She shook off her sleep-addled confusion and scooted towards the edge of the mattress. Studied the beautiful male sleeping less than an arm’s length away.
His hair spilled in a thick tangle across his forehead, the strands stirred by his rhythmic breaths. Sculpted arms crossed over his broad, bare chest and his long legs kicked out straight, one ankle crossed over the other. His magnificent, iridescent wings drooped over the back of the chair, his feathers twinkling.
She wanted to stay here, in this in-between moment, forever. Watching him sleep peacefully, no sign of trouble or worry marring his handsome face.
She was certain he’d been in that chair the whole time. Watching over her. Making sure she was safe.
I’m taking you home.
He’d pronounced it like a vow, a promise leaving his lips and piercing her heart.
She crept from the bed and stole a glance through the neckline of the sleep shirt Tristan had no doubt put her in. She giggled at the panties he’d chosen—the sparkling black pair, the color that matched his wings. Staking his claim in his choice of her undergarments.
He didn’t stir as she approached and stripped off her night-shirt, standing before him utterly naked except for the panties. She took a quiet moment to drink him in. This male that had somehow become more essential to her survival than food, water, breathing.
Her home across infinite worlds.
She straddled his lap and brushed his hair from his forehead.
As his eyelids fluttered open, the haze of sleep fell from his toasted honey eyes and his pupils dilated. “What are you—”
She stopped his words with her lips, kissing him deeply as she wrapped her arms around his powerful shoulders. She pushed her bare breasts against his chest, dragging her tight nipples along his flesh. Zaps of electricity zinged through her, settling between her thighs.
“Am I dreaming?” he murmured, coasting his hands down her back and massaging the swells of her ass as he rocked her hips against his growing hardness.
She poked her tongue at his lips and he opened for her, allowing her to lick his teeth, his tongue, the roof of his mouth. She wanted to crawl inside of him and never come back out.
“I want you, Tristan,” she breathed. “Not for distraction.” She kissed his neck. “Not for duty.” Ran her tongue along his jaw, relishing his tortured, rumbling groan. “Not as a ruse.” Nipped at his bottom lip. “Justyou.”
“Now IknowI’m dreaming,” he shuddered, leaning in to press tender kisses to her chin, her throat, the swell of her breast. He swirled his tongue around an aching nipple and she moaned, wet heat slicking her panties.
“I’m ready,” she whispered. “Please.” She ground herself along his rock-hard erection, the friction of the fabric torture against her increasingly sensitive flesh.
“I love it when you beg, Daredevil,” he said, thrusting up against her and rocking her with a shockwave of need so sharp that she whimpered. She tore at her panties, needing them gone, needing him inside of her this very second before she burst into flames and burned herself out of existence.
He wrapped a hand around her wrists and held them behind her back, forcing her to arch her breasts towards his awaiting mouth.
“I put those on, I’ll take them off,” he said before dragging his tongue along the underside of her breast and tucking his fingers into her panties, caressing her weeping entrance.
She angled her hips, trying to drive his fingertips inside of her, but he tightened his grip on her wrists and pulled her back. A frustrated whine escaped her lips.
“So impatient,” he snickered, grabbing her ribs and tossing her onto the bed.
He rose from the chair, his cock tenting his loose black pants, his exquisite wings a glimmering wall behind him.
A wild, powerful beast poised to conquer his prey.
She propped herself on her elbows, panting with overwhelming desire as she ogled his sculpted chest and arms, all those smooth, sleek, golden-brown muscles. All for her.
He hooked two fingers into her panties, then dragged them off slowly and tossed them over his shoulder. Placing his strong hands on the insides of her thighs, he spread her open, baring her sex.
“Stay open for me,” he commanded as he pushed his pants down and his cock sprang free. She writhed against the cool, crisp sheets, mad with anticipatory pleasure as he stroked himself hard and slow. He trailed his other hand along her inner thighs, passing over her center in tauntingly short swipes.
She laid back, basking in his ministrations and the glorious sight of his hand moving over his proud length. Their eyes met as he dipped a single finger inside of her and she pulsed around him, crying out in a keening wail. This was sheer torture. But she trusted him to reward her for her patience.
He teased his thumb along her clit as he pumped his finger into her, and she felt her orgasm building faster than ever before.
She was seconds away from coming when he pulled his hand away. That wicked thing deep inside of her clawed its way to the surface, as it often did whenever he was around. And it did not appreciate being denied.
