“So spank me,” I pant. And I mean that in whatever sense.
His chuckle is dark and thick, like a hot summer night. It makes me want to lick salt and sunshine from his tanned skin and worship his sculpted body with my mouth.
Griffin positions himself at my entrance. I’m so wet and ready that the head of his shaft slips right in, and we both shudder from the shallow joining.
The deep groan expanding in Griffin’s chest resonates against my back. A bead of sweat drips onto my shoulder. He’s as tortured as I am.
I turn my head. Heated silver eyes meet mine. They reach inside me and yank out my soul. If it weren’t already Griffin’s, he’d have captured it all over again.
“I love you.” The words spring straight from my heart. I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to.
The look he gives me scorches me to my toes. “Where do you belong?”
I can’t wait any longer. I need to feel him fully inside me. I need to know we’re one. “With you,” I gasp out, starving for the deep thrust I know is coming. “I belong with you.”
Griffin drives upward and buries himself to the hilt inside of me with a sound of pure masculine satisfaction. A bright light flashes from me, illuminating the shadowed corners of the room. A long rumble of thunder vibrates in the air. I throw my head back, my mouth open and gasping for breath. He pumps his hips hard, just once, and my inner walls contract. My body gathers sensation, holding it tightly for that potent, suspended moment before racing toward bliss.
Griffin thrusts again, and I shout his name, beginning to pulse around him. He presses deeper, and my toes leave the floor. He holds me up, pinning me at my very center as release pounds through me in powerful waves.
His breath ragged on my temple, Griffin unhooks his arm from under my leg. My feet touch the floor, and my legs nearly buckle. He lets go of my wrists in order to band both arms around my waist. My arms fall like lead weights, and I groan, blood flowing back into them in a stabbing rush. I slump against him, weak and limp, but he doesn’t give me time to recover. He pivots and drops me onto the bed on my hands and knees. My arms collapse, and my upper body lands on the mattress, leaving my ass in the air.
“There’s a handprint on your arse.”
I turn my face so I can breathe. “Are you sorry?”
He grunts. “Not one bit.”
I grin beneath a curtain of hair. I’m not either. Not one bit.
Leaning over me, Griffin sweeps the tangle of curls out of my face. He gets ready to enter me from behind, something he’s never done before besides those few mind-blowing thrusts against the wall. I twist my head so I can watch him. He looks like a God—massive, handsome, stern, his countenance dark. Torchlight flickers over his face, illuminating some parts and obscuring others. His eyes are in shadow, but they still smolder as he stares down at me.
I start to lift up on my aching arms, but Griffin’s hand lands on the small of my back. He slides it along my spine, pressing me back down. He gives a gentle push when he reaches my nape and then moves his hand to my hip, holding me steady as his other hand guides his arousal back to where we both want it. He goes slowly until he’s fully seated and then begins to thrust.
He’s not gentle, and he’s never been so deep inside me, like he’s pounding my heart with every powerful stroke. I whimper, weak and hot, slick and needy. Vulnerable. Pleasure builds—coiling tension, tingling warmth. The sensations aren’t just physical. Griffin’s behavior since he pinned me against the wall—his insistent question, his barely checked aggression, this dominant position—they all tell me a lot about how he felt when he thought I was gone. I may be the one on my knees right now, but I bring this earthquake of a man to his knees as well. He’s big, and strong, and commanding, but he needs me. I’m vital. He’s becoming the air I breathe, but maybe that’s all right, because I’m the air he breathes, too.
I grip the rumpled blanket and press back with a throaty sound I didn’t even know I could make. Griffin’s hands tighten on my hips, stopping my rocking motion. He’s in complete control, and it makes me wild and greedy and frenzied for more.
“I love you.” He drives into me. “I love you more than anything in this Godsforsaken world.”
