by J. R. Ward
But eventually he straightened, his hands going to his fly.
“Oh, God . . . yes . . .” she said. And she would have sat up to help him, but she was utterly boneless, her body at once totally satiated and ready for more.
The next thing she felt was his hard, hot length penetrating her. And there was nothing else she needed in order to go over the edge again. Even as he started moving, she was already there: The sensations plowed through her and then were cranked up even higher as he began to pump—and she got a hell of a show as he swept his sweater and shirt up over his head, his chest and heavy arms on display as the last of his clothes disappeared.
Now he was holding her by the hips again, pulling her into him, pushing her away in a rhythm to his thrusts. The pounding increased until her breasts were jerking back and forth, their ultrasensitive tips carrying echoes of the sex they were having sure as if he were touching her all over through that connection down below.
Boone’s eyes were on fire, and his fangs flashed as he suddenly reared back and locked into her. The force of his orgasm was so great, the cords of muscles that ran up his shoulders into his neck stood out in stark relief, the thick veins popping, the power in his body activated in service to her.
Boone was utterly magnificent.
And he did not stop filling her up.
For a very, very long time.
TWENTY-SIX
“I have to say,” Helania murmured, “that the night ended even better than I imagined it would.”
As Boone’s female cuddled in closer to him, he smiled. They were lying naked on her little bed, her sprawled over his chest, their bodies throwing off so much heat that covers were unthinkable—in spite of the fact that they had finally collapsed from the sex well over an hour ago.
The scent of dark spices was thick in the air, and he wondered if she’d noticed.
Male bonding was not a subtle thing. Yet he was aware that there were a lot of things unsaid between them—nothing bad; on the contrary, just stuff that seemed too good to be true.
“You know,” he murmured, “I have to agree with you. There were many finishes on both sides . . .”
They had made love for God only knew how long, and talk about hot and heavy. For some reason—maybe it was the stress they had been under and the release of all that pent-up energy—the session had been a marathon one. To the point where he was worried he’d chafed her.
And then there was another issue. Cleanup.
“Should we . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’ve made a mess all over you.”
Helania’s low, sexy chuckle made him feel like he was Male of the Year. “It’s not a mess. And most of it is inside me—where it can stay.”
He smiled so broadly that his cheeks hurt. “You are amazing. I know . . . I know that sounds like a line, but it’s not. You bring me to my knees and lift me up at the same time. It’s the definition of magic.”
“I’d say we’re good together.” She yawned so wide, her jaw cracked. “Very good.”
Boone kissed the top of her head as they both fell silent. A moment later, she groaned and rolled away from him, lying flat on the mattress beside him.
“Do you need more room?” he asked as he moved over.
“I think I left the heat on too high. Hold on.”
As she got to her feet and walked over to the thermostat on the wall, he admired the view of her shoulders, her waist . . . her beautiful lower half . . . and thought back to when he’d been kneeling between her legs, making love to her sex with his mouth. He had taken his time—and he couldn’t wait to go back there. To give her pleasure, to hear her say his name in that hoarse way, to feel her most intimate place against his lips . . .
All he wanted was to return to that experience.
“It’s just on seventy,” she said with confusion in her voice. “Guess we create our own heat.”
“You can say that again.”
When she turned back around, his eyes went to her breasts. Her nipples were a deep rose color and very pronounced, the tips protruding out of their creamy swells, the swaying of her body as she walked toward him causing them to move.
Desire licked at his pelvis again, his cock jumping in response. But as much as he wanted to be with her again, the rest of his body was spent.
Helania stopped at the side of the bed and looked down at his arousal. “Don’t take this in the wrong way, but how are you still . . .”
“Hard?” he drawled. “It’s just what you do to me.”
Although actually, he couldn’t believe he was erect again, either. And then suddenly, he wasn’t worried about his stamina anymore: Helania got up on him, those soft thighs of hers spreading wide over his hips, that core of hers hovering just above his arousal.
“Be honest,” she said as she put her hands on either side of his torso. “And you can totally tell me no if you don’t want to—”
“I will never not want to be with you,” he groaned, his pelvis rolling, his well-used cock begging for more attention.
“If I do the work—”
“Please, fuck me.” He bit his lower lip with one of his fangs and arched up. “I will beg for it. I will beg you for—”
Leaning down to him, she kissed his mouth. “No need for that.”
Her hands went to his arousal and she stood him up. As she lowered her body down onto him, they started moving together, the sex resuming as if they hadn’t just been at it for two hours straight. And for some crazy reason, he didn’t last long. Neither did she.
It was the best kind of madness, wasn’t it.
After she collapsed on his chest again, they breathed together for a little bit and then she slid off of him, rolling onto her back once more. Skootching over, he made sure she had room both on the mattress and the pillow, and when her hand gripped his, he squeezed her palm in return.
And things were peaceful . . . for a little while. Blissful . . . for a time.
