Immortally Yours, An Urban Fantasy Romance (Monster MASH, Book 1) (30 page)

My nipples tightened to painful points. My skin flushed. I pushed into him. Gods, it felt good.
 

"Fuck." He exploded, dropping the towel, dragging me into his mouth. He closed over one breast and then the other as he took turns kissing and sucking and worshipping them both. I shoved my chest forward and my head back. Yes. This was exactly what I needed.
 

Pleasure threaded through me, making me even wetter. I wound my fingers through his hair and squirmed my hips closer. I wanted him to feel my soaked panties, to know how ready I was for him.
 

"Hades," he cursed against my trembling skin, "I should be taking care of you to night."
 

"You are," I said, as he rose up over me.
 

He kissed me deeply, over and over, like he was afraid to stop. I clung to him, kissed him, loved him.
 

He jerked away, his mouth glistening. "I almost lost you to night. It scared the hell out of me."
 

I was tired of fighting, this and everything else. "Then make love to me, Galen. Make me forget."
 

"In here," he said, lifting me like I weighed nothing and carrying me to his bed.
 

My pulse raced, my heart pounded. Finally. I wanted this. I wanted him.
 

I'd never allowed that for myself. Never expected to find it after Marc was taken and killed. God, that seemed so long ago.
 

It was.
 

Galen lowered me onto the sumptuous bed. He lit the candles, one by one.
 

Warm light bathed the room as he moved back to me, his large hand cupping my jaw, cradling it in his palm. "You are so beautiful," he said, lowering his mouth.
 

His lips brushed against mine, strong and warm. He caressed me, avoiding my hurt shoulder and arm. He was so good. So noble.
 

He was mine.
 

He wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me flush against him.
 

I could feel him—all of him—hard against me.
 

"Strip," I whispered against his ear. "I want you to strip for me."
 

He raised up over me, his hips straddling mine. His muscled arms and chest flexed as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. With a wicked grin, he tossed it behind him.
 

"Mmm...very nice, soldier."
 

He tilted his chin down, eyes on me. "I aim to please, ma'am."
 

He slid off the bed. Soon his combat boots were in a heap with his shirt. He stood in front of me, wearing his fatigues and nothing else.
 

I raised up on my one good elbow. "Very nice. But I'm not letting you back in bed until I've tasted your cock."
 

His hand froze on his top button. "Holy hell. You're like a walking wet dream."
 

"Strip."
 

He shoved down his pants and unveiled a tapered waist, strong thighs, and the most beautiful cock I'd ever seen. It was long and thick with a glistening drop of pre-cum at the tip.
 

"Oh my god."
 

"That's right," he said, grinning.
 

Yeah, well I knew how to wipe that smile off his face. I reached out and caught him with my tongue. He groaned as I circled his tip and then took the whole of him in my mouth. He tasted rich and salty—alive. I slid a hand between his legs to caress his heavy balls.
 

"Holy fuck."
 

I took his whole length again, working him with my tongue.
 

"Enough," he grunted, lifting me up and slamming us both back down onto the bed. I ground against him, raining kisses against his chest as he ripped off my panties and buried himself inside me.
 

I hissed as I felt the full length of him, kissed the sweat dampened line of his neck.
 

He gasped and withdrew, his tip hovering outside my entrance. We both wanted it again—the sweetness of that first invasion. I wrapped my legs around him, and we both groaned as he slipped inside of me once more.
 

He plunged his tongue into my mouth.
 

Yes
.
 

I kissed him back with everything I had, reveling in the feeling of him on me,
in
me.
 

His wide shoulders were corded with tension. He watched heatedly as he took me. He was so hard and powerful. He held nothing back.
 

He was perfect.
 

I reached a hand down between us and touched the place where he pumped in and out of me. I felt my juices on his cock, whispered my fingers through it as he penetrated me.
 

"Like this," he said easing my hand over my clit. He pressed it there. I gasped, reveling in the weight of him sliding in and out of me, stroking me, my fingers pressed down, the pleasure spiraling.
 

He tensed, never taking his eyes off me as the speed and depth of his strokes increased. It was delicious. Searingly beautiful to be held by him, loved by him, owned by him in the most primitive way known to man.
 

The friction built, spiraling into warmth and then, and then, I reached for it, thrust down harder, bucked against him.
 

I screamed as the full force of it slammed into me.
 

It washed over me, it owned me. Galen wrapped his other hand around my backside and held me there, forcing me to take it, to feel it. He drove into me until I flew apart.
 

I came so hard my shoulders leapt off the bed, trying to get closer, to feel more, to take more as the sheer pleasure of it streaked through me. It was too much. Too hard. Too long. I gave a hoarse cry as wave after wave of it crashed over me.
 

He threw his head back and shouted as it captured him. He gripped my hips with both hands as he poured into me over and over again.
 

Chapter Twenty

When we were both shaking and utterly spent, he collapsed over me. Eyes closed, I drew circles on his back, enjoying the weight of him on top of me. I couldn't stop touching him.
 

After a long moment, he spoke. "I think I broke something."
 

"You'd better not have," I murmured, licking the salt from his shoulder, "because I plan to be doing this a hell of a lot more."
 

He chuckled and flexed his hips, still half hard inside me. "Lucky for you, I heal quickly." He gave me a long, lingering kiss. "Come on. Let's get you under the covers."
 

"Still trying to take care of me?" I asked as he snuggled us both under the blankets. Me, with my head on his chest. Him holding me close.
 

