Page 91 of Tempting the Fae Lord
“Gale, out here?” Scandalized, but he holds my waist anyway. “Anyone could see.”
I make a show of glancing both directions, exposing the column of my throat to his hungry gaze as blatantly as possible. “There’s no one around.”
“They could be peeping out of their windows, you vixen. Come.”
I lick my lips. “I’d like to.”
He gives my mouth a lingering glance and yanks me against him. To my surprise, the pleasant tingle of his magic grips us. The pressure changes. There’s a moment of weightlessness, a pull forward. Then we collapse together in our bed at our borrowed cottage.
“A portal? I thought they took a lot of energy.”
“They do,” says Ezra from where he’s landed atop me. “And I generally reserve them for only the most important of matters.”
“So… why then?”
He presses his palm over my cock through my cotton breeches. “This is an extremely important matter. The most important. In fact, I must endeavor to take care of it immediately.”
“Finally. Your priorities are in order. Endeavor away.” I won’t pretend I didn’t get exactly what I wanted. Grinning, I wriggle out of my clothes faster than lightning from sky to ground. My cock is already hard against my belly. My fangs ache. I thirst.
All of me is eager for him, craving his touch, which he gives. Cool fingers swipe long lines down my chest, my side, my hips, and my thighs.
I shiver, but not from cold.
From want of him.
“Undress for me, please.” I bite my lower lip. “I would like to see you bare.”
He presses a kiss to my jaw and obeys, stripping off light summer layers to reveal the lovely expanse of smoothskin beneath. His cock is stiff and flush with blood, dangling alluringly, begging to be touched.
I dig my fingers into his wind-tousled hair and tug him down.
The salty scent of his skin lures me in. A crimson torrent lies beneath the delicate flesh. Mine for the taking. I bite.
Ezra’s breath hitches. He moans out a ragged sigh of pleasure. He delights in feeding me almost as much as I enjoy drinking from him.
His blood holds power, energy, comfort, and best of all—lust.
I writhe under him. It feels incredible, cool flesh on cool flesh, his weight pinning me to the bed. No matter how often we do this—and we partake very often—I’ll never tire of him. His hands, his kisses, his breathy whimpers. Give me more.
“Turn over,” he says, voice so low it comes out as a growl. “Let me taste you.”
I happily oblige, and no sooner has my chest hit the mattress than he licks a cool, wet stripe down my spine. The covers bunch in my clenched fists.
“Lovely,” he murmurs between kisses and bites, swatting my bum to hear me yipe. Not because it hurts, it doesn’t, but because he always manages to surprise me. I never know when it’s coming.
Ezra takes his time preparing me, a thorough effort with fingers and mouth and oil until I’m a trembling, babbling mess, spread open and eager. I’d blush, but I’m shameless like this, lost in my need.
And he likes me this way.
So every little noise in my throat? I let it out. I moan for him, cry out, whimper. If he goes on much longer, I’ll beg.
He tugs me to my knees, my hips high, and doubles his efforts.
“Please.” My thighs quake.
“Please what, my love?”
“Fill me, please, Ezra. I need you.”
