Page 32 of An Archer's Reckoning

He pulled his finger out, swirled it around to stretch my hole, then slid it inside again. This time, pain was ecstasy I wished would never end.

My own fingers slid into his hair, tangling in his curls.

I couldn't think. I had to remember to breathe.

His lips lifted free.

“Turn around.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. In the time it took to blink, I’d spun and pressed my palms to the cave wall, and his cock was rubbing up and down my crack.

I shoved my ass back, begging for him, willing him to become one with me.

Still, he slid up and down, carefully avoiding my hole, teasing me.

“Fuck me, will you?” It came out more plea than command.

“Beg me.”

My head turned. “What?”

He leaned in, his lips a breath from my ear, his cock knocking on my door but refusing to enter.

“I said, beg me, lordling.”

“Fuck, Dec, I’ll do anything. Please. Get inside me.”

“That’s asking, not begging.” His tone was a torturous mix of playful and sinister.Gods, I love this man.

“Please, Declan, use your mighty magic stick on me. Make me your chalice. Turn me into an instrument of your chaos.”

He spat out a laugh, and the warmth of his breath vanished from my neck.

I spun around. “What? You wanted begging.”

He had to gather himself. “Begging, yes. Something sultry and hot. I didn’t ask you to wax poetic . . . and badly at that. My mighty magic stick? If Órla heard you say that, you’d never hear the end of it.”

“Oh, I did, and he won’t.”

Both our eyes widened, then we doubled over in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

Chapter 11

Declan

It took a long moment and me pouring two glasses of wine for our laughter to calm. It was only then that I realized we were standing in a cave in the middle of nowhere, naked as the day we were born, laughing like a pair of drunk teenagers.

And it felt better than anything I’d experienced in a very long time.

Ayden lifted a glass to his lips, his eyes distant as the ruby liquid warmed him. My eyes chose that moment to explore the man sitting before me.

His face was carved like some statue of pale stone, smoothed to perfection, but with the angularity of some ancient god.

His chest and stomach, firm through endless days of training and exercise and dusted with cinnamon strands that curled almost as much as the carpet below.

The carpet below.

My gaze lingered.

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