Page 22 of Tanglewood Magic (The Three Sisters 2)
“Right now, I’m not thinking about the queen,” he said softly.
“But what about Emily and the store?”
“I’m not thinking about that either.” His gaze was positively feral.
She lowered her chin. “What about June?”
In answer, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair, tugging her flat against his chest. She allowed herself to mold to him, her body opening at the feel of hard muscle under his tunic. His mouth crashed down onto hers, and there was no question in his kiss now, only an insistent, claiming desire.
Circe welcomed it, opened wider to let him in, her hands feeling along his rib cage to his back. She fisted his shirt, stroking his tongue with her own. Teeth clashed. His fist tightened in her hair just to the point of pain. This was no gentle kiss. This was desperate. Wanting. Needing.
He spun her around, pressed her back against the wall. Clasping her wrists in one hand, he lifted them above her head. She arched into him. His palm skimmed up her side and squeezed her breast, kneading it through her dress.
She’d grown used to the way Rhys ordered her about the apothecary. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he kissed the same way. Every touch was a command. Like always, she was more than willing to submit. She softened in his arms.
Fates, she was wet with need. She wanted him rough and hard inside her, filling her. For someone who always followed the rules, Circe wanted desperately to break them all today.
She gasped when he pinched her nipple, and he captured her breath in his mouth, kissed her again like his life depended on it, like he was breathing the air from her lungs. His fingers danced down the front of her dress, undoing the buttons there. Rough fingers slipped inside, skin-to-skin, and massaged her breast again.
“I love that your nipples are hard for me.” His breath was hot against the shell of her ear. He trailed his lips along her pulse, over her collarbone, and lower to flick hot and wet across the tip of her nipple. Cool air chilled the wet trail he left behind. Desire shot like sparks through her blood.
“Oh Fates, Rhys—”
He dropped her hands and pushed the dress off her shoulders along with her chemise. The material pooled around her ankles. He stepped back, a low groan coming from his throat as he took in her naked body. She toed off her shoes.
He came at her like a dark wind, grabbing her waist and lifting. Her bottom landed on the counter. “Oh,” she said, the word formed from both surprise and breathlessness. His intensity was like a brand against her skin. Everywhere he touched burned.
Guiding her back against her elbows, he smoothed his fingers between her breasts. His lips were on her belly, kissing her navel. Lower. The edge of his short beard grazed her inner thigh. He might as well have struck a match. She burned. Every inch of her. She was going up in flames.
She gasped when he kissed her at her center, his lips pressing against her most sensitive flesh.
“Rhys…”
He licked up her folds, sending pulses of lightning branching through her veins. So much pleasure. So much need. He played her body like an instrument, and it sang for him. Head thrown back, she wrapped her thighs around his shoulders and rode his mouth. He didn’t disappoint. His tongue worked her toward a sharp edge, and she dove over it, the orgasm ricocheting through her like pure unadulterated magic.
When she could see again, she glanced between her thighs and saw he was still completely dressed. How could he look so cool and collected when she’d just been reduced to a rippling pool of pleasure on his counter? This wouldn’t do. She reached for him, but he backed away, lifting his tunic over his head himself.
That carnal, wolfish grin was back, and something else. Magic darkened his eyes, made his skin golden with its power. The air was thick with it. Not just his but hers. It tangled around them like a gathering storm.
His pants were gone, and she chewed her lip as she watched him. He was hard and thick, and she needed him, needed him thrusting inside her. Needed him to be hers in every possible way.
“As much as I’d like to take you right there, I don’t think this old counter can withstand what I plan to do to you.” He wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck. “Hang on.”
On strong legs, he carried her up the stairs at the back of the apothecary, his hands supporting her by the thighs as if she weighed nothing. She’d never been in his private residence before, but she only saw a glimpse of red and black before his lips were on hers again and her back slapped against a mattress.
“This isn’t going to be gentle.” The blunt head of his cock pressed against her opening.
She opened her mouth to say she didn’t want him to be gentle. She wanted it hard and fast. But the words never had a chance to leave her mouth. He thrust into her slick heat, and she almost came undone again at the pressure, the way he filled every inch of her.
And then he was over her, thrusting between her thighs. Rough and deep. She arched again as intense pleasure tore through her. Overwhelmed her. Hovering on the edge of pain. An impassioned sound somewhere between a scream and a moan tore from her throat.
Rhys was right there with her, tipping over the edge into oblivion with one final thrust, filling her with wet heat.
Through the aftershocks, her mind was vaguely aware that more than sex was happening between them. Magic gathered in the room like morning mist. Her pulse beat in time with his, tiny sparks dancing between their bodies. Still buried in her, he threaded his fingers with hers and brought his lips to her ear.
“There will be no more talk of leaving here. Not to spare me from whispers or from violence. I want you with me, Circe. Always. Do you understand?”
She pressed the side of her face to his, breathing him in. He smelled of gathered herbs and crisp mountain air. “Agreed.”
