Page 67 of Unfettered

With a deep groan, Flyn begins to move. His hips roll and he rides me. I watch him in reverence. This man is my religion. He is everything that I worship.

His pleasure builds and builds. It is glorious to see. His cheeks are rosy. His jaw loose. His lips puffy and wet.

His muscles are trembling. His thighs quaking. He moans, and slows his pace. He sucks in a breath and speeds up, bouncing away on me.

He repeats the cycle over and over again.

I drink it all in. I commit every tiny detail to memory. I am keeping this forever.

He whines.

Oh shit. I’m an idiot. Every time he gets close to orgasm, his thighs start trembling so much that he can’t keep up the pace he needs.

Euphoria rushes through me. For the first time in my life, I’m so fucking happy that I have inhuman strength.

With a deep and feral cry, I grab his hips. I flip us over so he is on his back on the bed and I’m above him, still buried deep in his ass. One hand goes up to his hair and pulls it. I lean down to his ear.

“You are a very naughty nurse,” I growl.

Flyn cries out. A wordless sound of helpless lust. He clenches around me. I snap my hips and pound into him. Hard and fast in the way he likes, but not so much that I risk hurting him.

“Jade! Jade! Jade!” he pants in time with my thrusts.

Then he screams my name. A full on, full volume scream as he writhes his way through a spectacular, glorious orgasm.

My own peak burns through me. Sweet, pure and exquisite. My load empties deep inside his ass and I’m so very gladwe had the, ‘condoms are not needed with paranormals’ discussion. Because, fucking hell, knowing that I’m filling him with my cum is the most satisfying thing in the universe.

I collapse boneless next to Flyn.

“Fuck,” he gasps breathlessly.

I chuckle and pull him into a spoon. Maybe being locked down here isn’t so bad.

Chapter twenty-six

Flyn

Winter has hit the countryside like a slow, suffocating blanket. Everything on Monty’s estate is brown and gray and brittle with frost. The kind of cold that clings even when you’re inside, sitting by the fire with a mug of tea cupped in your hands. It’s the kind of season that gets into your bones. The kind that doesn’t let go.

It’s still beautiful though. And I’d give anything, absolutely anything, for Jade to be able to enjoy it with me instead of being locked away.

The dungeon isn’t technically a dungeon. That’s what we keep telling ourselves. It’s a basement, technically. Stone walls and a proper bed and a thick rug and books stacked to the ceiling. It’s warm, at least. Monty made sure of that. It has a bathroom. It has a TV and a DVD player. But calling it anything other than what it really is feels like lying. Jade is locked underground. And it’s killing him slowly.

I pause halfway down the stairs, holding a tray with soup and bread. He’s barely eating. I’m trying to make it easier. Comfort food, warm colors, familiar scents. I even found a candle that smells like summer, coconut and lime, but it doesn’t change the stale air down here. Doesn’t change the truth.

When I push the door open, the hinges creak, but Jade doesn’t even flinch.

He’s lying on the bed, on top of the blankets, fully clothed in a hoodie that used to be mine. His hair’s longer now, grown out from summer. It curls a little at the ends. He hasn’t asked for a trim in weeks. He’s paler too. Shadowed. Like the light is slowly leaking out of him.

“Hey,” I say softly.

His head turns just enough to look at me, but he doesn’t smile.

I hate that most of all.

I set the tray down on the little table beside the bed. “Brought soup. It’s the good stuff, Cara’s recipe. Beef and potato. It’s got, like, medicinal properties. Basically witchcraft.”

A flicker of amusement, a blink-and-you-miss-it flash of humor, passes through his eyes. But he doesn’t move.