Ebony Rising (The Raven Queen's Harem 2)

“I do,” he whispers, lowering the mirror. “I need to complete the runes before the mixture spoils.”

He starts to move back between my thighs but I grab his shirt and drag him back.

“Morgan?”

“No,” I tell him, pulling his mouth to mine. “No more painting. No more magic. I need you to fuck me. Now.”

Chapter 3

Bunny

Morgan’s lips sear against my own, channeling the magic and lust into a force I’m not sure I can withstand. I’m not like my brothers. The ways of women are not innate. I’m not sure how to give her pleasure. Would she even want it from someone like me?

Her body hums, the whole house probably hears it—feels it. A deep soulful vibration that rattles around my heart before landing in my groin. She sits on the table in front of me, body covered in golden glyphs. Each one a spell of protection—created to keep the Darkness away. But I feel the power beneath the surface, under her heaving breasts and sparking in the pit of her belly. It’s in her fingertips, her breath, it’s coiled tight in between her legs.

The Morrigan, even the small bit residing in this woman’s soul, is strong. Her thirst unquenchable. She needs to be needed. She wants to be wanted. To turn her away is like firing a shot in a battle that can’t be won.

My job—our job—as guardians is to contain that fire before it spreads, and until she finds a mate there’s only one way to do it.

She comes at me again, round, full breasts smashing against my chest. Her lips are blistering hot and her eyes have turned a shade darker. I thread my fingers through her hair and groan when she bites my bottom lip.

“Please,” she begs, but I know it’s the magic talking. Even when she moves her hand to the front of my pants, I know she’s not ready to declare her intent. “You’re here to protect and serve me, Bun. The Morrigan wants to be fed.”

It’s the first time she’s referred to herself by her given name—the woman we swore to protect when gods still roamed the earth. I step back and take in the ravishing, naked woman before me.

“Spread your legs,” I command, my mission clear. She needs me and I crave to serve her. Morgan leans back and presses her palms against the table top, widening her thighs. Her tits jut forward and I curse my disfigured arm for not being able to touch them both at the same time. Instead I use my finger to circle around each of her nipples, raising them into a hard peak. I guide a path lower, between her breasts, over the runes fading into her skin and down to the soft hair between her legs.

Her hips tilt forward in invitation and, stepping closer, I nudge them even wider. Her eyes watch with anticipation, licking her pink lips as I swipe my tongue across mine.

Bending between her legs, I inhale her scent and brace myself for pleasuring Morgan in a way the others haven’t yet.

Chapter 4

Morgan

The coil tightens, twisting and twisting until my breath comes in tiny pants.

My fingers curl against the table’s edge, holding on for dear life. Bunny’s breath tickles my clit, until it throbs, begging for more, more, more.

Between my legs he works his tongue the way he uses his paint brushes; with skill, precision and unbelievable patience. The slow lathing turns rapid and I cry out his name.

“Almost,” I promise, loving the way his hand grips my thigh, and I tug the hair near his ears.

“Take your time.”

It’s clear he’s not in a hurry. He never is, but my body needs release. Our eyes connect seconds before the orgasm rips through my body and for a second I think I may fall into the deep coppery pools. But the coil snaps, sending me tumbling down the edge, nerves raw and explosive. I groan and box his ears with my thighs.

“Fuck,” I mutter, leaning back on the table. Every inch of my body is slick with sweat. The area between my legs aches. I rest for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath. When the fog in my brain clears I sit and look for the man that just showed me the stars. Bunny stands before me, eyes worshipful.

“Did that help?” he asks, the tip of his ears red.

“Bunny,” I say, dragging him back over by the shirt. “That was incredible.” I touch his chin. “Thank you.”

His eyes flick over my shoulder where I know a large clock hangs on the wall. “You don’t want to be late.”

We both know I have a history lesson with Dylan next. We also both know I don’t want to be late. Dylan’s not a big fan of tardiness.

Before I move I tug Bunny down for a kiss. I taste myself on his lips and his mouth still carries the fever of want. I feel awful getting pleasure without offering any in return, but the men assure me this is their duty. My needs come first. I’ll make it up to him later.