Page 99 of Heart of the Deep

Heat blossomed inside Larkin as Dracchus roared his release. His tentacles wound around her legs and pulled her down into his final thrust and held her in place. The rapid beating of his hearts washed over her. He growled, pumping shallowly in the aftermath, the minuscule pulsing his shaft echoing through her like the aftershocks of an earthquake, the small tendrils at his base gently caressing her sex. She trembled against him.

She kissed his chest and closed her eyes. No matter what happened beyond these walls, she was at home in his arms;hewas her home. Her comfort, her security, her sanctuary.

He moved his hands down her back, his touch impossibly light, impossibly gentle. Larkin stretched an arm up to cup his cheek with her palm.

“You danced for me,” he said.

“Wasn’t much of a dance. I’m terrible at it.”

“But you did it for me.”

Larkin inhaled, taking in his scent — their combined scent. “Yeah. For you.”

“I love you, Larkin.” His voice was so low that she felt his words more than she heard them; they were a rumbling in his chest, rising from the deepest parts of him.

Larkin raised her head to meet his eyes. His face was grave, his gaze intense.

“You are my mate. I want you to be mine forever, in the way of your people,” he said.

Warmth and joy swelled in her chest. She smiled and stroked a thumb over his cheek. “Dracchus, would you join with me?”

“Join. That is what you call it?”

“Yes. Join with me and I will be yours.”

“I am yours, as well. I will join with you, female.” The bed groaned softly as Dracchus sat up. He guided her legs to either side of his waist, maintaining the connection between them as he moved, and supported her back with his tentacles. He took her face in his hands. “What must we do, to follow your ways?”

Larkin wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips against his. “Just love me, Dracchus.”

“Always.”

Chapter 23

Dracchus woke to darkness so thick that he questioned whether he’d opened his eyes or not. His vision adjusted quickly, aided by the muted glow of the room’s nighttime lights. Larkin was tucked against his side, sleeping soundly, head resting on his arm. He lifted his head and scanned the shadows in the room.

Nothing seemed amiss.

He eased back down and closed his eyes. Larkin’s slow, steady breathing mingled with the Facility’s faint ambient hum, which was audible now only because of the relative silence. He filled his lungs with a deep inhalation and released it gradually, waiting for sleep to reclaim him.

Larkin’s scent teased his nostrils, and he drew her a little closer. She stirred with a sigh and stretched her arm across his chest. Such a small, innocent movement, made without her awareness; it reminded him of her softness, her heat, her taste.

He was tempted to wake her. He’d spent the last five days making up for their lack of intimacy during her recovery. It hadn’t been easy for him; his worry for her health and safety had been the only thing making him refrain over those two weeks, and her dance — her inexperienced, clumsy, beautiful dance — had shattered his remaining resolve.

For now, he’d let her sleep. No matter what she claimed, he knew she wasn’t fully recovered from the poisoning. Morning would have to be soon enough to get his taste of her.

Dracchus pushed aside his desire, his thoughts, and focused on his own breathing.

Something scraped against the door.

He sat up, turning his head toward the sound.

“What’s wrong?” Larkin placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled herself into a sitting position.

The sound came again — claws against metal? The thickness of the door restricted the passage of sound from one side to the other, making it difficult to identify.

“Is that Ikaros?” Larkin asked, slipping out of bed and reaching for her clothes.

“I will check,” Dracchus said. He slid his tentacles onto the floor and crossed the room. Randall sometimes took Ikaros out during the late hours of the night, and the prixxir had probably just pawed at their door, hoping they’d go hunting.

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