Page 412 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

“You’re everything,” I breathed after coming up just long enough for air.

“Cyrus,” she mewled, desperate and needy in the best fucking way. Her talented fingers threaded through my hair. I slipped free only to return with a second finger, capturing the sound of her gasp and tucking it away for later.

“Come for me, beautiful girl.” I slid my free hand down her belly, pressing hard over her center as I curled my fingers, remembering exactly what she needed to detonate.

Like I’d hit a trigger, her walls tightened, muscles biting down on my fingers as her hand tightened in my hair until it burned.

I kept on coaxing, kept curling even as her body fought me and begged me for more all at once. Freya collapsed back into the mattress, twisted and trembling before finally going limp.

Her entire frame shuddered as I slowly slipped free, dragging out her pleasure.

Smug, I brought my fingers to my lips and sucked her juices off as her eyes fluttered open to find my face. Sleepy, sexy, lust-addled jades flashed with amusement and desire. She watched me lower them back to her skin before I sprawled out alongside her, giving her a moment to rest.

“Missed you,” I admitted, drawing my palm up her bare legs, tracing the indentation of her hipbone, the dip of her waist, and slight swell of her breast. Goosebumps chased after my touch, her head lolling contentedly into the mattress as she seemed to lose a fight with her eyelids.

“Missed you too, jackass,” she breathed.

I snorted. “Missed this.”

“Could’ve had it.”

“I know.” And with that curt reminder, I pressed into her body, leaning over her as she fought to peel her eyes open, blearily training them on my face every time she managed it. With a soft smile, I slipped my hand down between her thighs, snickering when she shuddered at a gentle graze over her clit, thighs clamping onto my hand.

I slipped my fingers back inside her soaking core, the intrusion finally snapping her eyes wide as they latched on my face. “Again?” she whimpered.

I just nodded.

“Cyrus, I⁠—”

“Will give me at least one more.”

“I don’t think I⁠—”

“Shh, ma moitié.”

“I don’t think I can—” she panted, writhing beneath me.

“Of course you can,” I insisted. The infamous Wraith was coming undone beneath my hands. And I fucking loved it. Bringing two fingers to my mouth, I wet them before dropping them to her clit. Freya gasped, thighs squeezing, hand flying to clamp around my wrist as her muscles tightened. “And you’re gonna do it…” thrust, “—right…” curl, “now.”

Freya fell apart on my fingers, coming so hard a scream tore out of her as her entire body convulsed around my fingers so tightly my muscles actually ached. I eased her through wave after trembling wave of pleasure as release spilled from her perfect core.

It was only when she at last went limp against the mattress that I slipped out of her, hooking one limp leg back with my arm. “Freya,” I whispered, relishing the way she looked completely strung out. Her eyes found mine as I notched the head of my cock at her entrance.

She nodded sloppily as she breathed, “Hello… Mr. Stuart.”

Chuckling, I thrust home, filling her entirely. “Hello,” I echoed contentedly. Her sleepy hands settled on my chest, legs wrapping around my hips as I settled into a slow, methodical rhythm.

Mine. Every rock of my hips punctuated that reality. Every breathless little whimper I earned as I slowly—one bar at a time—pulled out before sliding back in.

Mine.

My mate.

Ma moitié.

My Freya.

My hands roamed over her, and Freya shifted with me, rocking her hips to meet my thrusts, arching her spine to press her breasts harder into my palms, dropping her head back as I roved over her neck. She was a dancer; my hands, the choreographer; the sound of skin on skin and her tiny mewls, the music.