Page 38

Dorian is relentless, seeking, his tongue hot and persistent against me as he chases my orgasm. I wind tighter and tighter around him, burying my fingers in his hair and nearly losing my mind at the gentle up-and-down, up-and-down of his chin, how he swirls his tongue, how he works over me like he doesn’t want to miss a single millimeter of my skin.

When I orgasm, my legs lock in a vice grip around him, but he never stops, never relents, keeping the same pace and murmuring encouragements to me as he goes.

“Dorian,” I breathe, as I come down from the high, body feeling loose and limber, like Jell-O. “Fuck, Dorian.”

“I want to fuck you, Kira,” he says, trailing kisses over my hips, squeezing my love handles, running his hands over the curve of my belly and thighs like a man praying to his gods. “Can I fuck you?”

I’ve no more than nodded weakly, hair in my face, when Dorian’s hands anchor on my hips, and he’s turning me over.

“Don’t rest on your hands,” he says, curving over me, stacking pillows under my chest. My dress is still on, the skirt bunched ridiculously around my hips, but for some reason, that just makes the whole thing hotter, his hands on me, brushing against the fabric.

I could cry from the tenderness, but I’m too shocked from the feeling of him pushing into me from behind, sliding in fully in one fell swoop, his hips nestled against mine, the pressure exquisite, bursting behind my eyes like fireworks so quickly that I let out a sound of pleasure.

“Do you like that?” Dorian asks, curving his chest over my back so his mouth is against my ear. It makes goosebumps run the length of my spine, every nerve in my body set alight, and it multiplies the sensation of his cock inside me.

He draws out, pushes in again, adjusts to find a better angle. Each thrust sends me higher and higher, the sounds come out of me, out of my control, wild and breathless. I’ve only had sex twice—or three times now, if we’re counting what he just did with his mouth—and this is, by far, my absolute favorite.

“Fuck,” I hiss, almost laughing at myself for the originality, but I can’t—can’t think of anything but the blinding pleasure, his grunting in my ear. I don’t know what feels better, the pressure inside me, or the knowledge that it’s my body doing this for Dorian, my hips his fingers are digging into, my hair he winds around his palm, my name he’s whispering as he thrusts.

“Such a good girl, Kira,” he rasps, and I come apart on him, crying out into the pillow, body going limp as he swells inside me, his knot forming and pushing out, out, stretching me to the delicious point of pain.

I let all the sounds out into the pillow as he breathes against me, kisses my back, tells me how good I feel. How I’m perfect, made just for him, so perfect.

It’s bliss. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

After all this time, all this wanting, feeling like my mate was always just out my reach, here he is. Pulling out of me, wiping me up, tenderly folding me against his chest.

Kissing my forehead, whispering, just before we both drift off, “I will never lose sight of you again.”

***

The first time I wake up, it’s with a large, heavy arm thrown over my torso, anchoring me to the bed. I sigh and snuggle into it, loving the way Dorian pulls me against him, making our bodies flush together, even in his sleep.

Hours later, I wake up again, and this time he’s gone, the bed still warm from where his body was. I stretch and sit up, looking out the window and to the view, breathing in the scenery for a moment before I swing my legs out of the bed and walk gingerly on my burned feet to the door.

The healers were able to work over me, easing the dry pain in my lungs and fixing the skin on my feet, leaving them tender but not painful. Now, I make my way down the steps carefully, holding onto the railing and turning the corner to find Dorian in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” I ask, raising an eyebrow when I see him at the stove. He jumps, though he obviously would have heard me, and spins around, giving me a sheepish grin.

“Look,” he says, gesturing to the pan, where a perfectly golden pancake sits. “Didn’t burn it this time.”

I smile and take a seat at the counter, shifting my weight and getting comfortable. Everything feels tender and new after last night.

“Emin called me this morning,” Dorian says, crossing over to me, pan in his left hand as he transfers the pancakes to the plate with his right. I watch as he sets a pad of butter on it, sprinkles it with powdered sugar, then drizzles it with maple syrup.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, pulling my eyes from his garnishing and up to his face.

“Everything is great,” he says, “you were right about the Amanzite being in that tree house. Apparently, your father had no idea.”

I bite my tongue, then ask, “Do you believe that?”

Dorian is quiet for a long minute, then he says, “I think so. Emin said your father has really been going through it. The realization that his wife is a traitor.”

When I say nothing, Dorian winces, “Sorry, love.”

The pet name makes my body flush with warmth, and I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. I just—I guess even after everything, I never thought she’d be capable of that. Of hurting me like that.”

“We’ll find her,” Dorian says, voice low, eyes dark and serious when they meet mine. “We’re not leaving this alone—Jerrod will regret the day he decided to fuck with our pack. And your mother is likely hiding in their territory—we’ll find her, too, make her pay for ever trying to hurt you.”

Tears are slipping from my eyes. I know this is going to take me a long time to get through, but I have plenty of experience with working through my past. I’ll get through it.

Especially now that I have my brother back. I rest my hand on my belly, smile up at Dorian. I have the chance now to build my own family, to be the mom for this baby that I wish I had for myself.

As if he can read my thoughts, Dorian circles the counter, placing the plate of pancakes in front of me and kissing my temple.

“You’re going to make an amazing mother,” he whispers, resting his forehead against the side of my head, sucking in a deep breath.

I smile at him, pick up the fork, and cut away a piece of the pancake. If I’m honest, it looks fantastic, perfectly golden and delicious. But when I put the bite in my mouth, I immediately choke, coughing it into a napkin and reaching for the glass of orange juice.

“Shit, what’s wrong?” Dorian asks, and I hold the fork out to him, laughing.

When he takes a bite, his reaction is the same as mine.

“Oh, gods,” he says, running his hand down his tongue and reaching for my orange juice, “oh, what happened—”

“Did you read the labels?” I’m standing, turning around the clear plastic containers until I find one with a one-half measuring cup still inside. Pinching a bit between my fingers, I bring it to my lips, tasting. “Salt—Dorian, did you add salt instead of sugar?”

“That’s salt ?” he coughs again, taking a sip of orange juice. I’m laughing so hard tears drip down my face, and I step toward him, hooking my arms around his waist.

His eyes go soft, and he leans down, touching his lips to mine gently. When he pulls back, I brush my nose against his.

“I love you,” he says, like the words are as easy as breathing to him.

“I love you, too,” I say, popping up on my tiptoes for one more kiss. “But, can we make a deal?”

His eyes shine. “Anything.”

“Why don’t you leave the cooking to me?”

I hardly realize what’s happening before he has me over his shoulder, and I’m staring at the floor.

“ What are you doing?” I laugh, heat already flooding my core as he carries me toward the stairs.

He slaps my ass, his laugh vibrating through my body.

“You know,” he says, grinning at me as he lays me back on the bed, his eyes raking me up and down, pancakes completely forgotten in the kitchen. “Behavioral conditioning.”