Page 229 of Eldritch
His thrusts were precise, practiced, the perfect tempo toward a maddening crescendo.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his deep, husky voice tickling my senses.
I nodded, and he slowed his pace, gently raising his hips as he lowered mine. The third rung pushed inside, and my breath hitched, my body convulsing as the vibration sank into my thighs, up through my stomach to my breasts. “Gods!” I cried out, clutching at his thighs as the sensation shook my nerves.
He groaned, tipping his head back, and I didn’t have to look down at his thigh to know I’d torn a gash in his muscles.
My stomach twisted, heart shriveling inside my chest as I imagined the blood there, but I couldn’t bear to turn and confirm.
A relieved smile pulled at his lips when he lowered his head again and gently coaxed my hips, his thighs flexed, trembling.
I jolted forward, wrapping my arms around him, my breasts pressed into his chest, wanting every part of me touching his skin. He was my gravity in a world of chaos. A reminder that the gods could be generous, even when cruel.
He braced his arms around my back, gripping the nape of my neck, as he kept on with his small thrusts, never more than three rungs. The wooden chair creaked, the air thick and heady. Tight cords of tension pulled at his muscles that twitched beneath my hands. Sweat coated our bodies, my breaths arriving in shallow bursts against his damp shoulder.
I imagined my nerves shimmering like bolts of lightning each time he thrust his hips into me. Muscles taut and coiled, I clung to him, my lips brushing his neck, tasting the salt of his skin.
A string of tension inside of me wound tighter, relentless, squeezing my lungs. I pressed my forehead to his, jaw slack with the hot, dizzying pleasure that surged through me, quivering like the delicate string of a bow stretched too tight.
Our breaths merged. His eyes clamped shut, jaw clenched, as if flames tore through his body and he refused to burn.
I dug my metallic fingers into his shoulder, and he tilted his head back, letting out a deep, pleasured sound that sent a surge of want through me.
“Look at me.” My command arrived on a ragged breath. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
Brows pinched, he shook his head. “Can’t.”
“You can. Please look at me.”
Holding him against me, I fought to resist whatever was rising, building inside of me.
His eyes screwed tighter in a way that made me wonder if he was bracing for the pain. The agony that must’ve accompanied his release during his abuses.
I kissed his cheek and whispered, “I love you. Eternally.”
Molten flames devoured me when his eyes shot open, and he stared back at me, gaze turbulent but determined, like a man who’d just crawled his way out of Hell. “Say it again.”
“I love you.” How easily the words spilled out of me.
How true.
I loved him. Not simply because we were fated but for the way he trusted me with the vulnerable parts of him long hidden behind steel and violence. My beautifully broken protector whose scarred and blood-stained hands held me as if I were a coveted treasure.
He upped his pace, his grip on the back of my neck tightening. “I love you, Lunamiszka.” The words trembled from his throat like a solemn vow. “I’m a godless and selfish bastard, but I’ve never loved anything, or anyone, more.”
Waves of pleasure shot across my thighs, and I tipped my head back as a strained sound tore from me, robbing me of my voice and breath.
He held me tighter, his muscles shaking around me, and against my own heart, I dragged my nails across his back, my stomach clenching as a pained sound, raw and broken, tore from his throat.
Warm spasms of heat surged into me, filling me with his release, and I let out a shuddering breath as it trickled down my thigh. I moaned his name, my voice weak with pleasure, and rested my forehead to his damp shoulder, panting against his skin as the aftershocks pulsed through me. “It’s still vibrating…inside me,” I said in a ragged voice, twitching over his thighs.
“Good.” He pressed down on my hips, palm still clutching the back of my neck. “I want you to remember this the next time some petty mortal offers you his seed.” Arm banded around my back, he held me tightly to him. “We are written in blood. Born for each other. And not even the gods can tear us apart.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
ZEVANDER
Aquiet scritching reached Zevander’s ears, and his eyes shot open. The hearth’s fire offered a small bit of light as his gaze swept over the room and landed on movement across from the bed. His surroundings flickered. Had he fallen into dreams? Frowning, he unraveled himself from Maevyth’s naked body, leaving her sleeping, and focused his attention on the far wall where an invisible entity chalked an image across the dark stone there. Never taking his eyes off the anomaly, he dressed quickly, then gathered up his sword as he stalked toward it.
