“That was too much already,” he grumbled.
“I didn’t mind either one. Worth the price.”
He growled again. Rather than flinching, she pressed up against him, and the softness of her body sent a jolt of arousal through him that momentarily scrambled his argument.
“One of us must remain intact,” he said, steadying himself with logic. “I am already broken. You are the whole one. The functional one. If you damage yourself because you were too eager to ride me like a faefucked horse, I will—”
“You’ll what?” She was smiling. Her fingers found his jaw and lovingly traced the scar that ran from his ear to his chin.
His growl faltered. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” She blinked innocently, her other hand sliding up his arm so her thumb could press the sensitive inside of his elbow. “Stop touching my husband? Stop enjoying the feeling of his hands on me? You’ve pinned me to a bed, Rikard. You can’t expect me not to enjoy it.”
“I’m scolding you. You’re not supposed to like it.”
“Hm. It hasn’t worked. You’ll have to try again tomorrow.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, goading him.
He opened his mouth to respond even more snappishly, when his cock did something it had not done in five years. Something he’d forgotten it even could.
It twitched. Blood flowed into it in a hot, deliberate rush, reacting to her. To her hands on his skin. To her warmth beneath him. To the scent of her, which clung everywhere—roses and milk and, faintly, blood.
Blood and stone make magic.
The erection built with a speed that stole his breath. He felt it thickening between them, pressing against the valley of her legs, and the sensation was so devastating that he nearly rolled off her.
“Rikard?” She froze beneath him, her delight in the bond shifting to concern, then to curiosity as she felt his hard length against her. “You’re—?”
The air felt tight in his chest. “Yes. It seems so.”
She slid her hand between them, feeling for the unmistakable evidence. Then her hand flew to her mouth and the sound that escaped was not a gasp but a laugh, bright and startled.
“How…?Ohhh,” she breathed. “Rikard. My blood. This morning. It must have restored you in the same way it healed your wings.”
“Yes, but you still shouldn’t have done it,” he said stubbornly, even though he knew she could feel how he wasflyinginside now that this part of him was reawakened.
“You cannot be angry with me now.” She beamed up at him like the brightest star.
His beautiful, magical mate. His wife. The anger was gone. It had never really been there, if he was honest. All he ever felt toward her was soft indulgence in anything she desired. And it was desire that rose in him now, as he was very nearly lodged in the warmth of her body, the thing he most craved.
The growl in his chest turned into a purr. “I can never be angry with you,” he said. “You wanted me at my most bitter and broken. You saw the good in me, the beauty, when no one else did. The strength and honor, when I thought they were lost. You have restored me in every way, so I can deny you nothing.”
The bond was a river between them, wider than it had ever been, and what flowed through it from her side was so pure and sweet. He did not deserve her. His life would be spent earning her.
“I love you,” she said simply. She placed her hand over his heart. “I love the family we’ve built. And I hope we’ll have more children, whether they’re adopted or conceived in love.”
His miraculous, ridiculous erection pulsed against her, the most persuasive argument his body had ever made. He covered her hand with his, and the bond sang between them.
“More children,” he said thickly. The idea felt strange and enormous, like a door opening onto a room he’d walled off years ago. “You think that’s possible now?”
“There’s only one way to find out. Although, I beg you, don’t spill inside me until Rosalore is weaned.” She clutched her breasts with a woeful expression, but he could feel her good humor in his mind.
“A promise I can keep,” he said, and meant it.
He shifted his weight onto one forearm, mindful of his claws, curling them away from her skin the way he’d trained himself over months. His other hand found her hip. She was ready,already wet where she pressed against him, the proof of it slicking against the underside of his cock. She arched into him, the bond humming with her wanting, bright and unashamed.
“Slowly,” he said, to himself as much as to her. He pressed forward.
The first inch undid him.
