Velvet Haven

bed. On top was a fur blanket that would feel decadent and wicked beneath her naked body.
    When she looked up at him, she saw that he was watching for her reaction. “It’s always been my fantasy to take you here, in my sacred space. Will you give me this fantasy, muirnin ?”
    He set her down and she reached for him, sliding her palm up along his hard abdomen, up higher to his pectorals. “Spread on an altar, sacrificing myself for you, is that what you’ve dreamed of?” she asked, totally turned on by the image of herself as a sexual goddess. Living out his fantasy was definitely something she was going to enjoy.
    He didn’t answer, just closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Lovingly she traced the outline of his sigils on his neck, watching as they glowed beneath her fingers. He rested his forehead against hers. “I want this night to be perfect for you.”
    “Oh, you are,” she said, rubbing up against him. “Just like this, this is perfect. This is how I want you. This is how I love you.”
    He brought their hands up and placed her fingers against his cheek. “Touch me, muirnin ,” he said in a voice that was little more than a broken whisper. “Touch me.”
    Need had replaced the masterful tone of his voice. With shaking fingers she caressed the arch of his strong brow, down to his cheeks, which were already starting to stubble. The roughness of it grazed her fingertips, heightening her senses. She liked Bran with an evening beard. She liked him looking hard and strong. It made her feel secure and safe in a new world where she felt so out of place.
    His breathing was hard when she reached the corner of his mouth. With a gentle glide of her fingers, she brushed them over his lips, startled by their softness. Mairi closed her eyes when she felt him reverently kiss her fingers. His energy, which had been an even hum, spiked at the touch.
    “I need you—so much.”
    His head dropped down and he rested his forehead in the crook of her neck. She felt the tips of his fingers glide down her throat. “Don’t stop,” he begged. “Don’t ever stop.”
    With her palms she traced the sculpted contours of his shoulders, then slid down to the insertion points of his wings and rubbed. He shuddered and let out a low moan of utter pleasure. The energy increased, humming along his body, flickering along his muscles. It drew her in, made her feel bold, and she pressed her body against his, rubbing the points between his shoulders as she kissed his neck.
    “You feel so good,” she whispered, running her fingers down his spine to the waistband of his pants. “So strong beneath my hands.”
    “You make me feel strong.”
    The longer she touched him, the more the energy seemed to flow between them. It was pouring off him, and Mairi knew that this loving would be like nothing they had ever shared before.
    She kissed his shoulder, licked his skin, tasting the salt of him. Her mouth lowered, brushing over his nipple. She flicked the tip of her tongue over it, felt it grow hard. She heard his breath catch, felt his hand comb into her hair and clutch at her curls. And still the energy ebbed and flowed; like waves on a beach, it came in, then out, drawing them closer and closer, pulling them together so that they were bound to each other.
    Reaching for his fly, Mairi slipped the button free and pushed the pants down over his hips. He kicked them off, his mouth finding hers, and he kissed her. Slowly, reverently. Like a tender lover, he took her mouth, showing her that this night was not about sex, but love.
    Over and over she brushed her fingers along his back, delighting in the shudders that racked his body, loving the way he seemed to cling to her, to hold on to her as if she sapped his strength with her powers.
    Emboldened, she kissed his neck, then sucked rhythmically in time to the stroke of her fingers over one of his insertion points. Driving him to the edge with her touch—her love.

    Bran could barely think. Mairi’s hand, so small and delicate, skated over his shoulder, building his passion, inflaming his body until he thought he might come. But then it passed, and the energy took over, flowing outward and into Mairi. She took him, pulling at him, and he let himself go. Let himself be taken in by her.
    “Lanamnas is a sacred act,” he said, reaching for her hand. “It’s meant to be intimate and beautiful and . . . pure.” A white cloth materialized and he reached for her wrist. Palm to palm he fitted