Page 54 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“No. Incorrect.”
Well, hell. What else had she done?
“Getting Pashaal drunk?”
“No.”
“Not cheering loud enough at the fighting pit? I think your cat is plotting to eat me.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. His body trembled with fury. Emry felt him quake, and she knew she was moments from the end. Technically mates, nothing bound them to each other beyond a bite mark and a genetic test. He could stage a tragic accident and try his luck with a new mate, someone better. Someone who didn’t steal ships.
Ren gasped, and laughter spilled out.
He was laughing.
Relief mixed with outrage swelled in her. “It’s not funny.”
“The situation is very amusing,” he said.
She planted both hands on his chest andpushed. Nothing happened except for him watching her struggle. “Get off me,” she grumbled.
He stepped back, though he kept his hold on her hips. His thumb worked its way under the waistband of her leggings, brushing her skin in small circles. She felt certain that she knew what he wanted and she was on board.
“You are a stone in my boot, Emmarae,” he said.
Okay, not what she expected.
“You are with me every step of my journey. You are forever in my thoughts,” he said.
His words were unexpectedly sweet. Tension uncoiled in her gut, replaced by something else. Longing.
Want.
His fingers hooked over the legging waistband. Carefully, his eyes on her as if watching for her reaction, he tugged down the fabric. “I want to taste my mate. I have waited four years, Emmarae.”
Cloth slid down her thighs, pooling at her feet, and dammit, she wanted to be tasted. So bad. Her hand pressed flat against the wall and her hips lifted.
Next, he worked down the cotton of her panties. She was bare before him. He kneeled before her, staring at her exposed flesh.
Before she could worry about her bush or the last time she shaved above her knees, he leaned in and inhaled. He moaned like he caught the aroma of something delicious.
Of her.
He refrained from touching her, instead caressing her with his eyes.
“Is something wrong? I know our anatomy is different.” Had to be the bush. Or the pudge in her stomach. Emry never gave much thought to the weight she carried in her middle because no one trusted a thin chef. She indulged enough in her creations that she always had extra cushioning on her tush.
Ren skated his fingers down her abdomen. His journey paused at her navel.
Looking up, she was struck by the inhuman features. Not just the tusks or the red complexion, but the broad nose, heavy brow, and thick jaw.
He glanced at his hand, still covering her navel, and looked up at her. The white streak flopped over one eye. “Yes?”
She nodded.
“We are similar enough, but now I am curious,” he said.
“I read some articles.”
