Page 117 of What Fools These Immortals Be
“Fun?” I do not know where I want this conversation to go, but this… We are circling the truth, aren’t we, even after everything. “In two days… you’ll come back?”
Maurice narrows his eyes. “Try that again, Njáll,” he demands.
My heart beats faster and he doesn’t move his hand, so he must feel it. “You’re coming back. After you’ve spoken to Vlad and got your job, you’ll finish it and come back.”
“Yes,” Maurice says. He leans down and brushes our lips together; the touch is too soft and too brief, but his hand means I can’t get up and chase his mouth. “Tell me why I’m coming back.”
“Because you’re mine.”
He kisses me again, deeper, and something in my chest warms with every touch. I pant when he pulls back, resting our foreheads together. “I am that,” he says.
“And I’m yours.”
“You were from the moment you saw me.”
I snort, though in hindsight he may not be far off in that estimation. Of course I will not give in that easily, and he knows it; his eyes glitter with his own amusement.
“There is a part of you that belongs to the clan,” Maurice says, “and a part of me that belongs to the Hunt, but the rest of you, the rest of me…” He kisses my mouth again. “This is mine.”
My breaths come faster when he kisses my throat, tongue flicking over the final scar to mar my skin—my turning bite. “And this.”
He kisses over my heart, and I lift my head to meet his gaze. “Tell me.”
“That’s yours, too,” I say.
His smile makes my heart skip a beat, and he kisses under my ribs, declaring that space as his, and the crease of my hip, and—
My cock is not hard, but it twitches in interest when Maurice brushes soft lips along my shaft. “This isallmine,” he says, his gaze challenging me to argue, but why would I?
“And you?” I ask instead. “All of you…?”
“Even my magic, if you want it.”
“I don’t.”
“It’s yours all the same, Njáll. I wouldn’t have given it up for anyone else.”
I surge up before he can stop me, but he doesn’t even attempt to prevent me from kissing him, hard at first, melting into something slower and sweeter as I drag him into my lap. I fancy I can sense his magic still, a separate, questing thing, trying to feel me out, but it is not as important as Maurice is, here and now.
He tangles his hands in my still-damp hair and tugs my head back. Maurice is straddling my lap now, his arse pressing back against my steadily more interested cock. “We did not have nearly enough time before.”
“I think we did well enough.”
“I promised you a great many things.”
I grin. “You did.”
“I said you would not remember a time before me.”
“I don’t.”
Maurice goes still. He is a warm, welcome weight on me, but we both know I want more than that—hewants more than that.
He groans and ducks his head, and when his teeth latch onto my throat, my hips buck up and I almost throw him off. “Maurice…”
“I cannot give you everything I promised right now,” he says, sounding frantic, breathless. “I do not have the patience.”
“I don’t care.”
