Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Before Lorne came into the picture, I was happy. I loved my friends, my communion with the ebb and flow of the land, teaching, helping, and the stewardship of Corvus that involved my magic and my place as a guardian. What I didn’t have was someone to share my life with, and though that wasn’t necessary, him joining me in my home, now our home, had brought me a level of contentment I never expected. Even more importantly, he showed me that change was not only good for the soul, but also essential for my growth. He expanded my world, my circle, and gave me a new place in the community. I had always considered myself, to a great degree, unwanted, unloved, more of an outcast but for a very few I called friends. But it turned out, for most, I’d been holding on to ancient history. And while there were still many who weren’t crazy about me—Diana Flint came instantly to mind—there were more now for whom I was simply Xander, the fiancé of the chief of police. That new understanding had been a revelation.
I watched him squat down and pet Argos, who did as was his habit and rubbed his face all over both of Lorne’s knees before pressing into his hand.
“Why’re you smiling?” Lorne asked softly, straightening up and smiling back.
“I love seeing you with Argos.”
“That’s true, I can tell,” he agreed, studying me, his eyes narrowing as his lips curled into the mischievous grin I loved. “But something else is going on too.”
“Having you here with me,” I admitted, putting my hand on his chest.
“I’m always here with you.”
“Then it’s good just to look at you.”
“You’ve been staring at me all night.”
“Yes, well, I like doing that. Black hair and blue eyes really do it for me,” I said appreciatively, waggling my eyebrows.
“Is that right?”
I nodded and winked.
He chuckled because he found me charming. He’d told me often enough. “Well, I’m pretty fond of long, blond, messy hair and hazel eyes.”
“Messy?” I gasped.
“It’s wavy and curly and wild,” he said, hooking a hand around the back of my neck and drawing me forward, whispering in my ear, “I love it when it falls in my face.”
He meant when I was riding him. Whenever I leaned over to kiss him when he was buried inside me, my hair fell around him, and he would gather it up and ease me down and take my mouth. I loved being in bed with him, loved it when he touched me, and I wanted that now. I wanted him.
His breath was warm down the side of my neck before he pressed a kiss to my skin. A small, soft, needy moan came from the back of my throat as I slipped my hands around his hips, my fingers above the duty belt, gently tugging on his shirt.
“I’m all sweaty and gross,” he murmured, kissing my forehead.
“You’re neither of those things,” I assured him, leaning in for what I wanted.
When he kissed me, I parted my lips and felt the heat build fast, in me, between us, and when he lifted me off my feet, I wrapped arms and legs around him.
Sometimes we came together slow, the movement sensual, and we tangled together and became one. I loved that.
Other times, like now, were about his dominance, my submission, and being used and taken. I loved that too.
He carried me to the bedroom, and that was a rush. All the power in him, the man’s big, carved body moving me easily, tumbling me down under him before rising quickly to strip.
The gun and duty belt went gently to the floor, but the shirt and undershirt were yanked and pulled. Socks went flying, and when his regular belt was undone, then the button and zipper of his pants, I started shucking clothes as fast as I could, scrambling to the nightstand, but unable not to look back at him, appreciating all the sleek skin stretched over hard, thick muscle, loving how irritated he appeared because his pants were not sliding down his legs and off.
Lube in hand, grabbing a pillow on the way, I was back, my legs on either side of his, hanging off the end of the bed, as I popped the cap and squeezed out just enough to lightly coat his already hard, leaking shaft.
He bent his knees quickly, still trying to get free, but when I took hold of his length, stroking, my grip on him tight, his groan was guttural, up from his chest, and he went still with my ministrations, letting his head fall back as he pushed into my slick fist.
“Yes?” I asked, leaning forward to kiss his sculpted abdomen before licking over the grooves there. My man was a work of art.
“I’m too wound—I was worried about you, and everything was insane tonight, and—”