Her thighs tightened around him as she came closer and closer to coming. Her head fell back, exposing her neck to him. That tingling sensation was back, signaling she was close to the best goddamn feeling in the world.
Raven buried his face against her throat, small sounds pouring from him as he picked up his speed. His finesse was almost gone as the pleasure began to override him. His thrusts shortened, the slap of flesh against flesh loud in her ears as she began to shudder with her impeding ecstasy.
“Now, now, now,” he chanted breathlessly against her skin. “Oh fuck, now.”
Amanda surprisingly complied, her body following his command and tightening around his cock. She came, blinded in a whirlwind of pleasure, her nails digging into his scalp as she almost blacked out from her climax. She was robbed of breath, of sight, of everything but him, his scent, his cock, his skin against hers as he moaned and poured himself into her.
As the pleasure eased, so did they, floating back down to the bed on a gentle breeze that cooled their heated skin. When her back touched the mattress she opened her eyes and gazed up at her newly bound mate. “Whoa.”
He grinned, kissing her lightly, still gasping a bit from the intensity of their mutual pleasure. “Hi.”
She smiled. “Hi.” Already little bits and pieces of who he was filtered through her mind, some good, some bad, some horrific. None of it truly his fault, for he’d been protecting someone dear to him. In the end, he’d paid a horrible price to get away from the Dark Queen.
But Amanda didn’t mention what she’d seen. Not yet. The happy gleam in his eye as he gazed at her wasn’t going away, not if she had anything to say about it. She’d just had mind-blowing sex with a damn fae god. She wasn’t going to fuck up their fun happy time together with bad memories and regrets he hadn’t spoken of yet.
He glanced at her ear, his eyes going wide in surprise. “Huh. It’s gone.”
“What is?” She reached up and felt for the feather, but it was missing. “Where is it?” She began patting the bed, for some reason feeling panicked because it wasn’t where it was supposed to be.
“Shh. Look.” Raven held out his hand, and one of his feathers floated down from his hair. It flitted over his palm, twirling and swirling as if caught in a strong wind before leaving his hand.
The feather floated over Amanda’s shoulder and finally settled on her neck, right where he’d bitten her. “Oh.” He cleared his throat, but she could clearly see the unholy glee on his face.
“It’s a tattoo, isn’t it?” She’d always wanted one, but hadn’t gotten the courage to face the needle.
“Yup.” That smug look was going to get him hurt.
“So where’s your mark?” She raised a brow and glared at him, pursing her lips when he suddenly looked panicked. “I mean, if I’ve got a mark, you’ll need one too.”
“Of course.” He grinned, but it looked pained. “Anything you want.”
Her eyes went wide as thought after thought flitted through her mind. Maybe…
Yes, that could work. “Anything?”
He glared at her. “I’m not getting a tramp stamp.”
She pouted. “Damn it.”
Raven shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
She patted his thigh, dangerously close to his spent cock. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
The returning heat in his gaze told her she was in for a very long night.
She could hardly wait.
Chapter Twelve
She was sleeping so peacefully, her hair splayed out around her, the moonlight casting shadows along her sleek back. They’d intended to make love again, but she’d slowly succumbed to the exhaustion of the bonding, leaving her unconscious in his arms.
Raven had known this might happen; so as long as she woke by morning, he wouldn’t panic. But sitting still and simply watching, while something he’d done many times in the past when working, wasn’t going to cut it tonight. He needed to do something, to capture this moment forever. His fingers had begun to twitch, and the craving to put pencil to paper finally had him slipping from the bed and rummaging around in the pack he’d had his ravens spirit into the room for him.
Hours later, Raven’s pencil made barely a sound as it raced across the paper, capturing his lover in all her glory. It would be morning soon, the light would change, and his lovely mate would once again start racing around to prepare for Robin’s wedding. But for this one glorious moment, she lay there, his muse, his model. His truebond.
He’d paint her soon, when he had her in his home, where he had his studio. He’d lay her out on his favorite chaise, her blue eyes filled with sleepy desire, her body marked by his love bites. He’d paint her in his kitchen, watching the play of emotions that crossed her face as she gazed out the window to the mountains beyond.
In sleep, her vibrancy was muted, the angel coming to the fore. He wanted to mark her essence in color, bring that vibrancy to the fore, but for this image, the black and white and gray shadings of his pencil would work perfectly.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was sleepy, her eyes barely opening.
“Shh.” He continued to draw, trying to capture the slight smile that had just crossed her face. There was that devil he’d come to know, the hint that the woman was far more than she seemed. “Go back to sleep.”
“Hmm.” She cuddled the pillow, almost ruining her pose.
“And stay still.” He added a hint of shadow just under her chin. “Please.”
“Are you drawing me?”
He grunted, not wanting to lose his momentum to questions about his art.
“Will you show me when you’re done?”
Her tone, so respectful, made him pause. He shot her a quick, affectionate smile. “Yes.”
“Good.” She sighed wearily. “Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Anything.” She yawned, but did as he asked and kept as still as possible. “What was it like finding out Robin Goodfellow was your dad?”
