Page 50 of Demon and the Raven

“I love seeing you with Argos.”

“That’s true, I can tell,” he agreed, studying me, his eyes narrowing as his lips curled into the mischievous grin I loved. “But something else is going on too.”

“Having you here with me,” I admitted, putting my hand on his chest.

“I’m always here with you.”

“Then it’s good just to look at you.”

“You’ve been staring at me all night.”

“Yes, well, I like doing that. Black hair and blue eyes really do it for me,” I said appreciatively, waggling my eyebrows.

“Is that right?”

I nodded and winked.

He chuckled because he found me charming. He’d told me often enough. “Well, I’m pretty fond of long, blond, messy hair and hazel eyes.”

“Messy?” I gasped.

“It’s wavy and curly and wild,” he said, hooking a hand around the back of my neck and drawing me forward, whispering in my ear, “I love it when it falls in my face.”

He meant when I was riding him. Whenever I leaned over to kiss him when he was buried inside me, my hair fell around him, and he would gather it up and ease me down and take my mouth. I loved being in bed with him, loved it when he touched me, and I wanted that now. I wanted him.

His breath was warm down the side of my neck before he pressed a kiss to my skin. A small, soft, needy moan came from the back of my throat as I slipped my hands around his hips, my fingers above the duty belt, gently tugging on his shirt.

“I’m all sweaty and gross,” he murmured, kissing my forehead.

“You’re neither of those things,” I assured him, leaning in for what I wanted.

When he kissed me, I parted my lips and felt the heat build fast, in me, between us, and when he lifted me off my feet, I wrapped arms and legs around him.

Sometimes we came together slow, the movement sensual, and we tangled together and became one. I loved that.

Other times, like now, were about his dominance, my submission, and being used and taken. I loved that too.

He carried me to the bedroom, and that was a rush. All the power in him, the man’s big, carved body moving me easily, tumbling me down under him before rising quickly to strip.

The gun and duty belt went gently to the floor, but the shirt and undershirt were yanked and pulled. Socks went flying, and when his regular belt was undone, then the button and zipper of his pants, I started shucking clothes as fast as I could, scrambling to the nightstand, but unable not to look back at him, appreciating all the sleek skin stretched over hard, thick muscle, loving how irritated he appeared because his pants were not sliding down his legs and off.

Lube in hand, grabbing a pillow on the way, I was back, my legs on either side of his, hanging off the end of the bed, as I popped the cap and squeezed out just enough to lightly coat his already hard, leaking shaft.

He bent his knees quickly, still trying to get free, but when I took hold of his length, stroking, my grip on him tight, his groan was guttural, up from his chest, and he went still with my ministrations, letting his head fall back as he pushed into my slick fist.

“Yes?” I asked, leaning forward to kiss his sculpted abdomen before licking over the grooves there. My man was a work of art.

“I’m too wound—I was worried about you, and everything was insane tonight, and⁠—”

“Your pants won’t get off your calves,” I teased him.

“Yeah,” he croaked out, glaring down at me. “Why are they trying to cockblock me and not let me get laid?”

He nearly shouted the last part, and I laughed before gripping his cock again, clenching my fist, loving the sound of his catching breath as he bucked forward. Falling back, bending my knees, I lifted to meet him as he came down between my thighs and took my mouth.

The kiss was grinding, mauling, and I opened for him as he took hold of each of my legs, slipping them over his shoulders, notching his wide head to my entrance. As I curled an arm around his neck, he pressed inside, the stretch a bite of pain for a moment before he took hold of my throat, making sure I couldn’t move.

The possessiveness, the ownership, I’d had no idea how much I craved that manhandling, and it was instinctive for Lorne, to show me I belonged to him.