Bound to His Redemption

by Lisa Kumar

  He slipped the straps down her arms, and the rest of the bra followed. Her nipples puckered, and he stared, licking his lips. “Beautiful.”

  She didn’t know about that, but he could call them whatever he wanted as long as he’d touch them. As if reading her mind, he cupped one full globe and held it up. Bending his head down, he took the tip into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. She gasped and gripped her knees because what he was doing was giving her sensory overload. If he weren’t careful, she’d shoot off the bed from the delightful torture of it.

  After a minute he sat back and eyed her panties. “Those need to go.”

  Heck, yeah. Without any prodding, she lay back and lifted her hips. He slowly pulled them down. The desire on his face nearly undid her. He was looking at her like a starving man. Maybe that was what he really was. Starved of affection and love. She scoffed at herself. Such maudlin thoughts had no place in their sex life. They were both merely scratching an itch.

  Once he had them completely off, he inspected her with a lascivious gaze that sent more wet heat to her core. Moving to straddle one of her legs, he parted her thighs with his knee. He swallowed thickly as he stared at her. “I’m going to make you moan my name. By the time I’m finished, no other man’s name will ever feel right crossing your lips.”

  Taken aback by the possessiveness of his voice and the decided lack of shyness of being naked before him, she couldn’t get her mind to function for a few moments. Finally finding her voice, she rasped, “Is that so?” She tried to insert challenge in her tone but failed miserably. They both knew he would be the victorious one, anyway.

  He aimed a devious smile at her. “Of course. And the sound of your moans will be the sweetest music I’ve ever heard.”

  She settled into their banter. “Maybe you’ll moan mine right back.”

  “If you’re lucky,” he drawled.

  A glance at his tented boxers revealed his definite state of arousal. “I think I’ll be.”

  “Why don’t we test out our theories?”

  “That sounds like a fantastic idea. I like trying out new things.”

  “Like?” He scoffed. “You’ll love everything I do to you — and that you do to me.”

  His words made her squirm, though they amused her, too. There was his ego, never totally checked at the door. “Are you all talk, or are you going to give me some action?”

  Intense lust flared in his eyes, and he crawled up her body like a predator stalking prey. He crashed his lips down on hers while still holding his chest away from her. With a questing hand, she reached between them and grasped him through the boxers.

  Breath hissed through his teeth. “Yes.”

  She stroked him a couple more times but quickly decided she wanted the fabric out of the way. Attempting to yank them down, she frowned. They seemed stubbornly stuck. He’d removed hers so easily, so she hadn’t foreseen this. But then why would the underwear of the male be any different from the male himself? It made some insane kind of sense that even his boxers didn’t go down quietly.

  Apparently noticing her problem, he angled his hips up and helped her jerk the underwear down. His shaft sprang forward and rested on her stomach. Long and thick, it fit the rest of him perfectly.

  Suddenly, she wanted him inside her more than she wanted to continue any foreplay. She opened her legs wider in invitation. He settled himself between the cradle of her thighs. When he nudged her entrance, she drew in a sharp breath.

  Looking down at her, he paused and then drove his length into her with one smooth, easy thrust.

  She moaned low in her throat, the sound slipping out like water leaking from a faucet. Though she realized dimly that he’d already proved his “theory” correct, she couldn’t bring herself to care. The only thing that mattered was he being in her. He stretched her, but this time it didn’t hurt much. In fact, he felt pretty damn great.

  Eamon flexed his hips in an ever-increasing pace, his strokes sure. Her muscles tightened around him. She skimmed her hands to his shoulders. A groan flew from his lips. A thrill of feminine power swelled. That didn’t take long.

  Everything, though, soon faded away except for the pleasure streaming through her. Her nails raked up and down his back. Eamon stiffened, and she stilled her hands. Crap, she’d forgotten his phobia of being touched in certain ways. Had that been too much? But as soon as her thoughts came to her, he started moving again.

