Her arms, seemingly still so weak and frail, slid around his neck and held him tight. A low husky laugh fell from her lips, caressing his ear. “Aye, a bloody fool. So many nights you cost us, Aryn of Olsted.”
With a mischievous twinkle gleaming in her slanted eyes, she smiled up at him. “It’s going to take me a bit of time to get back to my old self. But you know…you owe me. I think you should pay me back with lots of slavish devotion, lots of time, spent on your knees, kissing and pleading for my forgiveness.”
Aryn leaned down and covered that smiling mouth with his, so glad to have her there, back in his arms. Pushing his tongue into her mouth, swallowing her taste down with greed, he pressed his knee between her thighs and mounted her, driving his engorged cock into her wet, waiting pussy, circling his thumb around her clit.
She was panting and clutching at his shoulders, the silky fit of her sheath squeezing down around his cock until his eyes were crossing at the pleasure of it. Tearing his mouth away from hers, he whispered huskily into her ear, “I’m your slave.”
Hooking her ankles around his waist, Tyriel giggled. “Good.” Arching her head back, her black curls falling like a cloak around her, she hurtled into climax with a moan. The muscles in her vagina clutched and contracted around his thrusting flesh as she shuddered and screamed out his name. At the sound, his cock jerked and he jetted his milky seed deep inside her.
Aryn’s rigid body went lax and he slowly fell against her, moving down and resting his head low on her belly.
Her fingers laced through his hair and he sighed. “I love you…” Her murmured whisper echoed through his mind as she slid into sleep. Aryn waited until her soft sighs filled the room before he moved and wrapped his arm around her, stroking his hand up and down her arm, staring at her exotic, dusky face.
“Love you, wild little elf.”
Epilogue
Irian followed the music.
Fael…
He could hear her, laughing playfully, tauntingly, teasingly…as he drifted. He had no form any longer, no body, not Aryn’s, not the steel casing of Asrel’s, not the borrowed body of another bearer. None.
With a sudden, tearing jerk, he was ripped from the drifting and thrown into another form, small, tiny, awkward…bright lights…cold…and harsh voices. No memories, no thoughts…nothing.
Just the music…and the echo of a woman’s laughter.
About the author:
Shiloh was born in Kentucky and has been reading avidly since she was six. At twelve, she discovered how much fun it was to write when she took a book that didn’t end the way she had wanted it to and rewrote the ending. She’s been writing ever since.
Shiloh now lives in southern Indiana with her husband and two children. Between her job, her two adorable and demanding children, and equally adorable and demanding husband, she crams writing in between studying and reading and sleeps when time allows.
Shiloh welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.
Also by Shiloh Walker:
Coming In Last
Her Best Friend’s Lover
Her Wildest Dreams
Make Me Believe
Once Upon A Midnight Blue
The Dragon’s Warrior
The Hunters: Delcan and Tori
The Hunters: Eli and Sarel
Voyeur
Whipped Cream and Handcuffs
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.
www.ellorascave.com
Touch of Gypsy Fire Page 17
