Page 30 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“Oh, but I love a good challenge,” he said quietly, his lips skimming the shell of her ear. “I’ll be careful of your wings. Will you turn around for me?”

Another low thoughtful hum, and her wings fluttered like they knew they were being discussed. “No, I want to watch you.”

Hooking his hands under her knees, he spread her wide on the edge of that table. Shifting his thicker body up to the cradle of her thighs, he encouraged her to wrap her legs around him. With her help, Malcolm shifted his drawers down, freeing himself. She fisted him, guiding him to where she wanted him. As he sunk slowly into her, she pushed up his shirt, pinning it high so she could see all. Together they watched his length ease inside her satin channel, inch by inch.

When he was fully seated, they shared a long, pleasure-filled groan. Her breasts grazed his abdomen. She dropped her brow on his chest and watched him work in and out of her, steady thrust after steady thrust, her breaths creating a balmy humidity, her wings flittering gently. Intimate muscles squeezed him tight, sucking him in.

“Mm, look how well you take your mate,” she purred.

He loved her praise, but he wanted her witless, wanted her begging and whimpering and as completely incoherent as she had been before. He cupped her breasts, then worked his palm down the valley of her belly. He circled her navel before delving lower, exploring that sweet place that made her senseless with the pad of his thumb.

“There,” she panted. “Good boy.”

He stroked her in small rapid circles, and her head fell back. Malcolm pumped into her body, rocking her so hard he rattled the table. Her lashes feathered her cheeks, and she was lost again. Head lolling, knees gripping his sides. She crossed her ankles behind him, pulling him closer. Cheek on his chest, she dug her fingers into his back and hair with a desperation that sent him spiraling, pressure building in his pelvis and tightening his balls. Her wings came around them in a feathery hug, the silken plumes a gentle contrast to the pinpricks of her nails.

Olden spilled from her lips when she came, and the only word he understood in the mix was, “Malcolm.”

He kissed the top of her head and tasted the salt on her gleaming skin. “Tell me where you want me to spend.”

“Inside me,” she rasped.

Malcolm delved deeper, rising up on his toes with growing urgency. He saw sparks burst before his eyes as he emptied himself. When he finished, they leaned against each other as their pulses slowed and the bond warmed between them.

The gentle nuzzling kitten had returned and was all that remained for now of his fierce warrior woman. He laid his brow against hers, a fae sign of great affection. Moving his hands under her knees to support her weight, he pulled out of her, then kept her spread wide for a moment. Just long enough to watch his mark on her glide down her glossy sex.

He righted what he could of his wrecked clothing. His destroyed belt hung uselessly. He’d take her upstairs now, though that erotic image of her spread out for him like a feast on the table was guaranteed to make it necessary for at least one more detour along the way.

Maybe two. There were a lot of stairs.

Chapter 9

Hrafn

Hrafn lay on her side in her mate’s bed. Facing him, she allowed her wings to droop comfortably off the mattress. Still restless from their aerobic entanglements earlier, her wings flickered occasionally, a happy little pulse behind her.

Malcolm lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting over his stomach. She’d gotten him out of his clothes eventually so they could wash together. The bond had enjoyed the shared intimacy of that nearly more so than the lovemaking.

She needed to be more careful with such things. Malcolm was a lord and this was his home. But she didn’t belong here anymore. Completing the bond, forming a true mate connection to this good man, would destroy her. She’d be pulled one way by her god-blood and another entirely by her mate.

With a corner of bedsheet, Malcolm covered the parts of him most sensitive to the open air in the drafty room. He recited Olden parables for her amusement. His tail tickled her naked thigh, demanding her attention.

“Let’s see,” he thought aloud. “Oh, there’s, ‘never let gold be your guide.’ How has that one changed over the years?”

She shook her head, playing her fingers drowsily through the tuft of hair on the end of his affectionate tail. “It’s goat.”

His white brows furrowed. “Never let a goat be your guide . . . ? There’s wisdom in that, I suppose but— You’re teasing me.”

“I am.” She felt her mouth tugging up into a grin. Her cheeks hurt, unaccustomed to so much laughter and smiling.

Malcolm shifted to his side, scooted in closer, and her breath caught. She should be accustomed to his nearness by now, but her lungs turned uncooperative anyway. His tail wound around her leg, stopping just shy of her more intimate places.

“I’m nourished by your smiles. They’re rare and hard-earned. Like a diamond.” He brushed his knuckles across her cheeks. “I think I could live off of them and not need another thing.”

“Not a thing?” she teased. “Not food or air or water? And what of the rest of me?”

“The rest of you is a feast. One I intend to indulge in regularly.”

She leaned in to meet his kiss. His lips were gentle and familiar, brushing against hers. His tongue delved into her mouth with unhurried strokes.

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