Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 850(@200wpm)___ 680(@250wpm)___ 566(@300wpm)
His chest rumbles, and I realize after a moment that he’s laughing quietly, the chuckles vibrating his big body.
“What’s so funny?” I turn and frown up at his form in the darkness. “It’s a legitimate question, and we’re in this business because of artifacts, yes? Why wouldn’t I want to learn more about one that’s attached to you?”
Hawk strokes his magic hand over my belly, his fingers teasing at my blouse. “Do you truly want to know how it feels?”
“Isn’t that what I asked?” I sound breathless and uncertain as he toys with the waistband of my clothing. Is he…?
My breath completely escapes me as his hand slides under my clothes and cups my pussy. One thick finger strokes in the cleft of my sex and I’m shocked to realize I’m already incredibly wet. He circles my clit, teasing it, and whispers in my ear. “Tell me if you think I have good control over my hand, hmm?”
Lips parted, I make a choked sound as he continues to toy with the sensitive flesh. His finger feels scorching hot against my skin, and he moves slowly and maddeningly, each languid circle driving me more and more insane. I look up at him, at his big, strange face, his eyes gleaming in the dark. My hands curl against his chest and I have no words to speak. I can only feel, and feel, and feel.
He adds another finger, and then he’s rubbing back and forth, caressing my clit from both sides. I make a whimpery noise and he leans in closer. “Shhh. You’re supposed to be sleeping, naughty thing.”
I grab double handfuls of his shirt, twisting the fabric as his fingers slip over my slick heat. Gods, I’m so wet. His strokes are just gliding over my skin, and every so often I can hear the wet sound of my pussy, just loud enough for it to fill the tent. I should be horrified, but instead I’m so aroused that it only turns me on more. Panting, I cling to him, trying to keep quiet. The climax builds, and I lean forward, grabbing a mouthful of his shirt and biting down on it to stifle the scream in my throat as my legs jerk and I come, soaking his hand with my release. He keeps rubbing me, whispering my name, until he wrings a second orgasm out of me in quick succession.
“Does that answer your question?” he murmurs in my ear.
I can’t even remember the question.
TWENTY
ASPETH
19 Days Before the Conquest Moon
Day two in the woods is miserable. It rains upon us all night long, and we’re shivering and cold. The fire won’t stay lit, and no one’s in a good mood. We’re beset by swarms of bugs that bite and sting every exposed inch of skin, and I slap at my arms and legs repeatedly, because the dratted things even bite me through my clothes.
Hawk seems to be in a foul mood after that night’s training, and after being bitten by bugs and listening to Magpie screech at us about how terrible we are, the last thing I want is to be stuck in a closed tent with an equally grumpy Taurian. He’s been so snarly all night and it irritates me. I’m reminded of my etiquette teacher’s words—that you can win far more suitors with sweets than with vinegar—and so I paste a smile to my face despite my fatigue.
I’m going to charm my husband, damn it all.
So I take off my sweaty guild coat and unlace my corset so I can breathe, relaxing. I pull off my boots and lie back atop the blankets because the day is warm and the sun is beating down upon our tent outside. At least it’s somewhat dark in here. Since we’re training in the night, we’re having to sleep during the day. Hawk stomps in, his mood as foul as it was earlier, and I don’t comment upon it. I just stretch, enjoying the feeling of being able to relax and not carrying a heavy pack upon my back.
He tosses his coat down on the bottom of the tent, his jaw clenched, and then all but rips his shirt off.
That gets my attention.
I watch as his broad muscles flex, the russet color of his body and coat fascinating and shiny. It makes each muscle seem highlighted, as if drawing attention to just how corded and taut his arms are, or how his pectorals are nothing but thick planes built by even more muscle. He scratches at his waist, and my fingers twitch with the need to touch him, to run my hands over all that physical power.
Goddess, I never thought I was one of those women to get the vapors at the sight of a strong chest, but I see now that I was wrong. Because looking at a half-naked Hawk is making me feel fluttery and distracted. If I reached for him, would he slap me away with a flick of his tail? Or would he welcome my exploring hands?