Page 93 of The Bound Mage
Thirty-Nine
He caughther at the top of the stairs, pinning her against the door before she could bolt again. She gasped, her body soft against his, and for a breathless moment she was all he could see. Flushed cheeks. Bright silver eyes. That brilliant smile meant only for him. His mouth found the flutter of her pulse at her throat, laving the delicate skin there. He could devour her right here and die a happy male?—
“Get this door open,” she ordered, her hands working at his doublet.
Loren fumbled with the key, swearing as it scraped against the lock. Was this even their door? He couldn’t think—not when she was pulling his shirt from his pants, pressing wet, needy kisses along his throat.
“Hold still,” he growled, and her breathy laugh going straight to his aching cock. He crowded her against the door, turning the key hard enough to nearly snap the damn thing. The lock gave, and they stumbled through in a tangle of limbs and heat and breathless laughter.
Her gown fell first, pooling at her feet in a whisper of plum silk. His shirt hit the floor next, her hands on his skin stealingevery last thread of restraint he had left. He reached for her—but Araya caught his wrist before he could guide her back to the bed.
“No,” she said.“You had your turn on the stairs.”
“That was hardly a turn,” he rasped. “More of a teaser.”
Her smile turned wicked—full of a promise that stole the breath from his lungs. She sank to her knees, her fingernails dragging over each ridge of his abdomen as they slid down to the laces of his pants.
Loren braced one hand against the door, the other curling into a fist at his side. Goddess help him, the sight of her—his mate, hisqueen—kneeling in front of him…
“Araya—” her name tore from his throat, raw and strangled.
“Lorendrael,” she said sweetly, looking up at him through her lashes as she fisted his length and leaned forward to press her lips against the head of his cock.
His head slammed against the door, stars burning across his vision. She took him into her mouth, her tongue tracing maddening patterns that shattered the last of his composure. His thighs shook, his nails biting into his palms as he pressed his fists against the door.
She was the one in control here.
Her hands slid to his hips, holding him steady as she took him again—deeper this time. The heat of her mouth. The pull of her lips. The soft, satisfied sound she made in the back of her throat as he twitched against her tongue?—
“Araya, I’m—” he groaned, his voice breaking. “If you don’t stop I’m going to?—”
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her lips swollen and her breath coming in short, hot bursts against his skin as she looked up at him.
“But it’s my turn,” she said.
“Not anymore.” Loren hauled her to her feet, kissing her messily.
Araya moaned into his mouth, her fingers twisting his hair. She dragged him closer, chasing his lips as he pulled them both across the room until the backs of his legs hit the bed, spilling them both to the soft mattress.
Loren stared up at her, his throat tight as his hands settled on her thighs, stroking slow circles on her soft skin with his thumbs. Firelight gilded her skin, turning her hair into a cascade of molten flame and her eyes into liquid silver.
“Goddess,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Look at you.”
She grinned, reaching between them without breaking eye contact. She rose just enough to guide him to her entrance, sliding his head through her slick heat. Loren bit back a curse, his grip on her thighs tightening as she sank down onto him in one agonizingly slow motion.
His head slammed back against the mattress, a ragged sound tearing from his throat as she seated herself fully. “You feel—Goddess. Araya.”
She leaned forward, her hair falling around them like a curtain of flame. She rolled her hips, tearing another groan from him. He clutched at her hips, helpless to do anything but hold on as she moved over him.
She rode him like she owned him—and Goddess, maybe she did.
Araya gasped, her rhythm faltering as he slid a hand between them.
“Lorendrael—” his name spilled from her lips like a prayer.
He stroked her, circling the tight bundle of nerves and tearing another gasp from her lips. Her hips bucked, grinding down on him in a frantic, stuttering rhythm. Her forehead dropped to his, and he swallowed her soft, broken cries with his kiss.
She was close—Loren gripped her hip with his free hand, guiding her as best he could while clinging to the last edge ofcontrol. Her body tensed around him, her cry shattering against his mouth as she came, shaking apart in his arms as he followed her over the edge with a hoarse shout.