My heart does a hard flip. I believe him. I feel his truth as deep inside of me as he is, hammering me just as fiercely. Griffin would choose me over anything, which is why I can never get in his way of trying to make a better world—of bringing Thalyria back to what it once was.
And if I can’t stop him, I’ll have to help him.
“I will never leave you,” I vow, feeling the magic in my words bind me. “Only death can tear us apart, and even then, I will wait for you at the edges of the Underworld until you come to me again.”
“Cat.” His voice breaks. His thrusts falter.
Griffin pulls out of me, flips me over, and then covers me from head to toe, burying his face in my neck and his shaft between my legs. He makes love to me with fevered intensity, no longer dominant or in control. He shudders and rocks, and we chase each other blindly up a wave that builds, crests, and then finally crashes when I topple over the edge with a hoarse cry.
Griffin’s eyes capture mine. He holds my face in his hands. “You. Belong. With. Me.” He gives a final, hard thrust before his seed explodes inside of me, his claim still ringing off the granite walls. A magical tempest erupts from my body. Lightning and words collide in the air, the storm searing his declaration into my heart and mind. I’ll never doubt us again.
The room rocks. A crack snakes up the wall near my head, splitting the stone. Plaster dust shivers down from the ceiling. Reining in whatever is happening is beyond me. My emotions are raw and blazing, fanned into combustion by the beat of wings in my chest.
Griffin throws his head back. The sweat-beaded muscles in his corded neck bulge as his whole body goes rigid. It’s the most glorious sight I’ve ever seen. I drink it in. Drink him in—his scent and his seed, his love and his life force. My arms stop aching, and strength infuses every part of me, leaving me bursting with energy. And ready to start again.
Griffin tenses one last time and then slowly relaxes. He settles so he’s not crushing me, using his forearms to carry the bulk of his weight. His hands still hold my head. Brushing hair out of my face, he looks at me with sated, adoring eyes. He kisses me. “Kardia mou.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. I’ll bet my eyes are pretty sated and adoring, too. “You’re my heart as well.”
CHAPTER 4
We sleep. Well, Griffin does, and I watch him. He’s clearly exhausted, with dark shadows under his eyes that not even the thick sweep of his inky lashes can hide. Even at rest, there’s an unusual tenseness around his mouth. I don’t close my eyes. I got plenty of sleep while I was finishing healing, escaping reality, and holed up in what turned out to be the one place no one thought to look for me.
I’m not exactly comfortable. The bed is small for Griffin. For both of us, it’s ridiculously tight, but there are worse things than being trapped against and tangled up with the man I love. The blanket is scratchy. The bare mattress isn’t much better. And it’s hot, but I’m learning to deal with that. Even like it. Sort of. It’s Griffin, so I can take it. Besides, whenever I try to wiggle away from him, even just a little bit, his arm tightens around me. Even in sleep, he’s not letting me go.
Finally, the torch gutters and dies. Oddly, it’s the sudden darkness that wakes him up. With a husky groan, Griffin nuzzles my neck as he sweeps his hand up my back. My leg slips between his, and I cling to his shoulders, loving the feel of all that solid muscle under warm, smooth skin. His already rock-hard arousal presses against my lower belly. When I press back, he makes a low, masculine sound that sets me on fire.
He curves his hand around my hip, holding me firmly against him. “Remind me to do some hiring. I need to employ a legion of poets.”
I kis
s the underside of his scruffy jaw, rubbing against him. I can’t help myself. He feels so good. “A legion? That’s a lot of poets.”
“It’ll be worth it if one of them can possibly come up with the words to describe how much I want you right now.”
I’m on my back so fast it makes me dizzy. I laugh, already breathless with anticipation. “You just had me.”
“If it wasn’t within the last eight minutes, it doesn’t count.”
“Oh, it counted.” It counted so much I’ll never forget it as long as I live. My stomach dips at the memory of Griffin spanking me, of his unrelenting grip on my wrists, and of the explosive fullness when he finally thrust into me. Who knew that being so utterly at the mercy of another person—a person I trust—could be so fantastically exciting?
