Page 64 of Rogue's Possession (Covenant of Thorns 2)

“Stay with me, lovely Gwynn. Tonight is for indulgence. Save your grief for tomorrow.”

He was right. Carpe diem and all that. With determination, I marched into the sitting room, then returned with our glasses. They’d helpfully refilled themselves—a trick I hadn’t realized the magic cocktail cart could do. This place would be a fantasyland for some.

Rogue watched me with glittering interest. I took my time, sipping the excellent brandy and filling my eyes with him. His uncannily long body looked spectacular this way, his wiry muscles tight under that velvety skin. The black pattern on the left side of his face repeated all down that side of his body, thorny loops and swirls over his chest, belly, groin and thigh.

No hair dusted his chest or groin. His cock, long in proportion to the rest of him, but not freakishly so, lay upthrust on his lean belly, heavy scrotum beneath. I’d read that giving head to guys who waxed was nicer. My chance to find out, should I wish.

He had nipples, vestigial, as a human male would have. I stroked a curious hand over the unblemished surface of his abdomen, careful not to brush the weeping head of his cock.

“How can you not have a belly button? Did you not grow in your mother’s womb?”

He sighed, gazing steadfastly at the ceiling. “You must be the only creature ever who would be examining me like a specimen instead of having your way with me.”

“Sorry—package deal. You’re the one who made me your consort.” I shook my head so the earrings swung, sending pleasant shivers down my spine. “Besides, you agreed I could do whatever I liked.”

“I had imagined something more salacious.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Such as?”

“Such as the brush of your lips on my skin. Taste me, Gwynn. Please.” He undulated a little in his bonds, enticingly.

Leaning over, I kissed the hollow under his collarbone. He tasted as hot and sweet as the sensual haze filling the air. “Like this?”

“Ah, yes,” he breathed, a thirsty man tasting a drop of water. “More.”

“Maybe I should just torment you—let you lie here hoping I’ll touch you.”

His feverish gaze held mine. “You could, my cruel mistress. I’m at your mercy.”

Though I knew it for just another game, something about this freed me from worry. I trusted that he would keep to the bargain and stay bound and let me do as I liked. For now, I thought I wanted more brandy.

Upending the snifter, I poured a trail over his skin, from throat to groin, not caring that rivulets ran over his sides to the glorious bronze coverlet below. He hissed in pleasure, then groaned aloud when I followed the trail with my tongue.

Rogue tipped his chin back, exposing his throat and allowing me to kiss and nibble all those delightful lines and hollows. I licked down his chest, splaying my hands over his warm skin, feeling like I could consume him. The cat deep inside purred in feral agreement and for once I didn’t mind feeling her there, prowling in my heart.

Hunger rose in me, liquid and rapacious. I feasted on the feel of Rogue’s ethereal skin, his body moving under my touch. It seemed he loved everything I tried, humming and groaning in masculine satisfaction, his breathing deep and uneven. His thoughts swirled up, teasing mine, dark caresses of sensual emotion, pricking me here, enticing me further there, exciting me to higher levels. Urging me on.

I needed no urging. With hands and mouth, I draped myself over him, soaking up the wild magic that was as much part of him as his bones and sinews. It filled me, winding with my own magic and fizzing together, black and gold bubbles sizzling against my skin from the inside with nearly unbearable pressure.

When I pressed my mouth to the pulse where his femoral artery should be, that waltz-beat throbbed strong and true. Only this orchestra had picked up the pace, the cellos and bass thrumming with driving urgency, dark notes of utter abandon. I bit him there and he convulsed, calling my name and crying out for more.

Crazed, I gave him more, took more. I tasted every inch of him, from the fragile blue-veined skin over his long-boned feet to the graceful points of his hip bones to the shadowed hollows of his collarbone to the winking horseshoe that marked him as mine. I took it in my teeth, sucking on his ear and relishing the way it made him tremble while he panted, now murmuring my name, then imploring me with wordless entreaties.

I straddled him on all fours, as he’d done me. He gazed at me in a delirium of sensuous pleasure, and power zinged through me to know I’d brought him to this extreme.

“What do you want?” I asked him softly, taunting. We both knew I would decide whether to give it to him. He licked his dry lips, blue eyes nearly black with the passion raging through him. I snagged the little vial of green ambrosia, held it to his mouth and he drank greedily. “Three things, my gorgeous Rogue. Ask for them and maybe I’ll give them to you.”

His face set into rigid lines, his fingers flexing. For a moment I thought he might sever the bonds that held him, but he didn’t. After all, he’d promised.

“Why should I ask with no hope of receiving, my cruel mistress?”

“What can you hope to gain, if you do not ask for it?”

He bared his teeth at me. “I take. I do not ask.”

I toyed with one of his nipples and he groaned, dropping his head back on the pillow. “You do not appear to be in a position to take just now, my Lord Rogue. Perhaps if you beg nicely for your three things, I might give you one.”

He laughed. “Never let it be said that you are not tenacious. I’ll name three—and notthosethree—and you will give me two.”

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