Soulbound (Darkest London 6)

His shoulder blades pressed into the wall, his grip tightening in her hair as his hips canted, the urge to thrust overcoming any need to draw out this pleasure. “Tell me, lass,” he said, panting, thrusting in and out of her mouth. “Tell me this feels good to you.”

Her answer was to cup his arse, slipping her hand beneath his trousers and finding his bare skin. She dug her fingers into the muscle there and held him tight, urging him in deeper. Adam nearly lost his wits.

“You like it,” he rasped. “Me fucking your mouth.” The thought drove him to madness. His cock throbbed to near pain now, and still the need to thrust and plunder. To take everything she had to give. “Will you drink me down, love? Take it all?”

Eliza’s eyes opened, and her gaze clashed with his. And his breath caught, sharp and swift. She bloody loved it. High color stained her cheeks. Holding his gaze, she let her free hand move from his cods; he missed the heat, the solid comfort.

A strangled sound tore from his throat as her dainty finger stole beneath his stones and stroked him there. Everything turned white. Blinding heat and pleasure. He lost himself, not feeling his body, not knowing where he was. Just pleasure and the sweet pain of release.

He came back to himself by degrees. The sight of the wall before him. The mad beating of his heart. The slick feel of his soft cock slipping out of her mouth. He groaned, his body sliding a little down the wall. But she was rising, pressing her warm and lush body against his, holding him up with her arms about his waist. He hauled her closer, his arm about her slim shoulders as he bent and pressed his lips to her fragrant neck, moist now with perspiration and heat.

“By my vow,” he said against her skin. “I’ll be returning the favor, Eliza May. And when I get you into my bed, I’ll not be letting you out of it again.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The taste of Adam was on Eliza’s tongue, as he led her back to the taproom, and she flushed a little when she thought of how she’d taken him in her mouth. She’d loved it. Loved seeing him come undone. It had been beautiful, empowering. Carnal. A pleasurable shiver lit through her at the memory of his expression, tight with ecstasy. She had done that to him. And she wanted more.

At her side, Adam walked along, his hair mussed, his color high, and his shirt clearly tucked in with haste. A man debauched. And content, if his rather badly hidden grin meant anything. He caught her gaze, and his eyes blazed with certain promise to return the favor.

It made her unaccountably shy. Where did they stand? Would they be lovers? Eliza wanted him. She could not deny it. But was it enough? Was he truly her soul mate? And was all this seduction and charm his way of getting her to believe in it? She hated that she had doubts, but trust was an ill-fitting glove that she fought to slip on.

Adam’s reappearance in the room garnered attention, as it always did. Instantly, the innkeeper came out from behind the bar and made his way to them. “Sire,” he said, bowing a bit, “would you take a dram with us?” Behind him, a group of men sat around the table with expectant looks.

Eliza smothered a smile, for the tension that shot through Adam’s back and the slight twitch at the corner of his eye spoke of utter frustration. Poor man. But he shook it off with a small breath and a nod. “But of course.”

With a wry glance at Eliza, he made as if to move, taking her with him. She resisted. “I’ll be sitting over there,” she said, pointing to the small corner table they’d supped at. When he frowned, she leaned in close, far too aware of the scent of his satisfaction lingering on his skin. “They want to talk to their king. Let them have this.”

Adam sighed. “And I want to tup their queen,” he groused, then shook his head, his lips quirking. “At least someone shall have their wish.” He ambled off, leaving her standing there, open-mouthed and heart pounding. Queen. She nearly laughed at the idea. The GIM needed a leader, a fearless and noble woman to be their queen. Not her.

Frowning, she made her way to her table, and a pretty barmaid came to check on her. “What shall I be getting you then, miss?”

“Ale,” Eliza said. “A pint of it.”

The barmaid went to fill her order.

“Playing with a man such as that can work up a powerful thirst, can it not?”

Eliza turned to glare at the woman who’d spoken, and found herself face to face with a fae. Eliza sat up straight, her knee banging into the table leg. And the fae leaned in. “Easy now,” she hissed, her purple eyes flashing in warning. “No need to kick up a dander.”

“I beg to differ,” Eliza said. But the sudden knife pressed against her ribs had her refraining from doing more. She glared at the young woman holding it. “What do you want?”

Ivory cheeks plumped. “Mellan sends his regards.”

“They aren’t returned.”

“To be sure,” the woman murmured, looking not altogether unsympathetic. “He’s expecting you to fulfill your promise to him.”

With a deliberate hand, Eliza grasped the blade threatening her side and wrenched it from the fae’s hand. The knife was meant for stabbing, not slicing, and thus did not cut her hand. Foolish fae girl, using a dull blade against her. “You listen to me,” Eliza said in a low voice. “I am not killing Adam. I am his bride.” She leaned closer. “I chose him.”

Around the room the air stirred, and from the corner of her eye, Eliza saw the ghostly shapes of spirits. So many of them, crowding the area, all of them watching her. And yet none of the GIM seemed to notice. Nor the fae who sat, tight-lipped and scowling.