Griffin grunts and sucks hard on my neck, I’m sure leaving a mark. “Why do you always argue?”
I grin, not that he can see in the pitch-black. “Because I’m always right.”
He chuckles. “I’ll let you get away with that.”
Laughing, I wiggle underneath him. “Get away with that?”
“Yes. I have more important things on my mind.” He demonstrates by sliding down my body. The rasp of stubble, his hands and lips, and teeth and tongue make me forget not only what we were talking about, but how to talk. I grip his hair and mumble incoherently. With his mouth between my legs, he does a dozen different things that turn me inside out. My mind blanks, and pleasure takes over, leaving me throbbing and trembling in its wake.
The strength of my climax unleashes my unpredictable magic, and lightning bounces off the stone walls long enough to illuminate Griffin’s face. He looks smug and satisfied under a messy tumble of midnight hair.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Did that count?”
The room plunges back into darkness. “Uh…” I can’t think. I’m supposed to talk?
His laugh is a deep, rich rumble. “I guess all that purring and panting wasn’t what I thought it was.”
“Nope.” I giggle, sounding absurd. Or happy. Or both.
He sighs, a smile in his voice. “Obviously, I have more work to do.”
“Obviously,” I say, feeling amazingly light. Lies must weigh a lot—at least on me.
Never one to waste time, Griffin gets right down to proving he’s up to the task.
There’s something incredibly sensual about making love in the total dark. Anticipation is magnified, heightened until every touch becomes a heart-stopping mystery waiting to be solved. A whisper of breath across my skin has me tensing in eager expectation. The warm brush of lips leaves me shivering with desire. The subtle tightening of Griffin’s grip intoxicates, just like the surprise of a nip, or the low rasp of a groan. In the quiet dark, our breath and our bodies speak a language of their own, weaving a spellbinding story in which only the two of us exist.
Griffin rocks slowly above me, his deep, thorough strokes branding me from the inside out. Sweet tension coils within me, and I cling to him, gasping every breath until I shatter in his arms. He follows me, shuddering, his face in the crook of my neck and his muffled roar a song in my heart.
Aftershocks ripple through us. I sigh into Griffin’s hair. It smells of citrus and bright summer sun. I feel changed, once again forever altered by the man still gently pulsing inside of me.
He loves me anyway.
* * *
We both sleep this time. I wake up to Griffin striking my stumpy piece of flint to light the oil lamp. With him sitting on the edge of the bed, his considerable weight buckles the small mattress so much that I have to brace myself to keep from rolling into him.
“This wouldn’t have lasted long,” he mutters, finally getting a decent enough spark to light the wick. “You’d have gotten three fires out of it. Maybe four.”
I rise to my knees, slip my arms around his waist from behind, and kiss his shoulder. “I wasn’t running away, remember? I could have, you know…gotten more?”
He grunts. “My family is in shock. They think you broke me.”
Pressure clamps down hard on my heart, suspending its next beat. He says it neutrally, without accusation, but Griffin only ever speaks the truth to me. For the time he couldn’t find me, I broke him.
“I’m sorry. I love you.” Words I never used to say, would have never even considered saying, are so easy now. If anyone knows that tomorrow isn’t a given, it’s me. I’ll never hesitate again.
He scrubs both hands down his face and then braces his elbows on his knees. “I should have looked here earlier. I don’t know why I didn’t. It’s just you always…”
“Run,” I finish for him. “Of course you’d think I’d run.”
“I thought I drove you away.” The sudden bleakness in his voice slices straight through me.
I slip off the bed and drop to my knees between his legs. Griffin instinctively reaches out to touch me. His hands delve into my hair, and he runs the long, dark waves between his fingers.
I gaze up at him. Soft light plays over his striking features—the hard planes of his cheekbones, his strong jaw, the slight hook in his nose. “I’ll still run, Griffin. The difference now is that I’ll run to you.”
