Page 106 of Lorran
“Mine,” he repeated, and she felt that down to the essence of her being.
She cautiously rocked forward, feeling every inch of him as those ridges reached places inside her. They moved together, a tangle of limbs and a continuous invocation of tender words.
He rolled her onto her back, knees over his shoulders. Steady thrusts grew erratic. She lifted her hips and there.Oh.There. Warm pleasure filled her to the point of bursting. She came with a surprised shout, oversensitive and unable to do anything but float on the wondrous feeling.
Lorran growled, deep. His eyes caught the light, and he lowered his face to her neck. He nuzzled in, licking and kissing and then biting. His cock twitched, once, twice, and emptied deep into her.
His teeth sank into her neck with a sharp sting. Already boneless, she relaxed, and the sting subsided in a matter of heartbeats.
Lorran stilled, cock buried in her and his mouth clamped over her neck. With a sigh, he eased his grip and licked the tender flesh.
“Did I injure you?” he asked.
She tugged on his horns, moving his face to hers. Yellow and violet smeared across his mouth. A kiss was not enough. She wanted to drink all of him in. “No, but we wrecked these sheets.”
“Good. I enjoyed this. We will do it again,” he said.
Wyn squeezed her thighs, trapping Lorran. Doing it again sounded brilliant.
“Maybe a shower,” she said. “Practice makes perfect.”
They practiced in the shower and again in the mysteriously clean bed.
Chapter 22
Daisy
Three and a half weeks. Mylomon had some nerve staying away so long and not even calling.
Daisy paced the docking bay floor, aware of all the eyes watching her. The crew wanted her to stay to the side, out of harm’s way, she understood that, but she needed tomove.
Weeks with nothing but silence. No one knew where he was or could track the shuttle. No one knew if he was alive or dead, and every day that rolled by, Daisy grew more certain that Mylomon sending her off to play in the snow on Sangrin was the last time she’d see her husband. Then one day he calls, all calm like it hadn’t beenweeks, and said he acquired the guardianship of a child.
Acquired the guardianship of a child.
Hand to God, those were the words he used.
Did Mylo explain how this happened? No. Did he tell her anything about the child, like his name? No. She assumed the child was Mahdfel but, again, she had nothing to go on. Was the child a foundling like Mylomon? Did he have abilities? What did Mylomon expect to happen when he dragged home a child like he picked up a stray kitten? Did he want to keep the child?
That notion excited and terrified her because it was huge. Way too big to process on her own. Maybe she was reading into his message and filling in the blanks with what she secretly wanted.
Okay,secretly wantedwas not accurate. She wanted a kid with Mylomon. They weren’t having much success the old-fashioned way, and she knew he blamed himself. He never said anything—because he was Mylomon, master of quietly brooding in the shadows—but she knew.
“Assess and adapt”: the Vargas family motto. Daisy needed information, and it was working the last of her nerve. The only person she knew who adopted a Foundling was Meridan and Kalen, but Estella had been a special case: female and human. Daisy had no idea what happened to male Mahdfel foundlings, and she didn’t want to bug her sister, not when she was going to have her baby literally any minute now.
Every time her comm beeped, Daisy jumped to her feet, absolutely convinced the baby was on his way and she needed to get to med bay immediately. Usually it was Kalen asking if she could watch Estella for the evening, because Meridan needed rest and he’d throw the entire ship out the airlock if it got his mate a bit of peace and quiet.
Yeah, she wasn’t going to ask Kalen or Meridan anything about foundlings, at least not until the baby came.
This would be so much easier if Mylomon had given her any scrap of information or even whatguardianshipmeant to him. He never spoke of people raising him. There was the time he was in Suhlik facility—granted, he barely spoke of that—and the time he spent at the Academy. He spoke about mentors and instructors, never friends, which always made Daisy a little sad. The entire situation made her furious. Mylomon had been little more than a baby—five or six years of age—when he had been rescued. Did he get reunited with surviving family? No. Did he get placed with loving foster parents? Or even caring guardians? No.
He got shoved into a boarding school and stayed there until he was old enough to be useful. He had no friends. Not then, and she didn’t think he had any now. His past was blank, cold and empty, and frankly she was amazed that he was as well-adjusted as an adult as he was. Well, you know, for a former assassin who could walk through walls.
Was that what he planned to do with this unnamed kid?
Daisy’s stomach curdled at the thought.
No. She didn’t know anything about the kid or how well he’d fit into their family, but she wouldn’t let Mylomon dump him off at a boarding school like a puppy at the pound.
