Page 116 of Threadbound

And like air, Bran didn’t seem to be able to breathe without him. So here he was, back in Dunehame, trying to repair whatever damage he’d unwittingly caused.

Jamie raised his head, looking up at him, and Bran wasn’t quite sure of the emotions in those bottomless blue eyes. Eyes he wanted to drown in. Or drink up.

“You—you do?”

The rawness, the vulnerability of the question hit Bran like a punch to the stomach. Even though he’d followed Jamie for months, lived in an attic off garbage, given up his whole world for Jamie… But of course, he reminded himself, Jamie didn’t know any of that.

“Aye,” he answered, his heart in his throat. “I do.”

There was nothing gentle about the way Jamie grabbed him, hands on his waist pulling him until Bran had no choice but to let himself be pulled onto Jamie’s lap, straddling Jamie’s bigger thighs. The heat of Jamie’s body seared through their clothes, Jamie’s hands sliding under the hem of Bran’s shirt to press hot palms against his back, and Bran heard himself let out a soft, needy sound.

Jamie’s lips traced a path down the side of his throat, and Bran tilted his head to give Jamie better access. Under his arse, he could feel pressure from Jamie’s groin, a rigid thickness that raised an answering stiffness in Bran’s jeans. The hands on his back drew him closer, then plunged downward, sliding into thewaistband of his jeans, one of Jamie’s warm fingers tracing over his tail-bone and eliciting a shudder.

“Bran?”

“Aye?” The question was breathless.

“We’re wearing too many clothes,” Jamie murmured into the skin of his collarbone.

Bran took one hand off Jamie long enough to twist and flick his fingers, gasping as the fabric dissolved between them. Cool air hit his feverish skin, causing him to shiver again.

“How come I’m still dressed?” Jamie asked him, a slight frown furrowing his brow.

“Your clothes weren’t spun,” Bran answered, tugging at Jamie’s hoodie. Jamie leaned back and stripped it off, then followed it with his long-sleeve t-shirt. His skin, when he pulled Bran against his chest, was deliciously hot. “I canna take them off you if they are na’ made by magic,” Bran mumbled, the feeling of Jamie’s skin making it difficult to formulate words.

Jamie’s hands slid under his butt, fingers teasing between his glutes, and Bran pushed his hips against Jamie’s, the denim of Jamie’s jeans rough against sensitive skin. Bran didn’t care.

He ran his talons through Jamie’s hair, and Jamie let his head fall back, a low groan sliding out of his throat as his hands pulled Bran’s hips even harder against him, the bulge in his jeans pushing against the soft sac below Bran’s aching cock.

“Remind me,” Jamie said, his blue eyes impossibly deep as they stared into Bran’s. “To ask you to spin me jeans later.”

Bran almost asked why, then figured out the answer.So I can take them off him. The thought—and the fact that Jamie was thinking it—only stoked the fire in his blood. He cupped Jamie’s face in his hands, bringing their lips together again, but Jamie wasn’t about to let him take control. One hand stayed where it was, but the other grasped the back of Bran’s skull, holding himclose as Jamie plundered his mouth, his tongue refusing to allow Bran any control.

Bran had never been so turned on in his life.

From the feel of things, he thought that perhaps Jamie hadn’t, either.

Jamie broke the kiss, his hands gripping the back of Bran’s thighs. “Hold on,” Jamie rasped, barely giving Bran a chance to grasp his shoulders before Jamie stood, carrying him across the room, shouldering his way past the curtain that hid his bed, and half-dropping Bran on his back as he brought them both down on the mattress.

With Jamie hovering above him, Bran had room to undo Jamie’s fly, his fingers slipping the button free, then pulling down the zipper. Impatient, Jamie shoved both his jeans and briefs to the ground, then half-crawled over Bran’s body, his hips pressing Bran’s legs wider as Bran’s toes curled around the edge of the thin mattress.

Jamie’s lips were back at his throat, and Bran ran his talons down Jamie’s back and sides, causing the bigger man to shudder.

“Jamie,” he murmured.

“Yeah?” Jamie looked up at him, blue eyes dark and heated, lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

Bran felt the words catch in his throat.I need you. Please.

Jamie’s eyes went wide with something that might have been fear or wonder. “How—did you do that?” he breathed.

“Do—” Bran felt his own go just as wide, tensing with something that wasn’t lust or desire. He’d heard of this—a threadbond so close that only thoughts—not words—were needed between the two bondmates. But he hadn’t really believed it was anything more than legend.

He reached out, running the back of a finger around the edge of Jamie’s face. He didn’t know if he could do it againon command—not yet, anyway. Every story he’d ever heard involved fear, near-death, or some other situation in which emotions had pushed the impossible into possibility.

Bran swallowed. “I’ve heard tell of it,” he whispered. “After the threadbond. But I’d not thought it real.”

“You were in my head.”

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