He looks at me for a long time, his gray eyes inscrutable. “You’d better.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Or you’ll spank me?”
His mien changes. His expression brims with interest, and a little thrill zips like an arrow right to the target between my legs.
His already deep voice drops in pitch. “Possibly.”
“I might hit back,” I announce, meaning it.
He laughs, hauls me up, flips me onto the bed, and then covers my body with his.
* * *
“Griffin?”
“Hmm?” He sounds sleepy again. How is that even possible?
“We have to leave our cave.”
He has me draped mostly on top of him. His fingers trail lightly back and forth across my bare shoulder, tickling a little in a way that gives me chills.
“Why?” He doesn’t sound at all convinced, despite having a realm to run and—I guess we’re really going there—invasions to plan.
“Because if I don’t eat, I’m going to get very grumpy.”
“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence. “We can’t have that.”
Finally, blowing out a long breath, Griffin stands, taking me with him. He’s speedier at dressing than I am, and I hate every second he spends covering his magnificent body. I frown even harder when he hands me a pair of pants and a high-necked, long-sleeved tunic better suited for the dead of winter or the far north. From the irate looks he keeps leveling on my discarded nightgown, I think the conservative suggestion of clothing is a reaction to the nearly transparent dress.
“You didn’t like it?” I add the rumpled garment to the pile of belongings I’m loading back onto the sheet.
“You were utterly irresistible in it.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Kaia,” he mutters darkly.
“She’s fifteen. It’s only fair she gets to explore…certain things.”
Griffin seems to choke on something. The idea of Kaia exploring things probably.
“She’s not a child, you know.”
“I’m going to burn them,” he decides.
I roll my eyes at his primitive, overprotective attitude and finish tossing my things into the center of the sheet. “She’s behind her own closed door, and she’s not doing anything stupid. Let it go.”
Griffin plants his hands on his hips. His chest expands on a deep breath as he tilts his head back. He appears to have a long, in-depth struggle with himself before exhaling loudly. His head levels out.
Humph. I think we dodged that knife—for now.
His gaze drops to my mess on the floor. “You took our sheet. Feeling sentimental?”
<
br /> Yes. Horribly. “It was my bag.” I knot the ends and sling it over my shoulder.
Griffin takes the bundle from me, kissing my temple. “Clever, Cat. Always improvising.”
“Improvise and survive!” I chant.
He chuckles. “That doesn’t rhyme.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does.”
Griffin hits me with his hard stare. “You’re arguing again.”
“That’s because I’m right.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Who’s arguing now?”
“Cat…”
I smile innocently. It’s hard not to laugh. “Yes, Your Growliness?”
He growls.
I tap my chin, thinking up a rhyme he’s sure to like. “There once was a Sintan warlord, who overcame an incredible horde. Even so, he’d be easy to mock, except he has this really huge co—”
Griffin plants his hand over my mouth, his eyes narrowing.
“What? It rhymes,” I say, my voice muffled beneath his fingers.
“So do spank and thank.”
I bite his hand, he smacks my bottom, and I shriek as he flops me over his shoulder along with my makeshift bag. With me gripping his waist and laughing, Griffin strides back to the castle, his head held high like the triumphant conqueror he is.
CHAPTER 5
Jocasta looks around the room, her blue eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. “You need a new bed.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Last night, Griffin and I slept on the thick sheepskin rug in front of the unlit hearth—if sleeping is what you can call what we did for most of the night.
Griffin’s sister snorts. “I wish I could take a sword and beat the stuffing out of something when I’m upset.”
“You can. Here.” I hand her my sword. It’s short, about the length of a man’s arm. The hilt fits my grip perfectly, and the rounded guard is engraved with a decorative pattern of intertwining laurel leaves. I’m thinking about naming it. Swords need names. “I recommend the bed, but I’m not particularly attached to that table over there.”
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