But the wolves that nipped at his heels eventually returned to him, reality intruding on the sacred space with Helania in a rush, as if it had resented being locked out by the passion: His father’s death. His father’s lover. His father’s will. And so many other things.
Closing his eyes, he resolved not to think about what had happened at the Audience House. Or about that woman he had saved in that alley. Or what he had done to that man—which he acknowledged had been wholly inappropriate, and which he would never do the likes of again.
And then there was Syn—
Resolutions to the contrary, Boone quickly became a live wire under his skin, the stress of it all spiking his adrenaline in a fresh surge, as if the quiet and peacefulness of Helania’s bedroom were top soil that helped a poisonous plant to grow.
But FFS, you’d think all those orgasms would have drained the energy out of him completely. Then again, he had had blood from that Chosen’s vein when he’d been injured out in the field. That was known to give a male superstrength—
“So I reached out to Isobel’s friends,” Helania murmured.
Boone’s lids popped back open, and he turned his head on the pillow. “You did?”
“On Facebook. I found the page of the female who came here to tell me about Isobel—the one who I . . . buried my sister with. Anyway, I private-messaged her. And then I decided, why stop there? I hit up everyone who left a tribute for my sister.”
“Did any of them get back to you?”
“Some did.” There was a pause. “I asked them all about the boyfriend. A name. Contact info. Possible location.”
Boone forced his voice to stay level. “Did any of them know him?”
“No. They’d heard about him, but no one knew him or had met him.” There was a pause. “And no one has seen or heard from him since, either.”
Boone tried to keep his curse to himself. “Maybe there’s a reasonable explanation.”
“I really used to think there was.” She sighed. “But if he’d been abusive . . . I just don’t know why I
sobel would have lied to me? And I know what I saw here in this apartment. I lived with her my whole life, I could read her better than anyone could. She was happy.”
All Boone could do was shake his head. He wanted to step carefully around the subject of that boyfriend out of respect for her and her Isobel, but damn, his warning bells were ringing: Even if her sister had been happy, males sometimes snapped. Hello . . . he himself had tonight in that alley.
“We need to keep digging,” he said. “What about the female who came to see you? Did she answer?”
“No. Not yet. And as with a lot of people in the species, she’s clearly using a pseudonym. So I don’t know what her real name is.”
As a shiver went through her, he lifted his head and eyed the quilt that had been pushed off onto the floor. “You cold?”
“I don’t know what I am,” she said with exhaustion. “What I do know for sure is that I’m glad you’re here.”
Boone stroked her arm. “Me, too. I’m glad I’m here, too.”
They were quiet for a while, and Boone passed the time attempting to control the twitching of his thigh muscles. And his legs weren’t the only thing wide-awake. He was totally erect again, his arousal straining, his blood thickening in his veins. But whatever, Mr. Happy down there could fuck right off with the bright ideas. Sex was the last thing on Boone’s mind, even if it was the first thing on his libido’s agenda. He had worn his female out enough, and hopefully, with the Virgin Scribe’s blessings, they would have so many more days and nights together to look forward to.
“Your friends really like you a lot,” she said.
“I like them a lot, too.” He tried to get his mind focused on something . . . anything. “You should meet everyone else in my trainee class. At least twice a month we all go out together. I’ll find out when the next time is and let you know—and I’ll make sure that I don’t miss it.”
“It makes me happy when you talk about the future.”
On that note, there was a temptation to ask if he could move in, given that he wouldn’t have a place to live in fourteen days—and then maybe he could make a joke about how’s that for the future. But he stayed quiet on his drama. She had enough going on—
“Would you care if I were poor?” he blurted.
As Helania looked over at him and they were face-to-face, he figured this was the very definition of pillow talk.
“I didn’t know you were rich,” she said. “I mean, I’d guessed you were a member of the aristocracy by your accent, but I hadn’t really considered the financial repercussions.”
He squeezed her hand again. “Would you, though? Care if I didn’t have money?”
“Not in the slightest. I’ve never known what it’s like to be wealthy. So if you are not, it doesn’t change my situation in the slightest, and I’m happy where I am now.”
As Boone exhaled in relief, he was not surprised that her answer meant that much to him. “I’m so glad. Most of the females in the glymera are more interested in expense accounts and credit cards.”
“Your arranged mating.” She hesitated. “Why exactly did the female break it off?”
As Helania seemed embarrassed to have asked, Boone smiled in hopes of reassuring her that no subject was off-limits. “It wasn’t an issue of money. She was in love with someone else. That’s why. And guess what, he was a civilian, too. You’ll meet Rochelle someday. She’s remarkably down-to-earth considering where she comes from, and she was braver than I was when it really counted. She did us both a favor.”
“You would have mated her, then?” Helania paused. “And listen, if I’m getting too personal—”
“I have nothing to hide from you.”
