Page 63 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

He awoke to find sunlight streaming into his chambers. Malcolm was still in bed, and he wasn’t alone. He actually had stripped his mate bare the second she flew into the room.

Hrafn straddled Solis’s face beside him. His wraith-like arms cupped her bare ass. His tongue roved between her legs. Malcolm was so hard it hurt.

“This is the best welcome I’ve ever gotten,” Hrafn said, breathless. She braced herself on the headboard.

Malcolm rose to his knees, his cock tenting his drawers. He took her by the hips and pressed her lower over Solis’s mouth. “My shadow form doesn’t need to breathe,” he soothed when he felt her stiffen. “You can’t hurt me like this. That’s it, love.” He helped her roll her hips, encouraging her to chase her pleasure.

When her breaths escaped her in pants, he left the bed and gathered oil he kept in the nightstand. He shucked his drawers, then slid in behind his mate on his knees, passing straight through Solis’s body sprawled beneath her. His cock jutted before him, twitching and full. He rested the blunt head against her lower back, letting her natural movements tease him.

“I want your ass,” he told her.

“It’s yours,” Hrafn rasped.

Malcolm bent her forward so that her weight leaned against the headboard. Solis continued his enthusiastic work, lapping up her pleasure like it was the nectar of the gods and he was a starved worshiper. Malcolm tasted her salty sweetness on his own tongue through his soul, and moisture pearled at his tip.

He uncorked the bottle of oil, and a peppery fragrance filled his nose. Tipping the bottle, he added a dollop to her lower back and more to his hand. He fisted his cock, smearing the member with the oil. Malcolm worked his palms over her back and down the crease of her ass. Her skin was hot and gleaming.

“More,” she gasped.

Malcolm poured generously, then he corked the bottle and set it aside. He rubbed her body, spreading the fragrant oil from her lower back, down the curves of her ass, wetting the delicate crease of her bottom. Malcolm teased her puckered back entrance with the pad of his finger. Hrafn pressed against him, working the single digit into her body.

When she moaned, Malcolm took hold of his cock and squeezed. Gods, the sounds she made reverberated straight through him, warming the bond in his heart. She rocked her hips, moving over his finger, crooning when he slowly added a second digit. Each time the tight ring of intimate muscles relaxed and took him a little deeper, his pulse surged. With his free hand, he uncorked the bottle and poured more oil into his palm, slicking his fingers and himself until both were dripping.

“More,” she gasped. “I want more.”

Malcolm removed his fingers and rested the crown of his cock at her ass, allowing her to work her body at her own pace. Her hips jerked, inching Malcolm deeper, rubbing that delicious pearl at the crest of her sex against Solis’s hungry mouth. Their bodies slapped together wetly.

“Come,” Malcolm told her, and Solis echoed it.Come on my face.

He could feel it when she was close, the sensations mirrored in him. Her breathing went shallow. Her whimpers turned desperate. Hrafn sucked in a ragged breath when she found her release. Surging back, she took him deep, sheathing him fully, grinding herself shamelessly against that shadowy mouth that was so desperate for her. Malcolm squeezed his eyes shut, feeling her sensitive muscles fist around him.

He didn’t want to spend just yet.

Hrafn cried out in Olden and drooped against the headboard. Her wings unfurled and quivered. She was glorious. The sheen of sweat on her bronze skin, the sunlight casting a corona around her dark hair and ebony plumes . . . But she was not finished with him yet, and soon her hips were pistoning again.

“Yes! Yes, yes, fuck me!” she begged.

He met her thrusts, digging his fingers into her waist, matching her pace. His balls tightened and his heart hammered. And Solis was never going to get enough of that lush pussy in his mouth, never going to need air.

Her thighs and back tremored. Malcolm pumped more fiercely as his balls went tight. He saw sparks behind his eyes when he came. Bliss flooded his senses, and his blood pressure plummeted.

They lay in a satisfied heap for a moment, Solis at the bottom of their pile. When Hrafn was ready to stand, they washed up by the basin in his room. He toweled her down afterward and then they climbed back into bed, surrounded by bedding that smelled like peppery oil and pleasure.

Hrafn rolled onto her side, and Malcolm joined her, holding her close, their bodies tangling, her wings tucked in tight against her sides. To Malcolm, this felt like home in a way that no walls, no building, ever would.

“I might fall asleep,” she warned him drowsily.

Malcolm’s arms encircled her. He pulled her tight against him, hands palming her belly. “I’m counting on it.”

Solis covered her front with his shadows, nuzzling in close.

He was glad she was here, thrilled to share his bed with her, whatever her violent tendencies. Hrafn dozed off moments later, and when she threw an elbow into his side, Malcolm kissed the back of her head, and only minded a little.

When he was pulled awake next, this time by a flutter of wing in his face, Solis blanketed her in shadows, containing her twists and turns. But now Malcolm was stuck awake. Staring at the ceiling, his mind turned.

This woman was the absolute worst bedmate, but the idea of ever sleeping apart, of her traveling and then dreading coming home, and him waiting for her, feeling trapped and alone—the notion of repeating that could go burn in Hell. He’d do anything to share covers with her every night, even when she hogged them.

He couldn’t just abandon the estate, either. It needed a dutiful caretaker. Getting that in place could take ages. It wasn’t as simple as hiring someone. Reedholm needed a proper lord . . .

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