Page 32 of Enchanted Warrior

“Taking my time,” she said primly, now scraping her nails lightly over his most sensitive flesh. “Playing.”

“Shredding my sanity.”

“Pleasure is a journey, not a destination,” Tamsin replied, blowing lightly on his heated skin. An impish impulse pushed her to tease him. “You should learn to relax.”

Gawain cursed and pulled away, the movement so sudden Tamsin jumped. “I’m not a tiger whose tail you can tweak.”

“No?” The imp was still in charge, refusing to let her give in.

Silent, Gawain stripped off the rest of his clothes as Tamsin got to her feet. When she next looked up, he was entirely naked. Her first thought was that he was shockingly beautiful, a sculpture come to life. Then she saw the hungry look in his eyes and nearly quailed.

“Tigers aren’t careful,” he said.

Tamsin sat on the bed, her knees too weak for anything else. There was rather a lot of Gawain, the sheer virility of him leaving her solemn. Every witch knew spells for moments like this, magic that protected both partners in every physical way—but there was more at stake here than just her body. Gawain would not be a pleasant tumble that she could fit into the rest of her life. This was going to be a game changer, demanding body and spirit both. Maybe she had rushed things.

“Come here,” he commanded, putting an end to her doubts.

He pushed her down onto the quilt, crawling after her with flowing grace until his arms and legs trapped her in a cage of hard, eager flesh. Tamsin’s heart was pounding, desire mixed with apprehension. He kissed her then, chasing her thoughts away like startled birds. Tamsin surrendered to the heat of it, riding a wave of lust that threatened to reduce her to ash. He smelled so good, so male she wanted to drink him in through her pores. She ran her hands down his ribs, reveling in the feel of bone and skin and sinew. Scars chased each other like lightning across his flesh, some pink and new, some white with long healing. His was a body that had been well used, and judging by the hard ridge pressed against her stomach, he wanted to use her.

Gawain fisted his hands in her hair as he licked and sucked at her breasts. Tamsin arched into it, hot breath and wetness sparking a blaze deep in her belly. He wasn’t tentative or particularly gentle, the demands of his lips and teeth one step away from pain. She traced her fingers over the bunched muscles of his shoulders, down his back.

Nothing had prepared her for this experience. Her last remaining particle of reason said she was looking for a landmark, a handhold, something to anchor herself in this storm. But Gawain never gave her a chance. She had invited him inside her walls, and now he was laying siege against her every defense.

He released her nipple, leaving it erect, aching, and glistening from his suckling kiss. Tamsin shivered as he turned his attention to her collarbone, his lips transforming it into an erogenous zone she didn’t know existed. She reached down, finding the thickness of his shaft. He shifted so that she could get a better grip, let her stoke the smooth length of him.

“Are you pleased with me?” he asked in a low, husky voice.

Tamsin groaned as his teeth grazed her throat. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

“I want to dictate the terms of your surrender, my lady.”

“You want a white flag?”

“I want utter mastery. I give no quarter.”

Despite her protest, he moved out of her reach. His fingers slid into the slickness of her cleft, massaging her in slow, tight circles. Tamsin sucked in her breath, catching her lip between her teeth to stifle any noise he might take as a sign of her defeat. She wasn’t giving up that quickly, not when she had barely mounted an assault of her own. But her traitorous body rose and angled itself to meet Gawain, giving him entry as he stroked and probed, finding her point of pleasure. A wild spiral of sensation coursed through her, making her forget anything but her need for more and more of Gawain’s expert touch. He took her to the abyss, led her right up to the edge, and then pulled her back from the brink. Tamsin cried out, but from abject frustration.

“What are you doing?” She twisted under him, desperate for resistance, for something to ease her ache.

“Taking you.” Angling his hips, he slid into her.

Tamsin all but came at that single, hard thrust. Places she’d almost forgotten stretched wide, welcoming the invasion. Her vision went black, her mind a kaleidoscope of sensation. Gawain pulled back with exquisite slowness, making it feel as if she was turning inside out in the most delicious way possible, and then drove home again. Tamsin arched, hips rising to meet him. Tears slid from beneath her lids, her emotions roiling from sheer sensory overload.

She crushed the quilt in her fingers, digging for purchase, but that wasn’t enough. She grabbed his shoulders, sinking her nails into flesh. He laughed as she raked him, leaving pink furrows behind. He pushed, and pushed again. Tamsin moaned.

“Surrender, witch,” he whispered, grabbing her hips and driving home to find her point of pleasure.

Tamsin’s entire body tightened, throbs of pleasure radiating through her. At that moment, Gawain’s control slipped and he abandoned his slow, deliberate rhythm for a wild, hard claiming. She cried out, a wordless sound of release and defiance. He took her mouth, silencing her cry as he gave one last, shuddering thrust. He came, hot and wet as the burst of sensation inside Tamsin overwhelmed every other thought. The world ceased.

Tamsin came back to herself some moments after Gawain rolled onto his back, pulling her onto his chest. He was breathing deeply, the steady thunder of his heart echoing the aftershocks of desire in Tamsin’s core. She feathered her finger over his lips, studying his face. Even now, lines of tension etched his features. Gawain never quite let go of his wariness. Tamsin suddenly wanted to wrest that away from him. She would stand guard for once, so he could rest.

I might have surrendered this time, Tamsin whispered inside her own mind, but that was only the first skirmish.

ChapterTwelve

If any woman was worth waiting centuries for, it was Tamsin.

Gawain lay with her head tucked under his chin, her breath fanning across his bare chest. Sunlight crept around the blinds to leave stripes on the carpet. The scent of baking drifted from another apartment, reminding him it was time to eat. Gawain ignored his stomach. Their nest under the quilt was too snug to move. Instead, he let his eyes drift shut, feeling the light beat of Tamsin’s heart. Her warm, soft weight was delicious and sweet, an armful he refused to surrender. And why would he? This morning he felt as if, for the second time, he’d been awakened from that cold death of stone.

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