Page 77 of Bound

Ruby groaned. Her stomach was bulging under her hands. She rubbed his cockhead through her skin. He could hardly feel it, but the idea was—as always—enough to make him moan and fuck into her properly.

The room filled with the slick, desperate sounds of mating. Slate gathered her hands and pressed them into the nest above her head, watching how they pushed so deep into the lush fur they were almost hidden from view.

“My little beauty,” he groaned into her skin. He sped up, basking in her cries. “My sweet, stubborn witch. You take me so well, every time.”

Ruby groaned. She was often beyond speech when he fucked her this fast, her mouth hanging open and wordless as she gazed up at him.

“Slate,” she managed.

She dragged him down into a kiss. He curled over her, pressing his tongue down her throat and fucking her from both holes until she spasmed and cried out around him, muffled.

He withdrew his tongue and ran it down her body, fondling her breasts. She was clenching down around him, her breathing hitching with amazed sobs as if she still couldn’t believe it was this good, even after so many times.

Slate grabbed her hair, pulling her face up. “Say it.”

“Yours,” she whimpered.

Slate shuddered and came. He pulsed deep inside—once, twice, making her stomach bulge even further—before pulling out and finishing over her deflating stomach.

Ruby was still panting as he finished, sagging over her.

She made a sleepy noise against his chest. “Want your knot.”

“You want this, too.” He rubbed his come against her hip, watching it slide into the nest below.

She grunted. “Both.”

“I will knot you tonight.” He kissed the dent his skull mask had left on her cheek and sat up. “Breakfast? We have that sausage you like.”

Ruby hummed. Something dark gleamed in her eyes, dark and fond and not entirely mortal.

“Later,” she said. She hooked a finger around the edge of his skull mask and pulled.

But before Slate could let himself be dragged back down, something throbbed in the back of his head.

He gently caught her wrist. “We have a visitor.”

Ruby fell back against the nest with a sigh. “When you said you were getting more attuned, I was so excited for you. I didn’t realize it would cut into so much of our time.”

Slate snorted, amused. “So much of our time? The last soul to turn up here came months ago.”

“We keep each otherverybusy,” Ruby purred. She shot him a gleeful grin and stood, shadows wrapping around her skin until she was wearing the same sleek dress he had crafted for her that first week. She had made some alterations, but the shape remained the same: a black, flowing dress with a plunging neckline and a slit up the side.

Ruby posed, her leg slipping out the slit. “Well? Are you going to lie there all day or are you coming with me?”

Slate had spent so long in his nest over the millennia. He was never so happy to be pulled out of it until Ruby arrived.

The lost soul was wandering at the edge of the forest. It wasn’t dead, which was a relief. Ruby got sad if they had too many dead wanderers in a row.

The nymph was terrified, staring around the shadowy trees with abject terror. Slate assumed it had never seen a tree like that before, despite being a tree spirit. Nymphs tended to live in pretty, fresh trees, not the void ones dripping shadow.

“Hello,” Slate called, making sure his voice was less snarly than usual.

The nymph shrieked. It sounded like a branch snapping. Then it whirled, and Slate’s heart softened as it saw the new blossoms growing over the nymph’s cheeks. This was a youngling, separated from its colony possibly for the first time.

“I will not harm you,” Slate assured it. “I am a guide. Where were you before?”

The nymph trembled. Slate was reminded how much easier dead ones were—often, they were too out of it to be terrified of him.

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