Page 28 of Lost and Bound
He kissed my hair and then shifted down a little, the movement changing the angle of his hips. His cock hit that same perfect, singing place inside me, and sweet, horrible tremors went up and down my spine.
It also put his face lower, against my neck.
And I tipped my head for him, trembling, but giving him my bare throat. Because it was his.
“Don’t,” I murmured, breathy and weak. “Please, not again.”
Calder kissed the hollow between my collarbones, his tongue flicking out and tasting the fine sheen of sweat there. “Never again,” he growled into my skin. “I told you. Never. You’ll never be hurt again.”
My arms came up, wrapping around his back. The muscles shifted under my fingers as he kept up that steady, rolling rhythm, claiming me all over again. Did I have anything in me but him? His cock felt like it’d filled every inch of my skin.
I moaned. Another thrust, this one nudging my whole body up the bed.
You’ll never be hurt again…
It came back to me, in hazy recollections between his thrusts, between the building of ecstasy deep in me, what he’d said before he told me his name. That I wouldn’t hurt anymore either way? Had he meant whether I lived or died? Life meant pain, always, no matter how careful you were. It didn’t make any sense. He latched onto my neck, sucking a mark that didn’t hurt at all, and the heat of his mouth arrowed down to join the heat between my legs.
“Oh, gods,” I whimpered. “Calder.”
He groaned, fucking me harder now, starting to slam into me with every thrust.
The heat went molten, and I couldn’t tell which of us finished first, or if we finished at all, since it seemed to go on and on: the spilling of my come between us, his flooding me, his knot stretching me open and forcing its way inside, the glow of his eyes and the glow of the bond and the heavy pressure of his body holding me down, keeping me locked away from everything else. Everything that could hurt me.
I cried out, clutching at him, and the concept of hurt vanished, swept away in a tide of sensation, nothing but Calder around me and in me.
His knot stayed hard for a long time, probably. Maybe? It felt like a long time, even though it couldn’t possibly have been long enough. At some point, he rolled us to the side, taking his crushing weight off of me. I almost missed it. I’d gone so long without any human contact at all, unless you counted the guards hitting me and the warlocks tying me down and hurting me—which I didn’t. That had been inhuman, by definition. Being covered, sheltered, completely enveloped in another warm, living person felt like drinking a glass of water after a long run through the woods, or sipping a cup of coffee when you’d had the mother of all hangovers. Bliss.
But nestling into his arms, lying on our sides with his cock still buried inside me, wasn’t so bad either.
I’d never wanted to be fucked.
And this still didn’t feel like being fucked. It felt like a natural state of being. Wrong, if I thought about it, but perfect when I didn’t. I’d been hollow, alone, and now I was stuffed full of him, so warm inside, my thighs spread awkwardly to fit him in between, the slight discomfort of the position only making it better, somehow. Highlighting that I’d had to adjust my body to accommodate him.
Gods. Much better not to think about it.
His hand wrapped around the nape of my neck felt wrong too, or should have. The hand, too big; the grip, too possessive. Casually possessive, even. Like he wasn’t asking, but assuming. The way a man might rest his hand on the gearshift of his car, using something he owned in a way that felt most comfortable to him.
I melted into that hold like my bones were made out of wax.
And I very carefully didn’t think about that either.
But my brain, temporarily offline after my orgasm had shut it down, fired back up again and wouldn’t leave me alone.
Ian would be here in the morning. What the hell would he make of Calder? Ian was one of the few people I’d ever known I might give decent odds to in a fight against the man who’d become my mate—but not even odds. If Calder had an off day, maybe Ian could take him down.
Either way, if one of them said the wrong thing, or if Ian thought Calder had hurt me—which of course he had, and Ian wouldn’t stop to listen to extenuating circumstances—a fight wasn’t unlikely. And that fight would be ugly and brutal.
If Ian cared. Which he might not.
He didn’t seem to trust me, maybe didn’t even believe I was who I said I was.
I’d have loved to convince myself that he wouldn’t be coming if he didn’t believe me, but I knew that was bullshit. He’d come half because it might be me, and half because if it wasn’t, then someone was fucking with him unforgivably, and that person needed an immediate beatdown. That was Ian’s way. Ask the bare minimum of questions, and then kick someone’s ass.
Calder’s knot finally went down, and his cock slipped partway out of me, softened but still feeling impossibly thick and heavy as he shifted his hips and withdrew.
I’d missed this part before, unconscious and dying.
I grimaced against Calder’s chest, wincing as he pulled out all the way, tugging on my insides.
