Page 118 of Threadbound

Please. More.

Jamie picked up the pace, no longer caring that the voice he heard in his head wasn’t entirely his own, driving harder and faster into the oceanic depths of Bran’s body. The fae let his headfall back, a flush visible across the pale parts of his chest and throat. Talons scraped along Jamie’s hips and back from Bran’s hands and feet, their carefully buffed points not sharp enough to draw blood—just enough to send shudders rippling through Jamie’s body.

Every muscle Jamie had was tensed, his balls ached with the effort of holding back his orgasm, wanting—noneeding—Bran to fall over the edge with him. Need surged through him, stronger than Jamie had ever felt before, pushing him to drive into Bran’s body even harder—the whimpers and moans falling from Bran’s lips and the pull of talons on his hip bones told Jamie that Bran wanted this as much as he did.Neededit as much as he did.

Pleasure so intense it was painful ripped through Jamie’s body, and he drove himself deeply into Bran, who clung to him as he cried out, spasms wringing his orgasm from him as Bran gasped, his body responding to Jamie’s in a second wave as Jamie’s arms gave out and he collapsed onto the smaller fae.

Arms and legs wrapped around him as Jamie sucked in air warmed by Bran’s skin, tingles shivering across his skin as sweat dried and the fae ran gentle fingers through his hair, talons just brushing against Jamie’s scalp.

“Bran?” Jamie rasped, his cheek resting on the fae’s collar bone.

“Aye?” He sounded similarly breathless, the syllable almost lazy.

“Are you—” Jamie swallowed. “Are you okay?”

A soft chuckle vibrated against Jamie’s chest. “Aye.” Fingers continued stroking through his hair. “Are you?”

Jamie turned his head to place a kiss to the skin of Bran’s throat. “Yeah. God. Yes.” He lay there, breathing in Bran, wanting to preserve the perfect feeling of lying in Bran’s arms. The feeling that he belonged—here, now, to Bran.

Jamie had turnedthe oven on to reheat their dinner—neither of them had gotten terribly far into the fish and chips, and then they’d gotten… distracted. And while he’d eaten cold fish and chips more than once in his life, he preferred them hot and assumed that Bran probably would, too.

The fae was in the shower—Jamie had gone first, mostly because he’d grown restless, while Bran had seemed content to stay in Jamie’s bed, his limbs splayed out and loose. Jamie had pulled the extra blanket from the end of the bed to cover him—it was washable, and when Bran had gotten up and gone into the shower, Jamie had run the blanket and a few other items of dirty clothing down to the basement and put them into the washer.

Then Jamie had turned on the oven and arranged their food on baking sheets to reheat while trying to wrap his brain around what had just happened.

Bran had come back to Dunehame, bringing money and clothes and stopping to buy them fish and chips. On one hand, it was a form of repayment—a meal to compensate for the cooking Jamie had done when Bran was living with him. Money to pay for food and go toward rent. But it also wasn’t a one-for-one exchange, and Bran had said it wasn’t because he needed to, but because hewantedto. That it was up to Jamie if he wanted to take it as repayment or a gift.

If he were being honest with himself, Jamie didn’t want to take it as either. He wanted it tomeansomething. To be more than just an exchange bound by the rules of etiquette or hospitality. But Jamie also knew that the practice of signifying emotions with gifts or food was a human trait, one that Bran probably didn’t understand and certainly didn’t practice.

But he could still practically feel Bran’s hands on his skin, the sensation of fingers running through his hair, the grip of talons on his hip bones… And it made him want not just Bran’s body,but his heart, even though that was far more than Bran had come to offer him. It made his own heart ache.

Jamie wasn’t upset, exactly, just… confused. And a little worried that what had happened after their threadbinding would happen again—that they would end up snapping at each other, resenting each other. He didn’t want that. He wanted…

Jamie sighed, leaning against the counter and wishing he had whisky or beer or wine somewhere in the apartment. He wanted something to steady his nerves, force himself to relax. But he’d already nearly ruined their relationship once. He didn’t want to do it again.

He jumped at the feeling of hands sliding around his waist.

“Dinna worry,” Bran murmured into his spine, the fae wrapping himself around Jamie’s larger body, his cheek resting against Jamie’s back.

Jamie didn’t ask how Bran knew he was fretting. Instead he turned, leaning his back against the counter and tucking Bran under one arm. “I’m not worried,” he said out loud.

“You are,” the fae replied softly, one long-fingered hand coming to rest over Jamie’s heart. “I can feel it.”

Jamie frowned. “Feel it?” he repeated.

“Aye.” The hand pressed against his chest, gently. “Close your eyes.”

Not understanding, Jamie did as he asked.

“Breathe,” the fae murmured, and Jamie drew in a long breath. As he exhaled, Bran moved his hand, taking one of Jamie’s and spreading it against his own chest, the faint flutter of his heart tickling Jamie’s palm as Bran held his hand there. He inhaled again, and a strange bloom of warmth spread in his chest. Calm. Contentment.

Jamie’s blue eyes flew open, and he stared down at Bran. “Wha-what did you do?” he whispered.

Green eyes searched his, a small furrow between them over the bridge of Bran’s nose. “I dinnadoanything,” the fae answered. “You can feel what I feel through the threadbond.”

“But—”

Bran’s lips quirked. “It would be more accurate to say Istoppeddoing something,” he said softly.

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