Guild Hunter 02 - Angels' Flight

raw.
     
    “Yes.” She parted her thighs wider as he kissed his way across her navel and to the tart sweetness hidden by fine chestnut curls. He’d feasted on her before, loved the little sounds she made when she quickened on his tongue, but tonight, he found his control frayed to a ragged edge by the wild sensuality of her invitation. His strokes were rougher, his grip on her hips tighter.
     
    Instead of shying, she lifted toward him.
     
    He was a man. A man who craved her. It had the effect of snapping the leash. Licking, sucking, and even nipping with his teeth, he pushed her to a hard, fast peak. She shuddered, the taste of her pleasure erotic on his tongue. Aware how sensitive she was after a climax, he backed off to suckle a hot, wet kiss on the inside of her thigh. “The water’s not that cold,” he cajoled, wanting her in with him so he could push his cock—rock-hard in spite of the chill—into the molten tightness of her core.
     
    Her eyes glinted. “Liar.” Hands massaging his shoulders, she leaned forward with wings spread to claim his mouthr sexuality unashamed and intoxicating. “I want something else.”
     
    Intrigued, he pushed up with his arms on either side of her, nuzzling and kissing the graceful line of her neck. “Anything.”
     
    Fingers weaving into his hair as he slid back down, she lifted her eyes to the night sky, lit only by the delicate sliver of a sickle moon and the ice-cold fire of innumerable stars. “I want to dance, Galen.”
     
    His hands clenched on her thighs.
“Jess.”
     
    Jessamy kissed him again, soft and lush and seductive. “I never thought, never dared dream I’d have that, but you promised me, Galen.” Teeth on his lower lip, the soothing warmth of her tongue, heated suckling. “You said you’d fly me wherever I wanted to go.”
     
    Those tiny kisses driving him a step closer to insanity, he moved his hands up to close over her breasts, forcing himself not to be too rough with her. If he hurt Jessamy, he’d cut off his own hands, cauterize the wounds with heated metal so they wouldn’t heal for a season. Then he’d do it over again.
     
    “Harder.” A husky whisper against his mouth. “Please.”
     
    He gritted his teeth to keep from spilling in the water right then and there. Jessamy continued to kiss and pet him as he fought the need, and then his hands were moving, squeezing and tugging harder than he’d ever before done, her creamy skin reddened by the coarse demand of his touch.
     
    Shivering in a way he knew had nothing to do with the cold, she ran her hand over the arch of his wing, long fingers rubbing the sensitive edge where it grew out of his back. It felt as if she was fisting his cock. He wrenched away, pushed himself to the middle of the pond and dived. She was sitting where he’d left her when he surfaced, her chest heaving, her hair tumbling around her shoulders to hide her breasts—but for the plump points of her nipples.
     
    A wood nymph come to life. To torment him.
     
    “The cold isn’t helping,” he muttered, shoving forward to grip her hips and suck the taut pink tip of one breast into his mouth without warning. Her cry was the sweetest music. Shoving aside her hair, he molded her other breast with his hand, using the pressure she’d just taught him she liked, his cock thick and ready between his legs.
     
    Then she whispered, “Dance with me, Galen.”
     
    Letting her nipple pop from his mouth, he met her gaze. “I won’t be able to control myself.” The dance was the most primal of matings.
     
    “Did I ask for control?” With that arch reminder, she rose to her feet and held out a hand. “Now come.”
     
    He could deny her nothing. Rising from the water, he didn’t scoop her up in his arms as he usually did. Instead, he held her to him with one arm around her waist beneath her wings, the other around her upper back. His cock throbbed between them. Rubbing gently against it, Jessamy wrapped her arms around his neck.
     
    Glaring at her—to a sinful smile—he said, “Tighten your wings.”
     
    She brought in her right wing, her left already smaller and flatter to her back, the light dimming from her eyes without warning. “Will my weight be dangero—”
     
    “You weigh less than a feather.” So fragile, she was so very, very fragile. His hunger, by contrast, was such a vast thing—he was terrified it might crush her. And he couldn’t bear to imagine Jessamy turning from him, scared and