Cal smiled against her lips and wrapped his arms around her middle, holding her still as he rocked his hips up and down. “I love you, witch.” Cool, wet fog kissed her overheated skin, running along her curves with purpose as he continued, “I am your mate. Permanently.”
“Yes, permanently.” Elise wiggled back just enough to move. Bracing her knees by his hips, she used the leverage to increase the pace. A coil of pressure and heat tightened, urging her to go faster, to chase the friction building like a fire between them. Cal met her stroke for stroke, though his movements weren’t quite so fluid or practiced as hers.
It didn’t matter. Sex with Cal was more than pleasurable. It was more than raw physical release. This was like everything good, and fun, and warm, and intense, and new, and thrilling she had ever felt multiplied by the thousands.
This powerful being, an act of elemental wrath made corporeal, was hers. Only she would know what he looked like when he came. Only she would give him pleasure. Only she would have complete mastery of his bliss.
Gods be good, it’s enough to make any woman lose her mind. She would have laughed, if she had the breath for it. No wonder love is called Tempest’s Madness!
When Cal’s thrusts began to really lose their rhythm, she knew he was close to the edge. Yanking his head down, she fisted his beautiful, wild hair and pressed their lips together in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. He let out a low, broken sound as fog danced across her naked skin — and then swept between them to tease and rub her clitoris when his hand could not, sending her even higher.
I didn’t even know he could do that, she thought, a split second before Cal came apart beneath her. Tendrils of compressed magic and water lashed at her with erratic, frenzied movements, sending her over the edge with him. Her thighs clenched, holding him there as he gave her everything he possibly could.
When the pleasure ebbed, they were both left sagging and boneless on her bed. Cal kept his arms around her, but dropped his head to nuzzle her neck and shoulder. He mumbled something into her skin, but it was too low for her to catch.
“What was that?” she asked, dazed.
His lips moved against the sweaty skin of her throat when he said, “I’m thanking the gods for bringing me to you.”
Elise’s heart gave a great, painful lurch. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He kissed her throat. “You are my everything, witch.”
She murmured, “Never thought I’d earnestly thank the gods for anything but orgasms, but I’m gonna say thank you, too. I never want to imagine my life without you, Cal.”
“You will never have to.” Stroking her hair, he added, “And just so we’re clear, I’m not broody.”
She smothered a laugh by pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Mm, if you say so, baby.”
Slowly, in fits and starts, they repositioned themselves in her bed. Cal didn’t sleep, but there was a drowsy, satisfied look in his eyes that made him content to settle down with her under her sheets. Resting her head on his chest, she listened to the strong sound of his heartbeat as she breathed in the cold, wet air.
She was half asleep when he asked, “Will you let me read your love letter?”
Her smile was so wide, it made her cheeks ache. “Yes,” she whispered, kissing his chest. “But only the second draft.”
* * *
FROM THE DESK OF CALAMITY, A NOTE WRITTEN IN AN ANNOTATED FIRST EDITION COPY OF THE SHROUDED CITY, BESTSELLING NON-FICTION TITLE AND WINNER OF THE PULITZER PRIZE - BIOGRAPHY:
Pg. 342
I am in awe of you, my mate. Every day I love you more than the day before, and every day I learn something new and precious about you.
Pg. 343
I THOUGHT WE AGREED YOU’D STOP CALLING ME BROODY.