I’m assured by the low groan in his throat that he likes it too.
Biting his bottom lip, he growls in return, but I only want proof this is real—not another dream or slip from reality. No magic. Just us. The pain does nothing but spur him on. The noise is deep and trembles in his chest. With strong hands he positions me the way he wants me, the way that it feels so, so good.
I’m slippery wet. He’s hard with want. Just before he enters me, he pulls back and stares at me with eyes that cut to my soul. I toy with his hard, brown nipple and he swallows hard.
“Take me,” I whisper against his lips. “Fuck me.”
His eyes are pinned to mine and he licks his lips. In a reverent tone he says, “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
I throw my arms over his neck as he enters. I feel him in every inch of my body. I feel his passion. His loyalty. Digging my nails into his back, I hold on for dear life when he begins to move. Dylan isn’t just mating with me. He’s exorcising demons.
He isn’t gentle. He isn’t slow. There’s no patience or courtesy like with the others. No, Dylan fucks me righteously, hips thrusting so hard my breath comes in shallow gasps. I weave a hand into his hair and force his mouth against mine. His jaw tenses and I feel rather than hear the words coming off his lips.
“Oh god,” I cry.
His moves grow frantic, the coil in my lower belly tightens and twists, bringing me to a shuddering, panting halt. Me, not him, because as my walls quiver and I groan my ecstasy, he pounds into me with unrelenting need.
My knees bend and I’m almost curved against the wall, when he comes to a fast and sudden halt, dropping his forehead to mine and spilling everything he has into me in several exaggerated thrusts.
I brush the hair off his forehead and he looks at me with dazed eyes. “Better?” I ask. He’s still in me. Warm. Bonded.
He blinks and a slow, relieved grin graces his beautiful face. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s better.”
As much as I hate it, I separate from him, enough to get down on wobbly legs. He’s barely moved, keeping close, and I touch him on the stomach. “I need you to tell me what that was all about.”
“I know. I will.”
“You can’t protect me forever.” I look up at his face.
“I can,” he says. “And I will, but you’re right, we need to talk. All of us.”
He wraps me in his arms, the anger and angst he’s been carrying a fraction of what it’s been over the past few weeks. I know we need to leave the room and find the other Guardians, but right now I want to just have a final moment of peace. From the weight of Dylan’s arms around me, I know he feels it too.
*
We take the long way back to The Nead, walking hand in hand down the long, busy streets of New York and then cutting through the park. The rage that consumed him back at the fight seems to have dissipated, although it’s replaced with something different.
It’s nearly dawn and the house is quiet when we walk up the front steps. I’m not ready for whatever it is that Dylan has to say to me and the other Guardians. When we reach the landing between the floors of my suite and his, I lift my chin and say, “Come to my room.”
I’m surprised when he says yes with a kiss and allows me to lead him to my bedroom by hand.
This time we take it slower. We’re both clean from the showers at the gym. The blood has washed away and Dylan smells fresh, like soap. His blue eyes pulse with energy as he takes his time unzipping my hoodie, brushing his fingers over the swell of my breasts. He kisses down my body and I lean back on the soft cushion of my bed, lifting my hips so he can remove my jeans. From there I watch him lift his shirt over his head, revealing the impressive stack of muscles that line his stomach. When he lowers his pants I don’t hesitate to reach for him, taking the hard but soft rod of velvet in my hand.
His stomach caves at my touch and he climbs over my body. Warm to warm. Wet to wet. His tongue tastes minty and the pads of his sk
illed fingers feel rough. When he rolls on his back and adjusts me over his hips my whole body goes on alert. I ride him slowly, rolling my hips at my own pace. I plan to make it last as long as I can because when we get out of the bed, I have a feeling our lives will no longer be the same.
*
He’s gone when I wake. His side of the bed cool is to the touch, but there’s a note that simply says to meet downstairs at nine.
I check the clock. It says 8:54.
Scrambling, I race to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I’m dressed in the clothing from last night when I walk into the library. Everyone is waiting, except…
“Where’s Bunny?” I ask.
“I tried his room. It was locked,” Sam says, making space for me on the couch. I walk past Dylan and catch his scent. My knees weaken and I think about his face, hours ago, lost in ecstasy. When our eyes meet I have no doubt he’s thinking of the same thing. I realize that I’ve had sex with every man in this room. I should be scandalized by this. I’m not.