Page 219 of Spring Guardians & Songbirds

Yes—

“My god, Kilian.” His name on my lips was prayer and plea, one which had obliged every time his cock thrust deep inside my body.

His hand went below my belly, pulling my upper body up while he pumped in and out of me hard enough that my vision had dizzied a bit. And when his fingers travelled to circle my core torturously, I shuddered and my knees weakened, the only thing holding me upright was his shadows.

“Your god?” The grip of the hand he had on my hip turned bruising as he kept me anchored while he pumped in me.

“Mine,” I said, pushing my hips back to meet his thrusts.

“That I am. Yours.” His mouth latched on my neck and his paces slowed a little despite how hard he breathed. “Always yours,” he murmured, running his tongue over my ear. His other hand slipped to my breasts, kneading and squeezing, pinching and rubbing their hardened centre, eliciting a string of moans from me. “My weakness,” he whispered in my ear, slapping one of them and then palming the sting away. “So fucking pretty with my hand print on them. They’d be even prettier with my come over them.” Whispers of affection, praises, wet kisses, warm shadows and the sound of our joining balanced me right at the tipping edge of release.

He wrapped a hand around my neck and plunged harder into me, it was fierce and hungry, teeth and nails. Each thrust of his hips cut off a breath and made the next one even harder to take. He fucked me to oblivion, till patches of stars flashed in my sight and his name was no longer a call but an order—till the only word I could remember was his name. “Kilian.”

He buried his face in my hair, inhaling me and surrendering control to his body, as his own climax chased mine. His soft groans matched my gasps as I felt him spill inside of me—fill me only how he could.

His shadows slithered away, softly petting my sensitive flesh as they retracted back to their owner

Every inch of my body had gone slack, my knees trembling and weak when he pulled out of me and spun me round to face him. Our chests synced, our breathing matching. The first thing he did was lift my gaze to him, searching for something there.

I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it and then opened it one last time before giving up to the astonishment. He’d fucked me speechless.

And it seemed he had found what he was looking for because he smirked like only Kilian Castemont could before picking me up in his arms and heading to the bathing chambers.

“So, what prayer did you make?” I asked, wiggling my feet as he carried me to the bath. I’d never felt fuller. My appetite was satiated and if I craved any more, I only needed to take a bite.

He chuckled and nuzzled my neck, feeding more warmth into my chest. “That’s between me and my faith.”

After setting me down on the sink top, he went to fill the tub, sprinkling ten times the normal amount of salts and soap.

“Are you trying to cook me?” He cast me a confused glance over his shoulder, and I pointed my chin to the bath. “Spicing me up nicely.”

“Thought you liked the crap.”

“A handful, Kilian, not the whole container.”

“You’ve never said anything before.”

“Twas funny.”

He bit his stupid lip and sauntered to me, lifting me up and soaking the two of us in the warm water filled with a foot of bubbles.

I leaned my head back on his shoulder and rested a hand on his knee, feeling the thick scar over it with my fingers. It was jagged and rough, and I could feel the bone under the new tissue. It somehow made me tilt my head up to look at him. And he was already looking at me. “Why do I know so much about you from scars?”

His hand went around my jaw, rubbing his thumb over my cheek and he dropped a kiss to my forehead. “What do you want to know, love of mine?”

“Your magic, how did you become so good at it?” I was curious. After Mal had told me how his father had forced him into accepting who he was, I always wondered if it had been the same for Kilian.

“I thought you didn’t want to learn me through my scars.”

Shifting to my side, I looked up at him. It made me afraid to ask. To know his pain. “Which scar?”

He took my hand and put it on his head. “There.”

“Tell me.”

He kissed my palm before setting it down on his chest, over his beating heart—the same heart I had in my fist each time I closed my eyes and dared to sleep. “It is not that interesting.”

“I want to know.”