  His pace grew frantic as if he were trying to outrun something. Their flesh slapped together. He swooped his head down and captured her lips. His tongue plundered her mouth, mirroring the action of his length in her. The delicious friction pushed her toward another orgasm.

  He released her mouth as he pistoned in and out of her, his arms straining as he held himself above her. His intense eyes stared at her — through her — and it was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. Pressure built inside her core until it condensed in a tight ball that exploded outward, sending waves of pleasure through her body. She felt her warmth squeeze his arousal, and an animal sound slipped from his throat. He shuddered as he released in her, flooding her in a new warmth.

  With a strangled moan, he collapsed on her, his weight heavy and oh-so real. His head dropped onto her shoulder, and his harsh breath rasped against her hot skin. Though she knew he’d soon start crushing her, she felt too boneless to move him. Hesitatingly, she slid her hands around to his back. Would he retreat like he had the last time? She didn’t think she could stand it if he did. Though it was probably a mistake, she couldn’t bring herself to regret their lovemaking.

  A fine sweat coated the firm, smooth skin that covered lean muscle. She loved the feel of it — and him on her. If only they could stay this way indefinitely.

  He surprised her by laying an opened-mouth kiss on her shoulder. Relief danced in her veins. Thank God, he wasn’t acting weird about their lovemaking — at least not yet. She only hoped the pattern held.

  Ugh, his body was already smashing her into the mattress. “You’re smooshing me.”

  He lifted his head up, his brow puckered. “I’m not familiar with that word.”

  “It means you’re heavy and smashing me flat into the mattress like a pancake.”

  He chuckled. “We can’t have that. Your wondrous curves can’t be ruined in such a way.” After hoisting himself off her, he fell back to his side and yanked her close.

  A sense of wonder flowed through her mind. He was certainly being very tactile, but the fear that he’d push her away at any second still lingered. Cold and proud seemed to be his usual default setting, not this affectionate snuggling.

  In the dim light, his skin glowed a lightly tanned color, and his silky hair fell around his face and shoulders. He glided his hands over her thighs and cupped her butt. Then he flipped them so she rested half on him. For a moment, she thought he had more bedroom shenanigans planned.

  The lids of his eyes fell slightly as he looked at her. “Sex always makes me drowsy afterward.”

  At his casual mention of sex, and apparently of how he’d found it with other women, a spur of jealousy bit into her. She cut it down before it could fully implant. He did have a point. Though her body still tingled in certain areas, it was quickly turning lethargic. “Yeah, I think I understand why.”

  “You make a satisfactory pillow to hold,” he mused. “I might fall asleep even faster than usual.”

  That killed what had been left of the romantic mood. It was just Eamon being Eamon, though, so it’d been bound to happen. With a small grin of irony, she laid her head on his chest. “I live to be of use to you.”

  “Is that sarcasm I hear in your voice?”

  “Just a tad.”

  His chest rumbled against her cheek as he spoke. “Go to sleep, kitten.”

  She glanced at him. “Kitten?”

  “Yes, like a cute and cuddly kitten.”

  “And little and helpless. Guess it could be worse. You could have called me something that’s not so
cute.”

  He sniffed, staring down his nose. “You’re overthinking it. Go to sleep. I need my pillow to be quiet.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, master. You don’t make a bad pillow, either.”

  His quiet pfft was the last sound uttered before she slipped into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 23

  One Friday evening a week and a half later, Caralyn frowned into the bathroom mirror as she put on a light coat of lipstick. Disquiet brewed inside, but she couldn’t quite figure out the cause. No, that wasn’t true.

  For the last eleven days, everything had been going smoothly, too smoothly, given that Eamon still hated humanity and Andrian with a passion that didn’t seem like it’d ever wane. Andrian appeared to return those sentiments in large part, even if he didn’t despise humanity with the same intensity. And don’t even get me started about my relationship with Eamon.

