“It’s not drama. You simply mean more than any promise I’ve made in…” He paused, clearly thinking hard. “Millenia. I won’t let you risk yourself. Not just to preserve my honor and not because my bearer is a thick-headed fool. You, your life. You’re everything, Tyriel and you cannot leave us, him. You are safe with him. You will stay.”
His voice was deeper, slower, gruffer than Aryn’s, his eyes hotter, heavier. “
“Irian, nebaste…” she whispered half-heartedly as he took her packs, tugging them away from her hands and dropping them to the floor. “Please…this solves nothing. You are not Aryn. I am not in love with you.”
“No. Yet part of you wants me almost as much as you want him.” Irian aligned Aryn’s long, rangy powerful body against hers, his thick, throbbing cock fitting into the notch between her thighs. “You cannot deny me that, girl…can you?”
Tyriel’s words died in a moan as his hands fisted in her hair and arched her face up. He took her mouth hungrily, tongue sweeping past parted lips to bring her Aryn’s taste, his scent, but something darker, and different, something more primitive, wilder.
Irian.
He rasped, “You will scream my name this night…before this night ends, I will hear it, I swear you that.”
Tyriel wasn’t so certain that he was wrong. His hands, hard and callused, grasped the sleeves of her silken blouse and she gasped into his mouth as she felt him tear it away. Then from under the form-fitting leather corselet, until the silken blouse was lying in shreds at her feet. She stood there with leather lifting her breasts, while her skirts and boots remained almost primly in place.
Irian moved a few steps back, keeping one hand on her neck in a hotly possessive grip as he gazed at her, lust burning in his eyes as he looked at her, gaze lingering on her tight nipples, on the breasts lifted and displayed by the corselet.
“Jiupsu…aakin su rrieul Jiupsu…” he crooned, staring at her.
Disconcerting, it was, hearing ancient, archaic Wildling flowing from Aryn’s mouth, especially as her vision started to waver and Irian’s image kept trying to superimpose itself over Aryn’s body.
“Lovely lady of the Jiupsu.” His hands gripped her skirt. Watching her, he pushed it down over her hips until she stood naked in front of him, save for her boots and the corselet, her cheeks flushing pink. His dark eyes heating with an inner flame that turned Tyriel’s blood into lava. “Be wild for me.”
She was already wet and now, under his gaze, heat pulsed between her thighs, an emptiness she’d never known centering there until she ached to be filled. Her breaths came in ragged pants while her heartbeat settled into a slow, almost rhythmic drumbeat, the music of lust that was a prelude to good, hard sex.
Irian’s nostrils flared and he scented her, his lips parting. His eyes focused on her body, clad in the corselet that rose to just under her breasts, pushing them up, two thin straps trailing up over her shoulders, and down her back. In front, the laces were pulled tight, revealing an inch of tanned toned flesh and Irian lifted his eyes to study her breasts so prominently displayed, nipples drawn tight and puckered, waist cinched down by the gleaming black leather. The corselet ended in a vee, the pointed ends bringing attention to her mound.
Almost as devastatingly erotic were the black boots that came up over her knees, elvish made, form-fitting, tight, thin and tooled, the supple leather soft against the gold of her skin.
“Lovely.” His voice was guttural and deep. Kneeling, he whispered it again as he leaned forward and nuzzled her belly, licking her navel as he reached around her and cupped her ass.
“Irian…” Tyriel gasped out his name as he caught her in his arms before she could slide to the floor, and he spread the lips of her sex and licked her.
She swayed and he rose, swinging her up into his arms. “No swooning. Tonight, I’ll have you screaming and sighing, but no swooning.”
She clung to his shoulders as he carried her to the bed.
He spread her out, pushing her thighs wide, running his hands over the gleaming black leather of her boots before traveling back up to the apex.
“I’m going to bury my face in your cunt, Tyriel, and lick you, suck you, taste you, until you lose yourself.”
Tyriel shivered. He touched her then and she jerked in response, moaning as he spread her open her with his thumbs and stared with bald, naked need.
“Your pussy is so wet,” he whispered before looking up to stare at her. “You’re all wet and ready for me, aren’t you?”
She flushed under that burning stare, the afterimage of Irian’s true self trying to merge with Aryn’s to her fae sight while the pulse of his magic filled her like a drug.
She was going crazy—maybe it had already happened, because this was the last thing she should be doing. But was she pushing him away? Demanding he step back and yield control to Aryn?
No. She lifted her hips, a needy moan escaping her. “Please…”
Irian clenched his jaw. “So stubborn.”
Then he bent over her and bit her lower lip. “I’m just as stubborn. You should already know this.”
He touched her then and she jolted at the shocking, almost painful pleasure. “Irian!”
“That’s it,” he purred. “That’s it…say my name…”
She whimpered, unable to say anything as he worked two thick fingers inside her slippery, tight channel, then began to thrust, ruthlessly driving her straight to climax. He bent his head, taking one tight nipple, then the other into his mouth and sucking on them until they were tight and red as berries.
She thrashed under him, tearing at the sheets and at his shoulders, begging for completion.
And when she was almost there, he moved, shifting to sprawl between her thighs, even pausing a moment to rub his cheek against the leather of her booted knee, giving her a sinfully seductive smirk before pressing his mouth to her and dragging his tongue through her swollen, wet folds.
She shoved her hands into his hair and arched up with a cry,
“That’s it,” he murmured again. “Lose yourself, wild love.”
He pushed his fingers back inside her, pumping harder, faster, tongue stabbing and swirling around her clitoris. But…again…when she was close, he backed off.
“Irian…” she all but growled his name. “If you don’t…”
“Tell me,” he ordered after one sensual, suckling bite on her inner thigh. “Tell me what you want of me.”
“Make me come, damn you.”
“Yes, my lady, my wild love…” Then, as he’d promised, he buried his face against her cunt and licked, sucked, and finger-fucked her until she lost herself, completely and utterly.
She was still shuddering and whimpering from the multiple climaxes when he rose, some untold time later and began to methodically strip naked.
“I can’t,” she said with a moan.
But the sight of that long, pale body rippling with muscles and marked with scars from battle made her quiver.
“No?” Her lover looked at her with gleaming eyes as he casually unlaced his breeches, freeing his cock. Moving to the side of the bed, he closed his fist over it and stroked. “Perhaps I’ll handle this myself then.”