Page 159 of Kingdoms of Night

She fumbled with her own but swiftly undid them. If there was one thing she had learned in all the years of ceremonial training, it was how to get dressed quickly. No matter how many catches and fasteners and buttons and holders there were. And getting them off was far easier than getting them on. As she fidgeted with them and peeled them back, she sneaked a peek at Feron just in time to see his magnificent thighs and sculpted back. The Creator had not skimped when fashioning him.

Feron looked her over, eager, while she finished undressing, until at last he caught her by the arm. “Let me look at you.”

He pulled her in front of him. The sharp intake of his breath was more gratifying than any sound she had ever heard, and the way his eyes widened better than any sight she had seen.

“By the gods, look at you.” A groan tore free as his gaze returned to her face.

Her own gaze descended lower, to the vast expanse of his chest, the chiseled muscle of his abdomen, and… and… Oh. Holy Ecekom, Central Three, and all the plagues combined. “So are you happy to see me or—”

“Happy. Very, very happy.” He tackled her, claiming her mouth with his.

The breath whooshed out of her as his body enveloped her and he held her tight with his crushing kiss. How wonderful it was to be held. How wonderful to be his. She gripped his corded shoulders, then thrust her fingers through his ash-blond hair. He held her fast, one hand cupping the back of her head and the other clasping her so close not even death could wisp between them.

He urged her toward the bed. Puck’s bed.

“Wait,” she breathed between kisses. “Not the bed. That’s Puck’s bed—”

Nodding, he threw her arms around his neck, then lifted her and carried her to the desk. He set her down, his mouth taking hers hungrily, and his thigh thrust between hers as he deepened the kiss. She braced a hand against the desk’s surface, but her finger brushed glass. The orbs—

“Feron, wait! The children might see.” She covered herself as a deep growl rumbled in his chest.

He yanked open the desk’s drawer, slid the orbs inside, and pushed it shut with his knee, his lips returning to hers, his hands firm and strong on her waist. “Anything else, ma vigne?”

His low whisper warmed her mouth between kisses, his deeper tone seductive.

As his eyes met hers, she answered, “Make me yours, Feron.”

She’d barely gotten the words out when he picked her up again, this time bringing her back against the tapestry-clad wall. He claimed her lips with a passion that took her breath away, and she clung to him, her legs locked around his hips, shifting against his hardness.

She moaned against him and opened herself further. She wanted him. Needed him. Now, right now, or she would melt.

He thrust into her, and—nothing compared. She cried out against him, but his mouth swallowed her moan.

By everything good and holy, she had never experienced anything like this. Her need built and built with every stroke, intensifying as he kissed and stroked, pinning her fast against the tapestry. The pressure of his desire deepened within her, promising her pleasure that held her in the most unyielding of grips.

She pushed against him, seeking his tongue with hers and trying to whisper his name.

He trapped her against the wall and let her rupture then, peaking into her relentless rhythm. She tried to cry out, her hips taking on a mind of their own as she clung to him. The cries collapsed inward, turning weak and shaky. He found his own pleasure and climax, bellowing out and then collapsing against her.

For several moments, there was nothing more than gasping and panting as he lowered his forehead against hers. And never had she felt so happy, so loved. He was hers until the end of time. Forever and ever. Just as she was his. And she had never been happier.

Oh, thank the Creator, this man was more than worth the tea! He’d have been worth it even if she hadn’t taken it so regularly and had to scramble to get the ingredients, but for now, she could luxuriate in the euphoria of the moment.

Lifting his head, he smiled at her. Then he leaned down and kissed her. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” she whispered back. Never had any words felt so right. And the comfortable lazy silence spread between them for several minutes longer, allowing both to bask in its golden satisfying glow.

“Ma vigne,” he said, stroking her cheek.

“I love when you call me that. I missed it.” She smiled as she traced a line down his chest and to his stomach. “Of course, now that means I need something special for you.”

“No one has called me Kopo before you.”

She laughed and pressed her face to his shoulder. “You can’t be serious?”

He shrugged good-naturedly. “Better than anything else I’ve been called. It’ll remind me to use my words with you more.”

“And you don’t mind it?”

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