Page 148 of Lana Pecherczyk

A breathy laugh escaped him. “Need to be more specific, Sparkles.”

But she couldn’t talk. His fingers were too adept, sliding through her pussy lips, stroking her inside, gliding around outside, and finding all the sensitive spots.

The musty cave air sweetened with their rising desire. She found herself rocking against him, eagerly chasing the tightening of pleasure from every angle.

“Don’t stop,” he growled. “My wings.”

Her hands had stilled. He nipped her jaw, jolting her back to work. When her touch swept outward from his spine, along the lengths he usually kept folded close, he kissed the area he’d bitten on her jaw. Apologizing, she realized. A splash of his shame came through their bond. He felt bad for asking her to touch him this way. He shouldn’t feel bad for wanting to feel loved. She found a bare patch on his wing and traced circles against the velvet-soft skin.

“Even here,” she marveled, “you feel like silk.”

He groaned, hips jerking upward.

“Shit,” he mumbled. “Pants still on.”

He quickly freed himself from his leather breeches. She rose on her knees when he fumbled again between her thighs, this time, clumsy and trembling with his own arousal. Both panting hard, both eager to feel more, she helped part the windways’ pleats, exposing herself while he guided the blunt head of his cock to her slick entrance.

“Yes.” She tried to sink down on it, to feel complete again, but he grumbled and lifted her, grinning against her lips, playing with her, delaying their gratification.

“You tease,” she muttered.

“Always.” His brows flicked together. “But I need to see you naked first. Stay on your knees.”

He ripped away her pants completely, tossing them aside. Her shirt came off next, leaving her bare. “Fuck, Sparkles. You look so good like this, spread and ready to take me.”

He splayed his fingers, spreading her pussy lips while his other hand rubbed the blunt head of his cock against her slickness. He circled her clit, and had her feeling so damn aroused she couldn’t see straight. Only when he had her a whimpering mess did he notch at her entrance and let her sink. Their joining transcended physical connection—she felt it in the charged air, in his quivering muscles, his shallow breaths, his fingers digging into her hips, voice rough as he said, “Ride me.” More breathlessly. “I love watching your tight little pussy take me.”

“But your wings.”

“Forget them for now.” He leaned back on his palms, eyelids heavy, staring where they joined. “Make yourself come on my cock.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d handed her the reins. Sex with him would never be a one-way street. Never be boring.Her palms flattened against his flexed abdomen, and she gave herself over to the feel of him inside her, stretching her, emptying her, and then filling her. She thrust and undulated, rocked and ground. She tested every movement she’d never had the opportunity to explore. And when she found the sweet spot, good god, did she ride it out. Pleasure coiled hot and tight. She whimpered and grunted in unflattering ways. Her heavy breasts bounced and jiggled. Her thighs burned and trembled. But he lapped it up. He growled words of encouragement, commending her for looking so good while she used him.

And when she couldn’t support herself any longer, he lurched forward and helped her with guiding hands on her hips and more hot words in her ear.

She felt beautiful. Desired. Accepted. Their emotions tangled until she couldn’t distinguish his from hers. Want. Need. Understanding. They merged into a single truth. This. This felt like home. She cried out when her climax hit, and her hands slapped over the ridges of his wings for balance. The building pressure released in a wave of bone-tensing, nerve-searing sensation. Her grip on his wings tightened. She might have bitten him somewhere—she wasn’t sure, but whatever she did triggered his release.

With a long, drawn-out groan, he held her pinned until every last drop spilled inside her. And then he held them together, basking in the moment. They were two sweaty, dirty, half-naked hot messes surrounded by a trove of tragedy.

But they noticed none of it.

Not while wrapped in each other’s arms.

Chapter

Forty-Six

River lost track of time with his mate nestled against him, tucked into his side. His wings cushioned them both from the cold, gritty floor. Sleep claimed them both, but now reality demanded attention. Or rather, demanding his. Blake, being her beautiful self, simply gave whatever he needed. Her intuition about him was keen as ever.

Her youth struck him anew. Where his edges had grown jagged, she remained resilient and optimistic, open to new experiences and ideas, and even to love in the face of her recent heartache. Truth had rung in every syllable when she’d whispered those three words. His feelings ran just as deep, just as intense. He’d never felt this way, which could only mean one thing. He loved her too.

But any time he thought he could confess his feelings, his throat closed up. He kept thinking about how they’d only known each other for days. Their love was fragile, new, and precious like Blake’s eucalyptus sapling. What Cloud and Rory had shared was an ancient oak with roots that stretched beyond comprehension. Look how that ended.

His chest tightened.

Anything was possible, including having their hearts shattered and their world destroyed. Maybe that’s why he hoarded those words, clutching them like a shiny object used to ward off circling crows and bad luck.

River’s gaze drifted across the ceiling. For all of Cloud’s darkness, he’d surrounded himself with beauty. Glowworms dotted the rocky backdrop like a constellation of scattered stars.