Page 25 of The Brute and the Blade

Slowly, so slowly, Grok's breathing evens out, his body growing heavy and lax in my arms. I stroke his hair, his back, gentling him down into the warm, waiting dark...even as I blink back the tears that want to fall, the sobs that want to shake me apart.

Just one night, I tell myself, a prayer and a plea and a desperate, aching promise. Just one night to be his, to feel his, down to the marrow of my bones, the chambers of my heart...

Before I have to be strong again. Before I have to let him go.

10

Grok

I carry Lily through the torch-lit corridors of the stronghold, her slight weight a precious burden in my arms. The heat of her body, the soft press of her curves against my chest...it's intoxicating, maddening, a temptation that sets my blood to boiling and my heart to pounding.

I want her. Gods, how I want her, with a hunger that goes beyond mere flesh, mere need. I want to claim her, consume her, brand her as mine in every way there is...until she's imprinted on my very soul, a part of me as vital and necessary as breath.

Until she's bound to me, irrevocably and eternally...just as I'm bound to her, heart and body and burning, aching spirit.

Mine, I think fiercely, savagely, as I shoulder open the door to our chambers. Mine, mine, mine...

The room is dim and warm, lit only by the flickering glow of the hearth and a few scattered candles. But it's enough to limn Lily's face in gold, to paint her skin in shades of honey and cream as I lower her gently to the furs of our bed.

"Lily," I rumble, my voice low and rough with emotion. "My mate, my queen...gods, do you have any idea what you do to me? How desperately I crave you, every second of every fucking day?"

Her breath hitches, her eyes fluttering shut as she leans into my touch. "Show me," she breathes, a plea and a challenge all at once. "Make me feel it, Grok. Make me yours...in every way there is."

A growl tears from my throat, a sound of pure, primal need. In a heartbeat, I'm on her, my mouth claiming hers in a kiss that sears me to my very soul. She opens for me with a soft, needy sound, her lips parting and her tongue tangling with mine in a slow, sensual dance that makes my blood burn, my body ache with the need to possess her, to make her mine.

My hands are everywhere, tugging at her clothes, her hair, mapping the lush curves and delicate hollows of her body like I'm blind and she's my only anchor, my only light. She arches into my touch with a breathy little moan, her own fingers scrabbling at my shoulders, my back, as if she's trying to pull me closer, to crawl inside my very skin.

"Off," I grunt against her lips, my claws shredding her dress like so much gossamer. "I need to see you, feel you...gods, Lily, I need to taste every fucking inch of you..."

She gasps as the cool air hits her bared flesh, her nipples pebbling into tight, rosy peaks that make my mouth water, my cock throb.

"Beautiful. So fucking beautiful, my mate...my perfect, precious girl..."

I lower my head to lave one with my tongue, savoring the salt-sweet taste of her, the way she shudders and mewls beneath me like I'm unmaking her with every touch, every rasp of my teeth against her tender skin.

“Yes,” she pants, her fingers tangling in my hair, holding me to her. "Oh fuck, Grok, yes...just like that, don't stop, please don't stop..."

I growl my approval, my lips closing around her nipple and suckling, hard and greedy. She bucks up with a choked cry, her nails digging into my scalp as pleasure courses through her, as I course through her, branding her with my mouth, my need.

I could spend hours like this, I think hazily, lost in the hot, honeyed haven of her body. I could spend days learning her, mapping her, wringing sweet, desperate sounds from her kiss-bruised lips...until she's trembling and taut, my name a broken litany on her tongue as I shatter her again and again.

But the need, the hunger, is too fierce, too consuming. It roars through my veins like wildfire, demanding more, harder, until there's no part of her that doesn't bear my mark, my claim.

With a low, rough sound, I release her breast and blaze a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the taut plane of her stomach. She quivers beneath me, her breath coming quick and shallow, her fingers gentling in my hair like she's soothing a wild thing, a creature of fang and fury.

And maybe I am, I think dimly. Maybe she's the only one who can gentle me, tame me...even as she stokes the flames of my desire higher, hotter, until I'm half-mad with the need to have her, to claim her as my own.

I reach the apex of her thighs, breathing in the sweet, musky scent of her arousal. Gently, reverently, I part her folds with my fingers, baring the slick, glistening pink of her sex to my hungry gaze.

"Oh gods," she says, writhing beneath my hungry touch. "Grok, please..."

"Shh," I soothe, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh. "Let me taste you, sweet. Let me worship you the way you deserve...the way I've ached to, since the moment I first scented you on the wind."

She shudders at my words, a low, liquid moan threading from her lips...and then her thighs are falling open in silent invitation, her fingers tangling in my hair and urging me closer.

With a rumble of pure, masculine satisfaction, I lower my mouth to her glistening folds and feast, my tongue delving deep to lap at her essence. She cries out sharply, her back bowing like a drawn bow as I stroke and swirl and suckle, losing myself in the taste of her, the feel of her, hot and soft and perfect against my lips.

I could die like this, I think wildly. I could suffocate in the sweet, slick heat of her and count it a good death, the best death...because I would have known her, claimed her, in the most intimate way there is.

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