Mists of Velvet

“You want me.”
    She whimpered, the only sound she permitted herself, and it turned him into something more feral—something to match the animal in her.
    Before she knew it, before she could understand his intent, or how he had the strength, he removed his shaft from her mouth and pulled her body on top of his until her thighs straddled his hips. His hand sought her folds, the stroking and rubbing of his fingers making her want to scream in pleasure.
    He watched her; she felt his beautiful violet eyes roving along her nakedness. His eyes darkened as his gaze fixed on her breasts. He licked his lips, and she pressed forward, allowing her breasts to dangle before him.
    “Nice,” he whispered. “Now let me taste them.”
    Bronwnn brushed her nipples across his lips, teasing him. He captured one, bit gently down, then circled the hard tip with his tongue. His hand was now clutching her, kneading her bottom. She arched, tossing her head back so that her breasts were fully before him and his hand was squeezing her.
    “You have the finest tits and ass I’ve ever seen.”
    The words aroused her, even though she didn’t quite understand them. She knew they were said to arouse, and they did. She was wet, and she was rubbing herself against his swollen shaft.
    “Come,” he commanded. His hands fixed on her hips, and anchoring them on either side of her, he flexed up, meeting her, connecting with her wet sex.
    “Rub on me,” he whispered as he brought her down and kissed her cheek. His breath was moist against her, his words hot in her ear. “Let me feel your cunt.”
    Her whole body was quivering now, and he held her tighter as he rubbed his cock against her, the length of him sliding between her slick folds. She was moving faster now, and his breathing was quicker as it whispered against her.
    “Fuck, I want to be inside you.”
    She wanted that, too, but it was too late. She was shuddering on top of him, mindless of anything but the pleasure that centered deep in her sex and spread out to her limbs. She would have cried out, but she was mute, her body fractured from her mind. And then she collapsed against him, her breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest.
    His fingers ran along her spine, soothing her. His touch was soft, reverent. He kissed her cheek, then the crook of her neck.
    “That was better than my dreams,” he whispered, and Bronwnn nodded her agreement.
    Her dreams had been nothing like this. Nothing could have prepared her for the exquisite feel of his hand, his hard body, the primitive need she felt binding them.
    “ Mo bandia ,” he murmured, before kissing her.
    My goddess.

CHAPTER TEN

    “I’ve dreamed of you, you know.”
    Rhys gazed down into the face of the woman lying in his arms. She was beautiful, especially now, her skin flushed in the afterglow of passion.
    “For weeks you’ve come to me.” Her blue eyes peered up at him. “Has it been the same for you?”
    She nodded, and a sense of relief and elation flooded him. She had dreamed of him, too.
    “We’re connected. Fated.” His hand grazed along her back, and she shivered. He held her closer, basking in the feel of her. “You’re mine.”
    She agreed. He might be a mortal, but Rhys knew how things worked in the Otherworld. He had mingled with immortals all his life. He knew of their ways, their beliefs. Dreams figured heavily in their culture, and Rhys knew that he and this woman were now deeply intertwined.
    “That’s how you knew to find me.”
    She nodded, then kissed his chin, using her fingertips to trace the outline of the torc. He had forgotten he was wearing it. He smiled, thinking of the wolf head at either end of it—a fitting animal. Somehow Daegan had known he’d make this journey. He had also known a wolf was in his future.
    “I have to get to Bran,” he murmured as he nuzzled her hair with his lips. “I’ve seen things I must tell him. It’s important.”
    She shook her head and held him tighter. She wasn’t letting him go. While he appreciated her concern, Rhys knew he couldn’t stay in this cottage forever. It wasn’t his nature to hide and be idle. He needed to do something. And that he had firsthand information on the Dark Mage was vital. No one had been so close to the killer and lived to tell about it.
    She was still clutching him, and he held her close, reveling in the newfound softness inside him. He hadn’t even been inside her, and already there was a connection between them.