Page 26 of Hunted By the Wraiths
His chest was covered in scales and scars. Old wounds layered over older wounds. Eight years of damage mapped across his body. The bio-sealer on his shoulder looked stark and clinical. The synth-skin on his side was soaked through with blood, the dark stain spreading.
He was falling apart. And he was about to make it worse.
“Thoryn, we should stop,” I whispered, the last piece of my logic fighting back. “We should let you rest.”
“Never.” The word was guttural. “Never.”
His hands found my hips. Pulled me closer. I went, pressing against him, feeling the hard length of him through his pants.
The proximity made his whole body tense. His scales flashed and locked. Flashed and locked. The pattern faster now, more frantic.
“How bad?” I asked against his throat.
“Twenty.”
Twenty on a pain scale that only went to ten. The conditioning screaming at him. The bond war raging.
“You’re still here,” I said, my hands gripping his shoulders.
“Yes.”
“You’re not running.”
“No.”
“Good.” I bit his throat. Not hard. Just enough to make him gasp. “Because I’m not letting you go.”
His gaze was intense. “They can’t make me run.”
I ground against him. Felt him hard and ready beneath me. His head fell back against the wall. The scales on his throat flashed brilliant emerald and stayed.
“Maris.” My name came out broken.
“I’m here.”
I reached between us. Found the fastening on his pants. Got it open. He was hot in my hand, his cock smooth and ridged in ways that made me ache.
I stroked him. Once. Twice. Learning the feel of him again. The weight. The way he pulsed in my grip.
He groaned. The sound raw and desperate. His hips jerked up into my hand.
“Stop,” he said.
“No.”
“I won’t last.”
“I don’t care.” I stroked him again, thumb sliding over the head. He was already slick. “I want you to fall apart for me.”
His claws pricked my hips. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Probably.”
“Worth it.”
I released him long enough to shove my own pants down. The cold air hit my skin and I didn’t care. I was burning. Aching. Years of grief and loneliness and iron control cracking apart under the weight of wanting him.
I straddled his lap. Careful of his wounded side. Positioned myself over him.
