Page 102 of Bound
Holding him, I mimic his strokes. I meet every thrust with another kiss, this one more fervent than the last. And even without his arms, his calloused hands, I can feel the emotion inside him. The rawness. It goes deeper than a sharing of power. Deeper than a simple touch of his flames.
I lose myself in Gage. His heat, his strength. The need to sate me. To show what he cannot yet express in words. But the passion is there. The peace. The calm.
He fears the men who took us. Fears what they will do to me. Knows he will die to get me free.
His Amoret.
The truth behind the emotion rips through me and the world seems to grow brighter.
“Gage?”
He kisses me again, fumbling for my mouth when he wants desperately to hold me to him. To shield me from the world.
To protect me.
My Amoret.
I reel and cry out at the fire that accompanies that thought.
My hands grip his cheeks, and I kiss him hard. “I am yours, Gage. Only yours.”
He nips at my lower lip. “Mine,” he agrees, lifting my insubstantial weight with his hips to drive into me with a ferocity that matches the hunger gnawing inside. I jerk under the onslaught, the gentle pleasure fading to something ravenous.
It’s all I can do to hold on to him as he fills me over and over. The first ripple sparks through my sheath. I shiver. He rolls his hips, pistoning against my rear and bottoming out deep inside. I can feel each hard stroke where the hunger sits in my stomach.
As he fills me, the hunger lessens. Lessens and fades under the pleasure.
I moan and ride his body, seeking that bright edge as it shimmers closer.
“Yes, baby,” he grunts, his teeth tight together.
Every rock of my body is stilted as the ripples begin. His rhythm falters. “With me, Gage,” I pant. “Please.”
“Fuck.” He drives through the hot, clenching folds of my channel.
My release rushes from my extremities to my core, and I bury my face in his neck as I scream his name. Heat spears through me in waves and he cuts his harsh cry off fast.
The room is hot now, sweltering even.
Strong bands lay over my back, keeping me in place as I pant. Then the bands move, sliding up and down my spine.
I jerk and sit up, staring at him.
His hands grip my face as he leans down to kiss me again. The press is languorous, but searing. Right down to my toes.
When he pulls back, my head swims. “How?”
He releases my face to hold up one arm. The skin of his wrist weeps blood and clear fluid from new blisters. “We melted the shackles.” Despite the seriousness of his words, a playful glint dances in his eyes.
My lips tremor.
“You okay?” he asks, watching me.
For a moment, I want to say yes. Then I remember the brush of his emotions.
“Gage—”
He offers me a small smile. “I know, baby. I felt you too.” His eyes track over me in something like wonder. “Has that ever happened before?”
