Page 79 of Jailer to the Death God
What does hewant?
“How now, wife?” His voice echoes through the hall. “You would flee from your husband? Does the doe flee from the stag?”
“I don’t want to hear about any of it!” I throw the words over my shoulder in a breathless screech. “I don’t want to know what you did with her!”
“It took me some time to find you, little Queen. I did not expect you to wander so deep into the bowels of this place.”
A gust of wind, a ruffle of feathers, and then his voice comes from somewhere far above me, among the clustered shadows cloaking the tops of the pillars.
“What do you want?” I shout. “Can’t we return to the room like reasonable people and go to sleep? Why must you spell my guards and chase me around?”
“You ran. I pursued.” His deep voice is followed by another burst of air, a flap of wings. He drops lightly to the floor directly in front of me and vanishes the wings.
I bolt away, fleeing among the pillars, but his shadows snake around my ankles and I fall on my stomach. I twist, flipping over to my back, trying to pry the shadows off my ankles, but Arawn hauls me in, hand over hand, dragging me along on my butt until I reach him.
He seizes my shoulders, lifts me up, and sets me against a pillar. The gold scarf he gave me has fallen off somewhere, and I can feel the heat of his bare skin through the plunging V of my scanty gown. It’s all I can do not to lean into his warmth.
I scrunch up my shoulders, turning my face away from him.
“Don’t tell me about it,” I whisper. “Please. I can’t bear it.”
“I haven’t come totalkto you, little Queen.” He takes my throat, right under my jaw, and forces my face toward him. His other hand runs along my ribs, sweeping over my breast, boldly peeling back the lacy dress until his hot palm contacts my bare flesh, my beaded nipple.
His mouth descends on mine, a burning onslaught against my lips, an invasion of liquid fire as his tongue plunges in.
Tears are seeping from my eyes, but I can’t help kissing him back.
He breaks the kiss. He’s breathing hard through his teeth, his hips pressed tight to my lower belly, the thick prominence all too tangible beneath his pants.
How could he want me so soon afterher? Unless…
“I couldn’t do it,” he whispers.
The tiny spark in my soul quietly surges into a flame, bright and eternal.
A chain snaps between us. A bond that held both of us back, broken by those words.
A moment, crystallized.
And then he’s raking my dress down my body until it falls and pools around my feet. I’m bare beneath it—nude, as the temple’s bridal customs dictate. Arawn’s hands map my skin greedily, sweeping over every part of me until I’m caught up in the storm of him, whirled into delirium by his ravenous fingers and his hot mouth.
My own fingers find the band of his pants, loose already, hanging temptingly low. He helps me push them down, kicks them aside and lifts me, one huge hand cupping my ass cheek, the other gripping his cock, aiming it toward my center. I hook one leg over his hip and he presses me against the pillar for leverage—slick, hot flesh and urgent fingers and panting breaths—and then he’s inside me.
I exhale sharp relief.
He utters a ferocious groan.
In, in, in he thrusts, while I clasp his massive shoulders like I dreamed of doing that night in Aine’s shrine. The angle is marvelously right—it’s just enough pressure on my clit each time he slams home. In, in, in and I’m hitching broken breaths, my nails digging into his back.
His pace increases, and in the frenzied speed I sense the desperate confusion of the emotions coursing through him. This is a man—a god—who feels deeply for me, and is wretchedly distressed by it. I cup my hands around the back of his neck, and I moan softly into his ear while he fucks me. His hair smells like woodsmoke and wine, like rich, heavy cologne, and likehim, sage and cedar and bones coated with winter frost.
My clit pulses, the pleasure intensifying, tightening into a bright, quivering bead—and I burst, bliss cascading through my lower body, flooding my mind. I press my lips to the side of Arawn’s neck and whimper my delight against his warm skin.
He thrusts up, into me, a compulsive surge as his body tightens. He comes hard, flexing inside me, over and over, and the sounds he makes are almost sobs, deep and true, a confession he can’t yet put into words.
34
She feels right.