He reached into his pack for one of his darker, broader pencils. He needed to capture the raven that now decorated her shoulder, an echo of the one across his chest and abdomen. “It was frightening at first. He’s the boogey man, the monster who rips apart anyone who’s of the Black Court. We were warned, all of us, that he was the one who’d sold us to the Black Queen, given our mothers away like so much trash he couldn’t be bothered with.” At one time, that admission would have brought rage and grief to his heart, but now that he knew the truth, all it gave him was the grief. “When I met him, I was…” Hmm. How to explain to his lover that he’d wanted the woman who was marrying his father?
“Was what?” She twitched as if to move, but stayed still.
He sighed and began shading in her raven. “Was pursuing Michaela.”
“Oh?” Her tone was neutral, her expression blank. Something that did not bode well for his continued health.
He cleared his throat. “She wasn’t afraid of me. Not even a little bit.” He smiled nostalgically. It had only been a little while since he’d met Michaela, but the memory was a fond one, one that led to him finally being free of Titannia’s demented clutches. “She knocked my artwork out of my hands at a fairy convention.”
Amanda blinked slowly. “A fairy convention?”
He nodded. “The Dark Queen kidnapped a member of Queen Gloriana’s family, a White Court prince named Evan. We were there to negotiate his release. Apparently Gloriana thought it would be both amusing and annoying to hold the negotiations in the same hotel the humans were having a fairy convention in.”
“How did that go?”
“I have no idea. I barely went to the negotiations. I was too busy pursuing Michaela and trying to distract Robin.” He filled in the beak of the raven, fully aware that his bondmate was now fully awake. “When
Robin realized I was his son, he lost it. The whole building shook. That’s when I learned he hadn’t even known we existed.” He could still remember the rage that shook the Hob, the agony that had filled his expression. “He accepted me as his immediately.”
And the wonder of that moment, that someone wanted him, was willing to help him get away from the Black, was still a heady sensation.
“And Michaela?”
Was that a hint of jealousy he detected in his bondmate’s voice? He hid his delighted expression by reaching for another pencil, this one sharper but lighter. “Is bound to my father, making her my stepmother.” He glanced over at his bondmate, taking in her disgruntled expression. “And I have no designs on her any longer.”
“Pfft. As if I care.”
Of course she didn’t. Those clenched fists, the fire in her eyes, had nothing to do with the minor crush he’d had on Michaela. “I’ve never drawn her like this.”
She smirked at him and shifted her leg slightly, exposing a creamy length of calf. “I’m pretty sure your father would kill you if you tried.”
“Not kill.” He took a deep breath. “Maim severely, maybe.”
She laughed, completely breaking her pose as she rolled over. He didn’t mind as much. He was almost done, the raven now complete. There was some subtle shading details he still needed to add, but he could ask her to resume her position if needed.
“Did you paint her?”
He nodded. “I painted them together. It’s my wedding present to them.”
She sat up. “Can I see it?”
He finished his drawing of her and set it down, sliding his pencil back into its case. “Yes.” He stood and stretched, aware she watched every move he made. It wasn’t the first time he’d drawn a lover while nude, but none had made him feel quite the way his truebond did. Her gaze was like a caress, a physical thing he wanted to feel over and over again. “I’ll have to go to my room and get it, though.”
She settled back down. “Put on pants before you do.”
He smirked and bowed. “Yes, my lady.”
No one was in the hallway when he left the bedroom, so he flew silently into his, grabbed the portrait, and brought it back to his bondmate. He closed the door quietly behind him. “You awake still?”
She nodded and sat up again, but he could tell she was about ready to pass out again. The bonding was hard on a human. The fact that she was wake at all was a testament to her strength. “Show me the goods.”
He took off his pants and flung them over the chair.
“Good. Now show me the painting.”
He turned the canvas around, surprised when she went utterly still. “What?”
She sat up slowly. “Turn on the light.”
His hand shaking, he did, flipping the switch by the door and bathing the room in bright white light.
“Holy shit, Raven.” She crawled to the end of the bed and sat back on her heels. “Why aren’t you doing this for a living?”
He glanced down at the canvas and shrugged. He enjoyed his art. It was one of the few things in his life that always brought him peace. But… “I’m not good enough.”
“Bullshit.” She scowled at him, suddenly wide awake. “You’re incredible.”
“I…Uh, no, not really.” Damn it. Fucking hell. He was the goddamn Raven Lord, one of the scariest motherfuckers in the fae world, and this tiny little human woman reduced him to a blushing, stammering mess. “I mean, I just do this as a hobby.”
She glared at him. “I know some gallery owners who might love to get their hands on your work. Want me to bring some of your pieces to them?”
“No!” He winced. He hadn’t meant to shout that, and prayed he hadn’t woken anyone up. “I mean, I don’t want anyone seeing this.”
She tilted her head. “Didn’t you just tell me you had a portfolio with you at that fairy convention?”
Shit. She would remember that. “That was different.”
“How?”
“Because I wasn’t going to show them.” He placed the painting carefully against the wall and settled on the bed next to her. They both stared at the painting of Robin and Michaela.
