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Page 19 of Mistletoe (Monsters of the Nexus #3)

Chapter Eighteen

Emma

The shower had indeed been alarmingly cold. As much as she enjoyed getting an eyeful of Hal and his muscular backside, she hurried with the scrubbing and rinsing. Now, she sat by the stove in nothing but a robe and brushed her hair as it dried.

“Let me.” Hal took the brush. Gently, he worked her tangled hair in sections, starting from the bottom and working his way up until it was smooth. “Your hair is lovely. You should wear it down.”

That was the second time Hal had mentioned her wearing her hair down. The nature of farm life demanded that she keep her hair up or tied back. “Is that something you’d like?”

He took a moment to consider, which she appreciated. “It was the fashion where I’m from. In some way, it could be what I’m used to. However, the color is beautiful. It shines like gold in the light.”

“I’d like to, but the goats would chew it off if I left it down,” Emma said.

“In the evenings, then, when it’s just us.”

“When it’s just us,” she agreed.

When he finished, Emma returned the gesture, brushing out and braiding his hair. She changed the dressing on his arm as it got wet from the shower.

Hal pulled her into his lap. He wore nothing but a towel, and suddenly, that was too much.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she said. “You’ll undo the stitches.”

“You stood up to your family for me.”

“Of course I did.”

“There’s no ‘of course,’” he said. He stroked her face, his fingers tracing the shape of her lips and her chin. “Plenty of people would have washed their hands of me.”

“Well, I can’t say I think too much of those people.”

He kissed her, starting slow and increasing in hunger. Soon, his tusks pressed against her lips, demanding more. He made his way along her jaw and down the column of her throat.

He pushed the robe down, exposing her shoulders. Before long, the robe fell to the floor.

Emma ran her hands down his back, enjoying the feel of his strength. She reached his waist and that towel. “I like where this is going,” she said, “but you’ll hurt yourself.”

“It’s only my arm. The rest of me is fine.”

“I don’t want you to rip out your stitches.”

“Then use me.”

“What?” Breath caught in her throat.

“Take what you want from me. I’ll sit here like a good boy and not touch you.”

Emma considered the logistics. “You can touch me. I want you to touch me, but don’t use that arm.”

She reached down, removing the towel and admiring the prize underneath.

Two prizes.

She stroked his member, wrapping her hand around his girth. Her fingers barely met.

Hal bit his lower lip, the tusks pulling on his mouth.

“Tell me you can do that,” she said, running her hand up his length.

“I can.” His voice was hoarse and needy, so needy.

“My good boy,” she said, repeating his words. She gave him a gentle squeeze, eliciting a moan. He was gorgeous when he was like this, needy and desperate.

She shifted on his lap, putting her back to him. His equipment, both sets, pressed against her. She was feeling needy and desperate herself. Everywhere they touched, she tingled.

She lifted herself just enough to get his dick underneath her. She felt him, his thorn and his dick. She rocked forward, sliding against him.

His hand—the one he was allowed to use—rested on her stomach. His olive fingers dug into her stomach. She covered his hand with her own. Her other hand went back, reaching for the back of his head, and pulled him down. His lips went to the curve of her neck, those wonderful tusks scraping as his tongue licked.

“You’re so good,” she said, her voice breathy. She rocked harder, faster. Sensation built in her, starting as a smolder before roaring into a fire. His hand went to her sensitive bud, rubbing as she rode him.

Fire crackled in the stove, its light dancing and shifting across the floor.

She grabbed his braid, pulling hard as her back arched and she cried out.

“Can you take me?” he whispered in her ear.

Emma bit her lower lip. She honestly didn’t know if she could, but she wanted it. How she wanted it.

“I can,” she said. “Let me. I want you in me.”

He groaned, nipping at her ear.

She rose up and slowly, very slowly, lowered herself onto him. There was resistance, pressure building up against her entrance, as he pushed in. Gradually, she worked herself down, stretching around him. She burned exquisitely, aching with the need to have him deeper, to fill her up completely.

He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck. The gentle nibbles stop, replaced by more forceful bites. Sharp teeth and tusks pressed down, nearly breaking the skin.

She rocked back and forth, driving him deeper into her. She cupped her breasts, riding him. “You’re so good,” she moaned.

In a flash, they were on the floor. On all fours, she braced herself. Both his hands gripped her hips, pressing hard enough to bruise. She wanted the bruises. She wanted all of him, the raw strength, the rough appearance, and the thoughtful soul. All of him, as he was.

He pumped into her, driving deeper. An unexpected sensation bumped into her back entrance.

His thorn.

She came quickly, overwhelmed by the new feeling. No one had ever—not there. The new sensation made her shake and cry out in pleasure. She collapsed to her elbows, face pressed to the floor.

Hal’s pace grew erratic. She felt him swell and shudder. He fell forward, covering her. His strokes slowed, growing measured.

“You feel so…” he managed to say before groaning again. His cock jerked and twitched again. This time, she felt his seed leak out of her.

“I love you,” she whispered. She wanted to lift her face for a kiss, but the size difference would not allow it. She settled by kissing his arm.

His strokes slowed but did not stop. “I failed. You were meant to use me, but I could not control myself.”

“A high compliment. Are you?—”

His hips bucked into her, making her groan. He wasn’t done yet. Neither was she.

“On your back,” she said.

He rolled over, and they switched positions. She straddled him, taking him as deeply as he would go. His thorn hit her clit perfectly while he stretched her to capacity. With a hand planted on his chest, she rocked forward. It wouldn’t take long to find her release.

Hal watched her ride him, awe in his eyes. He had beautiful, expressive eyes. She didn’t know how she ever thought he was hideous. His good soul shone through.

Pleasure coiled in her, turning tighter and tighter until she could only cry it out. Her thighs burned and trembled.

“Yes, Hal. Yes, my good man,” she chanted, her voice breathy. Her heart pounded. She ached and burned.

He twisted his fingers into her hair, tugging lightly. “My love.”

Bliss crested, sweeping over her with fury. She shuddered, unable to catch her breath. Her senses were overwhelmed. To move even a fraction would start it all over again.

She fell forward, collapsing on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, murmuring sweet words. His heart beat steady and true.

“You’re mine,” she said.

“I’m yours,” he agreed.

“I won’t let you go.”

“You won’t be able to get rid of me. I traveled across the stars to find you. I will always be yours.”

A greedy contentment settled over her at his words.

Her good man.

Hal

Scratching at the door woke Hal. The cat demanded entrance. The moment Hal opened the door, she trotted to the bed.

“She likes you. She doesn’t like anyone,” Emma said, her voice groggy.

The cat, Clover, climbed immediately onto Hal’s pillow. He gently lifted the cat, setting her on Emma, while he reclaimed his spot. Soon, the cat was on him, kneading him with her paws.

“I like her too,” he said. There had been feral cats in the neighborhood he grew up in; they roamed the streets and kept the mouse population under control. He loved those half-wild cats, petting them when they allowed, but he never had the money to properly care for a pet.

They lay in his bed, barely large enough for him, let alone both of them. Legs tangled together under the blankets. Her head rested on his chest, her blonde hair spilling across him like sunshine. After years in the dark, he had his very own sunshine.

It was perfect.

“Tell me again,” he said.

“You’re my friend,” Emma recited, her fingers interlaced with his own. “You’re my monster. You’re mine.”

“Yours.”

Someone to claim him.

Somewhere to belong.

Perfect.