Page 90 of An Archer's Reckoning

My skin burned with crimson fire.

I leaned in and whispered in Ayden’s ear, “Let’s go before he says anything else.”

“Where—?”

I didn’t wait for him to finish. I grabbed him like a willful child and hurled us across the city into my chamber at the Mages’ Guild, sparing only a fleeting thought about the poor soldiers who just witnessed two Rangers disappearing before their eyes.

“Declan, what . . .” Ayden’s head whipped around as he took in the modestly appointed room, with its stone walls, iron-bracketed Mage-lit candles, and the warm fire dancing in the hearth.

I grabbed his cloak, unclasped the flying owl, and tossed it onto the desk chair. His surprise morphed into something akin to the hunger of a starving man.

“Clothes. Off. Now,” was all I got out before fingers fumbled faster than lips and tongues. By the time we stood naked before the fireplace, our breathing was heavy, and our cocks stood more erect than a cadet at his first roll call.

There were no gentle caresses, no tender kisses, no sweet words.

Our need was too great.

Ayden ran his tongue up my neck, then took my lobe between his teeth. I wanted to squirm or cry out at the painful sensation of his bite, but pleasure followed so quickly all thought vanished at his touch.

Our hands searched and roamed.

Our tongues battled as our lips devoured.

Our cocks pulsed and twitched.

“I want to feel you inside me,” I said.

His eyes widened, then blazed.

“Get on that bed.” He gripped my arms and marched me backward until I tumbled onto my mattress. Standing over me, I thought he might be the most beautiful man who ever lived. The hardened muscles of his chest and arms were now leaner than before, but the crispness of their lines drove my hunger beyond desire. The way his eyes explored me as I lay before him sent my pulse racing so fast I thought it might never slow again.

And then he gripped my ankles and pulled them over his shoulders. His head lowered and his tongue, hot and wet from our kisses, scraped between my spread cheeks.

“Oh, fuck!” I squirmed. It had always been my tongue parting his ass. In that moment, I knew why he loved that sensation so. “I’m yours, Ayden Byrne.”

“You better fucking believe you are,” he said. The force of his words sent an even deeper thrill through me as his tongue, no longer gentle, stabbed inside my quaking hole. Determined fingers pried me open further as he dug even deeper.

One hand gripped a pillow as the other grasped the bedframe. It was all I could do to keep fixed in place.

He dove in, then out, then nipped at the tender skin of my cheeks, then dragged his ragged tongue along my rim. The heat and moisture of his touch made my head swim as images of fiery red hair danced and bobbed before my eyes.

Then he rose to his knees, and I saw just how hard he’d become.

“Fucking fuck,” I gasped as he gripped himself, willing the skin even tauter, his length even harder.

“Exactly what I was thinking.” He grinned, then spit on his palm, stroked his cock, and pressed himself against my opening just enough to poke inside.

“Oh, hells. You’re fucking huge.”

His grin turned into a smoldering gaze as he pressed himself inside me.

My back arched as I squeezed the pillow against the initial pain.

“Oh, gods, fucking holy hells,” I groaned.

He offered no mercy, pushing until every inch of him stabbed at the deepest parts of me.

For the briefest moment, he paused, staring down, then brushed a few unruly curls from my eyes.

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