He’d captured them in a quiet moment, one of those rare times when neither of them were thinking of anything but each other. Michaela was in his arms, her back to his front, her head resting against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her expression content.
Robin had his chin on her head. His eyes, too, were closed, the serene expression one rarely seen on the Hob’s face. His red hair blended into her brown, mingling together as seamlessly as they did. He was dressed in a black vintage jacket over a crisp white shirt, leather pants and his favorite biker boots; she wore a rockabilly style polka-dot dress with the cutest little patent leather black flats. Like her, they were quirky and made you smile, the little anime cat faces on the front absolutely adorable.
There was nothing simple about either of them, so he’d kept them the focus of the painting. The background was a swirl of greens and blues with a hint of the darkness that resided in the Hob. There was no way he could paint a picture of his father without alluding to the moment when Michaela was thought lost to them both. Robin had become unhinged, his Seeming dropping to reveal the truth of him. It was something Raven would never forget, for it reminded him of what he himself could become if he allowed his own darkness to manifest itself fully.
In honor of Michaela’s miraculous resurrection, he’d given her the golden eyes of her Tuatha Dé blood, rather than the dark brown they normally were. Silver sparks danced along both their legs as a sign she’d claimed the Hob as her own.
“It’s gorgeous, Raven.” Amanda put her hand on his thigh, her warmth seeping into him. “You managed to make it look like they’re dancing in color.”
He blinked. “That’s what you see?”
She nodded. “See how the background blends in with the silver sparks at their legs? It’s absolutely stunning. It’s drifting across their bodies, encasing them in their own little world.”
Well. That had been what he was going for. Sort of. “Thanks.”
“Now show me the drawing you were working on just now.”
He shook his head, his mind whirling with ideas. “Not yet. There’s something I want to do to it first before I show you.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed, and when he glanced at her she was pouting. But her pout fest was interrupted when she yawned again so wide he could see her back teeth.
He chuckled and kissed her sweetly. “Go back to sleep, little bird.”
She mumbled and crawled her way back up the bed, pulling the sheet back over her body. “You too.”
“Not yet.” He stared at the pad he’d set aside, his fingers once again twitching. “But soon.”
Soon. Once he’d drawn what he’d seen in his mind’s eye, once the overriding need to capture it on paper was gone.
Soon.
“It’s your own fault, you know.”
Raven grunted and pushed the sunglasses further up his face. “Fucking sunlight.”
She held back her laughter with effort. “It’s not that bad.”
He grunted again, this time in disgust.
As far as she could tell, he hadn’t gone to sleep at all last night. He’d sat up, doing something to the sketch of her that had driven him with an intensity she’d only seen in his lovemaking. She’d seen that look before in someone’s eye, the driving need to do a certain act before the inspiration was gone. Hell, she’d had moments like that herself when working on putting together a party. She wouldn’t rest until it all came together the way she’d seen it, even if it meant sleepless nights and enough Starbucks to drown a whale.
Today was the tasting and venue check, so Robin and Michaela were in the backseat of her car. Duncan was meeting them there with Moira, who’d assured them tha
t the venue was “primo”. Amanda just hoped Michaela felt the same way. “Will you make it, or should we tuck you back into your hole for the rest of the day?”
Even with the sunglasses she could feel his glare. “I’ll live.”
Amanda followed Duncan up the driveway to the beautiful Italian-style villa she’d seen online. “Whoa. It’s even prettier in person.”
Michaela gasped, and when Amanda glanced in the rearview mirror she saw tears in Michaela’s eyes. “It’s perfect.”
Robin was staring at the building, his head tilted, his gaze missing nothing. “I will need to speak with our Blades, my love, but if this is what you wish we will make it work.”
Raven nodded. “We’ll protect you no matter what.”
“Even from the evil sun.” Amanda laughed when Raven growled at her. She pulled to a stop behind Duncan, still laughing as she got out of the car. “You’re way too easy.”
He tilted the sunglasses down and shot her a heated glance. “Only for you.”
She blushed and looked away. “Ix-nay, I’m orking-way.” She smiled at the man who was currently greeting Duncan and Moira. “That must be the owner.”
Raven pushed up his glasses and sauntered around the car, offering Amanda his arm. “Shall we?”
“Let’s.” She took his arm and headed toward Duncan. “Hello. I’m Amanda Pierson, the wedding coordinator for Robin and Michaela.”
The man stared from her to Raven and back again, his face going pale. He held out his hand, but she sensed his reluctance to touch her. “Joe Cook, at your service.”
Raven smiled, the expression predatory. “Raven Goodfellow.” He held out his hand, his black nails sharply pointed.
The man gulped, going even paler. “Lord Raven.” He shook, wincing slightly, but Raven did not draw blood.
Robin and Michaela stepped forward, and Mr. Cook bowed deeply to them. “Prince Robin, Princess Michaela. It is truly an honor for us to have you here.”
Robin nodded regally. “For us as well.” He smiled and held out his hand. “A Gray Court fairy would know exactly what my truebond wishes for her wedding day.”
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