last few hours with something as trivial as sleep, you are sorely mistaken.”
The evidence of his intent was clear through the very thin fabric of his undershorts.
As if the heat rippling off his body wasn’t enough temptation, as if his fingers weren’t so close to making her beg, that gods-damned tongue had to drift over his lips. Like he could remember everything he’d tasted last night and just a few hours ago.
The gods only knew that she could still taste the hickory smoke on her tongue.
Cason slid his fingers free, and Brela swore, low and vicious, as he ran his tongue over them.
Screw holding back. Her hand plunged into his hair as she yanked him down to her kiss.
Tongue, teeth, and savage touches burned wherever they could make contact. It felt like electricity ran through every vein in her body, crackling desire threatening to burst out of her.
It drowned out whatever hiss the Veil shard released against her skin. She didn’t need a warning about what she was doing. Maybe it knew she wouldn’t listen anyway.
They were bodies reacting to one another, and Cason was right. They wouldn’t get to do this on the trip. Sleep was secondary.
Not just that. This—whatever it was between them—would be over soon. No matter what they found in Valisea, she’d return to Averlyn. He’d return to Aelstow.
It was always supposed to just be bodies, but gods, the flirting and teasing and sex had been… rapture. More than that. His patience and comfort after her nightmare, his smile, his beautiful need to count every gods-damned thing she did to stay in control…
Four hells, did she have…feelingsfor him?
No, not possible.
He was just… really good at this. And so was she. That’s what she should focus on.
Frantic hands and thrusting bodies made removing his undershorts and her shirt slow work—why they had bothered putting them on after the first bout was beyond her comprehension—but eventually the clothes were off and their sweat-slicked skin was gliding together. Glorious, glorious friction, just like they’d lost themselves to hours ago.
Their lips collided again, soft and rough, sweet and smoky. Desperate for more, his hand weaved through her hair and gripped tighter. Tilting. Exploring.
All of that was overpowered by the deliciously slow dip of his hips as he entered her. Her body sang in trembling delight.
“Cason.”
His name was a plea on her lips, devoured by yet another devastatingly powerful kiss as he shuddered. Cason’s teeth tugged at her lower lip as he lifted his head, still moving at an infuriatingly casual pace inside her. Adding to the waves building in her core. And those blue eyes… they were lit with fire as he looked down at her.
“It should not be so”—a long, deep thrust—“gods-damned thrilling to hear you say my name.”
His hand trailed along her breast, fingers teasing the hardened peak. Her whimper was all she could muster. It was strained and forced and she barely had control.
“Say it again,” he growled against her ear.
But she didn’t say it.
If this was the only power she had over him, she wouldn’t give it up without a fight.
