Then, as his eyes blazed bright with need, he bent his head and pressed his mouth to the center of her chest.
Tyriel’s bones melted and her head fell back, spine arching as the heat of his caress turned her muscles lax.
“Now that’s a beautiful sight,” Aryn murmured.
She started to lift her head but he closed his mouth around one nipple and the raw pleasure laid her low.
Distantly, she heard a thud but it had no bearing on what was happening here and now, so she ignored it.
It was harder to ignore the next sound—crystal shattering against a stone floor.
But of them jerked in reaction, but Aryn moved far quicker as the two of them looked over to see Tyriel’s father and the Royal Consort standing in the doorway, both wide, arching doors thrown open and several servants at their back.
As Aryn yanked up a coverlet from the bed to tuck around Tyriel, she gaped at her father.
“Da! A bit of privacy would be nice! Haven’t you heard of knocking?”
Prince Lorne blinked, the look on his face one of sheer amazement.
“Knocking?” he asked in their native tongue, his voice raspy. “You have lain unmoving in this chamber for nearly a month and now you fuss at me to knock?”
Tyriel gaped at him.
Alys, her lovely face aglow with a smile, stepped up and took her consort’s arm. “Prince, perhaps we could...discuss this matter after the princess has had time to...bathe and dress.”
Lorne looked over at his consort, then back at Tyriel, and finally, at Aryn, who held Tyriel against his chest, the coverlet wrapped around her thin frame.
“Yes,” Lorne murmured, shaking his head as he turned. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the servants and strode away.
Alys winked at Tyriel and caught the door latch. “I’ll send servants who can help you bathe, beloved child.” She conveniently chose not to acknowledge the ones the prince had just dismissed. “I find I’m famished, though, so it might take some time as I plan to stop by the kitchen and find myself a light repast. Perhaps expect them...a mark or so before we would normally gather for the evening meal.”
The door closed on the Royal Consort and Tyriel turned her attention back to Aryn.
Questions danced in her mind.
But they all faded as Aryn closed his hand around her neck and brought her back to him.
The coverlet felt away as she gripped his sides, his hard, sleekly muscled form warm under her hands. His cock pulsed between them, a brand against her belly and she rocked forward.
“I need you,” she whispered against his mouth.
Rainbows blossomed behind her eyes as he gripped both of her hips and lifted her, the head of his cock brushing against her wet, aching core.
She tensed, painful ugly memories trying to creep up on her. Shoving her hands into Aryn’s tumbled hair, she pulled his mouth to hers.
He kissed her sweetly and when she tore away to breathe, he trailed his lips across her cheek, her jaw, then to her ear.
“Open your eyes, love...see my face,” Aryn whispered.
She did, refusing to let the fear or shame take hold. Not now.
His eyes holding her captive, he lay back on the bed, bringing her with him until she sprawled across his chest. Then he let her go and clasped his hands behind his head.
From under heavy-lidded eyes, he stared at her.
“You lead this dance, Tyriel.”
Licking her lips, she nodded. Nervous still, she shifted into place so she straddled him. His cock nestled against her intimate folds and she shivered, then moaned as his length jerked in response to the feel of her wet heat.
“You’re entirely too beautiful a man, Aryn,” she murmured, stroking her hands across his muscled chest, noting the scars she’d seen hundreds of times. Now, though, she had the right to touch them, to trail the tips of her fingers over them, a ragged, twisting along his right side just below his ribcage, another one, this one a thin long line where he’d narrowly escaped death when he stepped between a man he’d been hired to protect and a would-be assassin. There were other scars, some older, others still baring the faint color of healing flesh.
She bent her head to kiss one, then another, then gasped, her torso straightening as Aryn’s cock pulsed heavily against her slick entrance.
He watched her with a slitted gaze, his jaw a rigid line.
“Am I teasing you horribly?” she asked softly, bracing her hands on his chest.
“Terribly.” He groaned as she slid against him, the caress tormenting them both as the wet heat between her thighs made everything slick. “I’ll be sure to pay you back when you stop.” He arched up, biting off a curse, then panting as she ground against him harder. “Please...don’t ever stop.”
She laughed, the sound rising up and escaping her before turning into a long, broken moan as her machinations began to affect her as much as him.
“I need you inside me,” she said.
She was still weak, though, arms and legs shaking as she went to take him. As if sensing her frustration, Aryn caught her waist and lifted her slightly. “Wrap your pretty fingers around my cock, love,” he said, voice rough and broken. It turned jagged and savage, a stream of curses escaping him as she followed his direction, gripping his cock in her fist.
She needed no direction now, holding him steady as he tugged her closer.
Her lids felt heavy but when she started to close her eyes, Aryn said, “No. Tyriel...love...look at me. See me. Only me. Feel only me.”
Focusing on his face, she focused on him—only him as she slowly sank down onto him, the hard length of his cock filling her.
When she’d taken him fully, she swayed forward and braced her hands on his shoulders, shuddering as her body adjusted to him.
Aryn’s hands tightened on her hips and his cock jerked inside her. Tyriel whimpered, her muscles tightening around him in reaction. He swelled, growing impossibly harder.
It was so good, but she needed more.
Slowly, hesitantly, she began to move, circling her hips against his. His hands tightened, then with a groan, he let go and brought his hands back up to rest beside his head.
Tyriel covered them with her own, twining their fingers until their hands were as entwined as their bodies.
“Aryn...”
He shuddered, sweat breaking out across his body, his eyes locked with hers. “Tyriel...love...”
Tears flooded her eyes. Wild magic escaped her, slipping past her grip with ease because she had no control left, barely any strength.
Aryn pulled her closed and took her mouth, arching beneath her as she tightened around him, climax racing closer. Tugging his other hand from her tight grasp, he reached them, clever fingers seeking, then stroking the pulsating knot of her clitoris.
She jolted, her spine going rigid as she jerked upright. Aryn arched beneath her, his powerful body pumping hard and fast, driving into her as she clenched around him, her orgasm slamming into her with brutal force.
He muttered her name, swore, then again, in a low, awed whisper, “Tyriel...”
As he climaxed inside her, she cried out his name.
Magic, wild and unfettered, escaped them both, choking the air with light, while Tyriel’s skin glowed from within.
She sank down, still shuddering to collapse against his chest.
The glow of her skin didn’t fade for a long, long time.