"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispered, his voice tight.
 

"Oh, I have some clue," I said, drawing my fingernails over his side, pleased when his breath hitched in response.
 

He snaked his body over mine, heavy and warm. "You'd better be careful. More of that and I'm not responsible for my actions."
 

I ran my tongue along his collarbone. I loved the way he moved, the way he felt. It humbled me the way his eyes glittered with want for what I could give to him. For me.
 

But damn, didn't I deserve a little happiness? Didn't we all?
 

I touched the short, stiff hair above his ear, caressed the back of his neck. "Thank you."
 

He drew my hand down and kissed it. "For what?"
 

There were so many things. "For coming after me tonight. For protecting me. For leading me through this mess." Before, I'd been hesitant to admit I needed him. Never again. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
 

"You would have done it without me," he said, with more surety that I'd ever felt. "You would have found a way." He held himself over me. "You're one of the strongest women I know."
 

I looked away, to the darkened doorway. "It's not because I want to be. It's because I have to." I'd been taking care of myself my entire life. "I can't quit," I told him, "even if I want to every day."
 

"I know," he said simply. "I want out of this war, too." His expression grew tight. "When I was stabbed this last time, I knew it was different. I thought it was fatal. It was almost a relief."
 

"That's awful." I could only imagine the pain he must feel. I wished I could take some of it away.
 

"Hell, I know," he said quickly, misunderstanding me. He shook his head, his eyes clouding over with what? Shame? "I shouldn't even think it."
 

"Why?" As far as I was concerned, it was good to get it out.
 

"It's treason, you know," he said, his tone grim, as if he could hide his sorrow and his hurt.
 

"What? To have feelings? To be overwhelmed by death and violence?" It was absurd to expect anything less.
 

"I should be above that," he said, steeling himself.
 

"Nobody is," I said, coaxing him down next to me. I propped myself up on my pillow, resting my head on my arm. "You're only half god. You don't have to keep up the shtick all the time."
 

"Shtick?" he said, slightly entertained at the word.
 

"You know what I mean." For once, I was glad my mother was a selfish, derelict fairy. At least she wasn't a god.
 

"It's not about my mother," he mused.
 

I gave him the
you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look
.
 

"Okay, it is sort of about my mother." He rolled onto his back. "She got me into this." He glanced at me. "Do you know how it works?"
 

I shook my head no.
 

"She dropped me off at the Abaddon Hell Vent when I was eleven."
 

Yikes. "I wasn't allowed to go to the mall alone when I was eleven."
 

"It's where we used to train back then," he said, looking up at the ceiling, thinking back. "That's where I learned to be
strong and noble, heroic and true
." He recited the virtues like items on a checklist.
 

"Those are all good things, you know."
 

"I know," he said, the words hollow.
 

"I'll bet she's proud of you."
 

He shifted to face me. "I don't know. I never saw her again."
 

I was shocked, not only at his mother's callousness, but also at his grim acceptance. It was sad. This was a man who deserved to be loved, not abandoned.
 

"Maybe you should seek her out." I had to imagine she'd be proud. "You can show her what you've become."
 

The thought of it did little to cheer him. "I'm not sure that's how it works. But sometimes, I think she knows."
 

He drew me into his arms and we held each other tight. He kissed me on the head. "Let's talk about something else."
 

"Okay," I said, warm and safe against him.
 

We lay still for a moment. Then I felt him smile against my hair. "At the risk of being kneed in the balls, I have to congratulate you on the second prophecy coming true."
 

I poked him with my pinkie finger instead. "I did arrest those suckers," I said, letting it sink in. Or at least I'd stopped them. Last time I read a dictionary,
arrest
was a synonym for "stop."
 

There was no way Kosta or anyone else could have forced that. Spiros dying, the Shrouds breaking free—none of it should have happened. Somehow, the oracle knew.
 

I studied the arm he'd laid over me, the pure strength of it. Candles flickered. Shadows danced over the walls of the tent. "I'm afraid," I admitted.
 

"You should be," he said against my hair. "Fear forces you to be vigilant, to prepare." He kissed my shoulder. "Fear keeps you alive."
 

"I can't believe you do this day in and day out." He fought on the front lines and watched his men suffer and die.
 

All this time, I thought I was the one who stood alone. But Galen did, too. He commanded. He inspired. But he had no one to prop him up.
 

I found myself wanting nothing more than to reach out to him and ease his pain.
 

"Not quite like to night," he said, the muscles in his chest tightening. "That was something new, even for me."
 

"Really?" A moment of understanding passed between us.
 

I couldn't quite believe that this immortal warrior was here with me. That he'd chosen it.
 

It was more than I'd ever imagined.
 

"Petra." I tilted my chin up as he tucked a wisp of hair behind my ear. "I was missing something before. I have been for years. I didn't know what it was until I met you."
 

His admission filled me with joy and at the same time, a stark awareness of him erupted through me. I didn't know if I could take it, that kind of closeness—that kind of responsibility. "I don't know what to say."
 

He gave a small smile. "You don't have to say anything."
 

He held me close. I closed my eyes and sank into him. I felt so warm and safe. Content. Like I'd made it back home.
 

***

I woke to his tongue snaking across my hip. I lifted the covers to watch as he dipped it into my belly button. It tickled.
 

"Stop laughing. I'm trying to seduce you." He grinned against my skin.
 

My stomach growled. "What time is it?"
 

"Just after noon. Want to get something to eat?"