Kiyo pressed his fingers to her pulse, even though he knew nothing but iron through the heart could kill her. He needed the reassurance. With a sigh, he swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
Drawing her close, he tried to sleep but couldn’t.
Kiyo didn’t think he’d be able to sleep until he knew for certain they were as far away from Astra as they could get. But perhaps what they should be concerned about was Pack Iryoku. Once they realized their alpha, her mate, and her most loyal beta were dead, as well as the pack members Sakura had used to test the extent of his powers … they’d do whatever they could to stop Kiyo and Niamh from leaving Tokyo.36Niamh’s scream wrenched Kiyo out of sleep.
Heart in his throat, he reached for her and found the bed empty where she should be. “Niamh!”
“In here.” Her head appeared around the doorjamb of the hotel bathroom. “Are you okay?”
His relief was so intense, he could have wept like a goddamn babe. “Bad dream.” He exhaled shakily.
Niamh’s expression was one of understanding. “Come shower with me.” Her head disappeared.
Needing to feel her beneath his hands, Kiyo swung his legs out of bed, his eyes dropping to the new scar near his hip. The wound was completely healed. Touching his neck, he felt the raised skin of the scar there too. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to take his head off. It was the first time they’d tried it with silver.
Stepping into the dimly lit bathroom, he drew to a halt at the sight of his naked mate.
She had her back to him, angled toward the mirror above the sink as she stared at herself.
Or more precisely at the scar on her spine. Her eyes flew to his in the mirror and then moved to the scar on his neck. “What a pair we make, covered in battle scars.”
Kiyo divested himself of his jeans to join her in her nakedness. Then he moved to her, every part of him aching with a strange emotion that almost felt like grief. What happened to her last night had yet to leave him. He didn’t know how long it would take, if ever, for him to recover from it. Lowering to his knees, he clasped her warm hips in his hands and kissed the scar. It was nestled on her spine just above the sexy dimples on her lower back.
Goose bumps pebbled her skin as he brushed his mouth over the raised area.
“Does it hurt?” he whispered.
“All healed,” she replied, hoarsely.
Kiyo pressed another kiss to it, wishing he had the power to erase the memory for her. With that feeling of powerlessness came an urgency to make her forget. If only for a while. He caressed her hips, trailing his fingers downward until they reached her gorgeous ass. He squeezed her cheeks as he rose slowly upward, peppering wet kisses all the way up Niamh’s spine.
Her gasps of excitement were the equivalent of her soft hand wrapped around his dick.
His hands followed his rise, chasing around her silken stomach. As his lips reached her shoulders, he palmed her breasts, catching her taut nipples on his thumbs.
“Kiyo,” she panted, arching into his touch as she rested her head against his collarbone.
Catching the erotic sight of them in the mirror, Kiyo turned her gently toward it. Her eyes were closed as she mewled at his fondling. “Open your eyes.”
They flew open, bright gold with arousal.
His reaction was immediate. All blood shot south.
They looked phenomenal together. Her golden paleness against his dark fawn. Their eyes locked in the mirror. Kiyo released one of her breasts to skim his hand down her belly, and he felt her tremble with anticipation. Her gaze dropped to follow his hand and her mouth parted on a quiver of want as his fingers found her clit.
“Kiyo.” She bit her lip, pushing into the touch, as he rolled hard circles over the peak of her while massaging her breast with his other hand. The act of watching her watch him bring her to climax had him so ready, he could feel the wet leak from his tip against her ass.
Niamh’s hands came to his outer thighs to steady herself as she rocked against his fingers, her moans and cries of pleasure echoing around the bathroom. Then she tensed. “Kiyo!”
She shuddered as the orgasm rolled over her.
Barely giving her a moment to process it, he grabbed her hair in his hands and twisted her head to kiss her, his tongue licking at hers, needing her taste and scent and sweat on every part of him. Breaking the kiss, he growled against her lips, “Bend over the sink.”
The gold that was bleeding back to aquamarine drenched her irises in liquid sunlight. She nodded, a little unsteadily, before she pulled away from him to bend over, hands to the sink.