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But it was not anything like that.

When he had started kissing up her body, she didn’t know. Her thoughts were a bit muddy as he meandered the tender touches up her stomach, along her breast, and then to her shoulder. One of her knees was hooked over his elbow, exposing her to him.

His belt buckle rattled. She felt something hot, and throbbing, and needy lying on her abdomen. She waited, wondering if he’d plunder her then and there, but he kissed her throat slowly as he pulled the gag from her mouth and dropped it down around her neck.

They watched each other for a moment. It seemed to hang for an eternity like that—just the two of them. Together. She tipped her head to his, and he met her halfway in a kiss. She felt his hand return between them, and she knew what was going to happen next.

Yes, please. Please. He pressed himself to her, and the pressure built slowly, then increased, and then, with a shuddering growl that joined with her needy mewl against his lips, he was there.

He broke the kiss to rest his forehead against her shoulder. He was panting for air. She wriggled—it felt so good, but she knew he had only just begun. She arched her hips into him greedily, wanting to feel more of him sink into her depths. To stretch her. To take her.

“Patience,” he snarled.

She slipped her wrists from the terrible excuse for knots he had put them in and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She stroked his back, wanting to feel the muscles there as they rippled and worked to keep even the smallest shred of his control intact.

Screw control.

Totally overrated.

Turning her head, she bit down on his earlobe, just as she dug her nails hard into his back and raked them across his skin. “Fuck me, necromancer.”

With a muffled roar, hidden only by the fact that he kept his mouth shut, he drove his hips forward in a sudden thrust and filled her in that one swift stroke, all the way to the hilt.

For a second time, her pleasure peaked. Her head swam. He certainly stretched her. It was almost too much—almost—but just enough to walk the line without crossing it. She felt him there, pressing against her everywhere, and she let out a small sound of total bliss.

But she had poked the animal one too many times for its liking. Gideon straightened, his face one of both utter ecstasy and rage at the same time. He threw one of her knees into the crook of each elbow, and, holding onto her hips with both hands, yanked her forward until she was half off the edge of the sarcophagus.

And then he made good on her command.

She lurched against the marble, barely able to breathe as he unleashed himself on her. The sounds of their pleasure were drowned out by the pouring rain and thunder. She could do nothing but hold on for dear life as he pistoned inside her like an out-of-control train.

He warned her he was going to leave her bruised.

And she knew he was a man of his word.

Again, and again, her pleasure crescendoed into ecstasy, and she was left lying there, gasping, all thought of anything but him entirely shoved from her mind. But neither of them could go on like that for long. He snarled and doubled over her, lifting her hips to his with one hand as he balanced his weight over her with the other on his elbow by her head. Once, twice, he drove himself into her with what felt like all the strength he had. Ramming himself against her as though he were trying to find himself somehow deeper.

She wrapped her arms around him, now covered in sweat, and whispered his name into his ear. “Please—Gideon—ah!”

A third time. A fourth. And then it was too much for them both. Arching, pressing her breasts to his chest, he buried his head in the crook of her neck and let out another muffled roar against her. He drove himself into her and held himself there. She felt him surge, felt him throb inside her, felt him paint her as his own.

His whole body quaked over her, and he hissed air in through his nose. With each spasm, she felt him throb again inside her. He gasped and slowly let go of her hip and leg, pressing his elbows to the stone on either side of her.

She kissed his cheek. “Hey.”

It took him a second to answer. “Hello.”

“That was amazing.”

She saw his lips curl into a slight, tired smile. His eyes were still shut. “Give…me a moment, if you…don’t mind.” Carefully, he pulled himself from her body with a groan.

Stretching languidly beneath him, she let out a satisfied groan of her own. “Damn.”

He kissed her cheek before stepping away from her. She wondered where he was going, until she watched him step underneath the heavy stream of water that was pouring in from the broken portion of the ceiling. It rushed over him. He ran his hands over his hair, ruffling it, and she decided he did look very good mussed up.

She stared.

Damn indeed.

He stepped from the water and let out a rush of air. “At least,” he said after another slow breath, “we found a way to pass the time tonight.”

She laughed.

Yes, she supposed they had.


Tags: Kathryn Ann Kingsley Memento Mori Fantasy