As Boone felt the bed begin to shake, he looked down his naked body and half expected to find that a dog had snuck in and was wagging its tail against something—but nope. His foot was going back and forth incessantly, sure as if it were attached to someone else’s body.
By force of will, he made the thing stop and then focused on what she’d asked him. “As for my following through on the mating, I guess the way I felt was . . . I knew I didn’t love her, but given how the aristocracy is, if I’d pulled out of the arrangement, the shame falling on her would have been intense and lifelong. She never would have been considered by any other male for a mating, and her family would never have forgiven her for the social embarrassment. It would have ruined her life.”
“Just over a broken arrangement?” When he nodded, she seemed horrified. “That is cruel.”
“True enough. But the good news was, I got her out of it. I told my father, and through my sire, the rest of society, that she didn’t find me worthy. It was the way to keep the fallout from landing on her.”
“But what then happened to you?”
“Well, I’m a male.” He rolled his eyes. “So the rules are different. Sure, I took some shit—’scuse my French—except it was not anything compared to what Rochelle would have had to deal with. It’s not fair, but there are double standards all over the place in the glymera, and they usually undercut the freedom and roles of females.”
“She must have been very grateful for what you did.”
“I think she was—and still is. But I mean, it was not her fault that we were put together, and it wasn’t mine, either. It was just the situation, and for the reality we were in, I would rather have sacrificed my reputation so she could be free to be with the one she loved than have her condemned to spinsterhood and ridiculed at every turn.”
Helania smiled. “That’s what your friends said about you.”
“What?”
“Paradise and Craeg said you always do the right thing.”
As an image of that human male’s bloodied and sliced-open body came to mind, Boone thought, Not all the time . . .
“But after the arrangement was broken,” Helania prompted, “your father wasn’t pleased, right? You already told me there were issues in your relationship with him and I would assume . . .”
“He was absolutely furious at me. And that’s why I bring up the money thing. In two weeks, I won’t have a place to live and will be pretty close to penniless. My sire cut me out of his will. I just found out.”
Helania lifted her head again, and he had to admire the bright flush on her cheeks. Her high coloring, coupled with her red and blond hair, was so beautiful, he was in awe of her. And the longer he stared at her, the more lust surged under his skin, prowling, looking for a way out.
Meanwhile, all he could think of was . . . males really were pigs, weren’t they.
“I just don’t understand,” she said. “How could a father disinherit his own son over a situation like that.”
“That is the glymera for you. And there were some other things, too.”
Like him maybe, possibly, not having a blood relationship to Altamere. And he would have given that whole sordid story airtime, but he suddenly was tired of talking about his father. It felt as though the male had already taken up way too much space, and besides, with his sire being dead and the will’s amendment being what it was? Boone wasn’t inclined to expend a whole lot of energy on what was now an in-the-past kind of thing.
Helania lifted her head up and looked over at him. “Was that why you went downtown tonight? To clear your head?”
Boone thought about Syn’s red eyes glowing in that alley. As well as what he himself had done to that human.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m still off rotation, but I needed . . . I just had to go out and be by myself for a little while. Walk the streets. Get some cold, clear air. After I left the King’s Audience House, I had to get everything out of my head, even if it was only for a little bit.”
Of course, the mechanism that had worked best was killing that woman’s assailant. And Syn was all too correct. Boone had needed that release before he could trust himself to be around anyone. Including, if not especially, his Helania.
“And again,” he murmured, “it was when I was walking the streets that I ra
n into that human woman.”
Helania laid her head back down on their pillow. “As I said before, she’s lucky she found you. And so am I.”
Boone kissed the top of Helania’s head and smiled up at the ceiling of her bedroom.
They were quiet for a time, and yet neither of them was still. Helania’s body kept shifting against his own, as if she were in search of a comfortable position and being denied that prize, and he was the same, fidgeting this way, that way.
It seemed ironic that in the midst of their mutual discomfort, he decided that he really did love her.
He loved Helania.
Yes, the timing was not the best. Yes, it had happened quickly. But when you knew . . . you knew. And the next step was to tell the person—
Helania let out a soft snore, and when a second one came, Boone closed his eyes again and told himself to follow suit. There would be time for revelations later. And maybe something downright romantic, with roses and candlelight.
Or maybe he’d chill and keep it to himself for a little while. Like a week. Tops.
Assuming he could keep his happiness to himself.
A short time later, exhaustion claimed him, his consciousness draining out and being replaced with a dense void of thought, emotion, and dreams. But as he fell off that cliff, there was a smile on his face.
He couldn’t wait to tell her he loved her. And do it properly.
TWENTY-SEVEN
At first, Boone didn’t know what woke him up. He wasn’t even sure if he had roused from sleep. He felt as though he were floating, everything fuzzy and far away, both his body and wherever he was more ether than substance in the manner of a dreamscape. And yet something was very, very real in the midst of the haze . . .
His name. Across a vague and shifting awareness, he could sense his name being called from far away.
Something . . . was calling him home.