Page 190 of Lana Pecherczyk
It only hurt more.
One hand slid from her hip to dip between her folds alongside his tongue. She gasped at the stretch, moaned as he pushed another finger inside. The sensation was exquisite, bringing a fresh flood of arousal.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she rasped.
His response was to curl his fingers inside her, finding that spot that made her vision fragment. His tongue flattened against her clit, giving her the perfect pressure until her body seized. Her orgasm tore through her body, from her lungs, a scream that reverberated through their private space and beyond.
She ground against his face, riding out her pleasure. But when the world finally solidified around her, she shoved weakly against his shoulders, chest heaving. “Get. Off.”
He released her instantly, pulling back into the waist-deep water. His chest expanded with each harsh breath, wings held rigid for balance. He wiped his glistening mouth with the back of his hand, belligerent eyes still locked on her.
They stared at each other. Hating each other because they were too broken to be mended. Still wanting each other, even if pieces of their hearts were missing.
Simultaneously, they surged forward, meeting in the middle. Their mouths clashed—desperate, bruising, animal. Their tongues tangled in a frantic battle, a kiss of iron and salt and the savage truth of their obsessive connection.
River fumbled with his wet breeches. Blake helped him, shoving down leather to free the full length of his shaft, hard again. Already. This time, he didn’t leave her bare skin exposed to the wall. His wings curled around her, shielding her from the icy surface. He notched his cock at her entrance and thrust in. Deep. She cried out at the sudden breach, and he swallowed her sound. He kissed and fucked her with intense, irrefutable drives against his wings, against the wall. His scent, his warmth, his heart pounding against hers.
“Only this,” he snarled hotly against her mouth. Thrust. “Only me.”Thrust. “You.” Each drive pushed her higher, took him deeper. “I’m yours, Blake.” His voice broke on her name as he buried himself to the hilt and held, trembling against her. “What else could this mean?”
In that fractured moment, his walls crumbled. Her body answered what her heart understood. She locked her ankles at the small of his back, pulling him impossibly deeper.
She wanted to hate him for his silence, for not saying the words, but she needed him too much. Maybe this was River giving the only way he knew how.
Who was she to ask for more?
Chapter
Fifty-Nine
Aquarter turn after midnight, River soared toward the Shadow Market, savoring the bite of cold air against his newly feathered wings. Each powerful beat sent ripples of contentment down his spine—a sensation he’d nearly forgotten.
A path between towering conifers appeared below, worn smooth by countless footsteps and wagon wheels. He descended, tucking his wings an instant before his boots hit the ground.
“You’re late.” Ash emerged from the shadows, wings ruffling as he tugged his high collar.
“No need to get your windways in a twist.” River’s eyes crinkled. “What the fuck are you wearing? I said dress inconspicuously, not in a conspicuous dress.”
Since Guardian leather would scream their presence at a black market peddling forbidden wares, they had to disguise themselves. River wore dark woolen trousers, an embroidered tunic, and a hooded coat concealing thePeacemakeron his belt.
Ash, however, wore ceremonial pleated windways cut for male crows attending their mating ceremony. The hem flared wide enough to mimic a female’s skirt. A black band cinched around his flat stomach. Glossy crow feathers adorned theshoulders of his cropped, patterned jacket. At least the fluffy nonsense hid his power-enhancing neck tattoos, considering his hair had been swept back into a knotted bun.
“You better have daggers hidden in those pleats.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Ash’s jaw tightened.
“I do.” River paused. “Seriously.”
“You said to look like the opposite of me.”
“So you raided the Donna’s ancestral closet?”
“I’ll raid your face in a minute.”
“Moody much?”
“It’s Tommas’s,” Ash grunted, took a breath, then brushed the feathers at his shoulders. “A family heirloom or something.”
“I’m suddenly very grateful the Well-blessed bond means I don’t need a mating ceremony.”
