heavy length as he shuddered. Against her hair, he started to groan. “My name…who am I?”
But Tyriel barely heard him as she fisted her hands in the silky skeins of his raven-black hair, the climax inside her womb exploding outward and arching her up until she was breathless and blind from the pleasure, bucking against him, liquid pleasure sliding from her, coating his cock, the muscles in her pussy locking down rhythmically around his sex and stroking him into climax.
And in a low, broken moan, she whimpered, “Irian.”
Moments later, she sighed as he stroked her hair and soothed her into sleep. His name slid from her lips one final time as she slid into slumber. “Irian…”
The guilt in his gut faded away to a dull ache as he wrapped his arms around her and rested.
He didn’t really sleep, not even in this body. He hovered in a semiconscious state that charged his mind and magic, and allowed his soul to wander, his mind to remember. So much to remember, and so very little that was pleasant. When Irian dragged himself back to the present, he was aware of Tyriel’s firm little ass, snug against his cock, the sweet scent of her hair, those wild Jiupsu curls spilling all over his arms and chest, tickling his chin. His cock throbbed against her ass, a sweet ache, one he hadn’t had the luxury of feeling in years.
Ahhh…what was he to do? He could not allow the lass to leave. Such danger lurked for her. The blackness crowded at the very edges of Irian’s mind, his soul. Such a powerful thing she was…how could he force her into staying? If she wasn’t elvin, he could make her—not through physical force or violence. The idea sickened him. Had she been weaker willed, he could have intimidated her into bending to his will.
But not Tyriel.
And of course, if he tried to bar her from leaving, well, she could throw his bearer against a fucking wall. Elf-kind were strong, stronger than mortal men.
She must stay safe…they needed her. And whether the fool admitted it or not, Aryn needed her. She already owned his heart. Irian lived inside the man’s head—he should know.
She murmured and sighed in her sleep.
The swordsman’s name.
She fled for fear the swordsman did not love her.
Aryn loved her well and truly, and even he knew it. It was his own mortality he feared.
If the daft fool would simply open his blind eyes.
But he didn’t and Irian had to resort to taking over simply to ensure their Wildling elf stayed safe.
Their Wildling elf.
Irian ached, brutally jealous of the foolish mercenary who bore him. He’d given anything to be real and here and whole—alive. He’d claim what Aryn was so willing to walk away from, steal away with her to whatever part of the world she wanted to go.
But he was chained to a hunk of metal until he fulfilled a vow, and then he’d…go on to whatever existed beyond this.
For now, I have this.
And if neither of them will do it, I’ll be the one who makes sure she stays safe.
He lowered his mouth to Tyriel’s naked shoulder, the black curls tangling with and mingling with hers until he couldn’t tell where her hair ended and his began. Gripping one naked hip in his big, scarred hand, he pressed a hot, opened-mouthed kiss to her shoulder and started to pump his cock against the curve of her ass, using the heat and touch of his body to distract her as magic whispered through the air, dispelling the illusion he’d worked earlier that had let Tyriel see through time and age to the man he’d once been.
Now it was the form he was forced to wear she would see when she opened her eyes.
Blond hair spilled across Tyriel’s body, straight, thick, golden as the sun. A firm strong hand caught her face and guided her head around so he could kiss her as he continued to rock against her, the channel between her tight ass growing slick with sweat and the clear fluid seeping from his cock as the need to climax edged closer.
“I want to push inside your snug ass and fuck you there,” he murmured, reaching down and gripping one cheek to spread her before rocking against her again. “Can I, love?”
Tyriel shivered, but didn’t respond, her sleek body tight with tension and he lapsed into silence, playing her body with the same expertise she used with her flute.
Again and again, he moved