  So yeah, she was worried about taking Eamon and Andrian to get more clothes and then out for dinner tonight. Maybe bringing them both was a bad idea, but they had to learn how to play nicely together. Living under the same roof wasn’t doing it. She knew they brawled during the weekdays when she wasn’t around because they had the bruises to prove it.

  As for her and Eamon’s relationship, or whatever she wanted to call it, maybe she was overthinking it. So far, it’d been confusing and wonderful, and that sent fear cascading through her. The sex was great, and they’d been having a lot of it every night, but their relationship encompassed more than that.

  Once in a while, he’d awake from nightmares during the night, panting and sweating. He always felt hot and sweaty, as if he’d been running. Though he’d pushed her away a time or two in the beginning, he now invariably sought comfort from her. Sometimes, that encompassed finding desperate release in her arms and other times just holding each other. He never discussed what the nightmares were about, and she didn’t push him. But she had her guesses.

  Slowly, somehow, he’d changed toward her. Oh, he still retained his arrogant air, but he toned it down around her. She appreciated that since she now only wanted to smack him half of the time, not every instance she was around him. Even his aura had lightened and become mellower when she was with him and Andrian kept to himself.

  Eamon was much more helpful than she thought he’d ever be. Besides cooking, he also did a decent amount of cleaning and took care of Archie when she was at work. He’d also helped her decorate the apartment and her Christmas tree. She smiled as a few particularly poignant memories glided through her mind. When they were taking the decorations out of their boxes, his dry, witty remarks had left her in a fit of giggles. And the garland — well, he’d had way too much fun with that. He’d wrapped a strand around her and pulled her in for a sultry kiss before they’d taken their antics to the bedroom.

  Her grin faded. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he cared for her. That was a laughable idea, right?

  Well, whether he cared or not, too bad he and Andrian hadn’t made the same headway. Given their past, that wasn’t surprising, though. They took pains to only trade verbal blows in front of her, but once she was at work, all bets were off. How they hadn’t destroyed her home in their open warfare, she didn’t know. She was just happy they hadn’t and hoped with time they could work through the worst of their issues.

  As for her, she never said anything to them about their fights, even if she did end up touching the odd bruise or two on Eamon that he and Andrian always seemed to sport. Conveniently, Eamon claimed to never know how he’d gotten them and didn’t acknowledge that Andrian often wore twin bruises. But if time and privacy were what they needed to move on from the past, she’d let them handle it in their own way.

  If sometimes the sofa or another piece of furniture seemed to have moved slightly by the time she got home, she didn’t call attention to it. The same was for knickknacks that had mysteriously moved to different areas on shelves. However, knowing Eamon’s OCD tendencies, it could’ve just been him “imposing” order on her chaos. She also found a few broken mugs and plates, some glued back together and others in the trash. They could’ve just dropped them by accident while cleaning up, though she knew otherwise. And if they both sported a new bruise in the same exact location or had matching limps, what could she say? So long as she didn't arrive home to blood and guts and a demolished apartment, she was relatively fine with it all.

  The feeling that something bad was about to happen wouldn’t leave her, however. Her shoulders tensed, and she cursed as she smeared her eyeliner. At this rate she was going to look like a wreck. Forget the makeup. Who was she trying to impress, anyway? Eamon? Yeah, right. She was merely a body he took comfort in. He didn’t care how her face looked with makeup on.

  Her gaze flicked to the closed door, beyond which Eamon was likely changing into one of the two thin sweaters he had. The soft fabric of both always hugged his broad shoulders and muscular chest. Her fingers twitched, and she drifted toward the door as if her body had a mind of its own.

  She drew up short with a gasp. Ugh, what was wrong with her? This effect he had on her ... when she thought about it rationally, she wasn’t sure if she liked it one bit. Laying her hand flat on the door, she leaned her head forward until it touched the wood surface. Her breath came in gulps as she lost control of her composure. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. What was she doing? She was playing with fire and knew it but seemed powerless to stop.

  Now wasn’t the time to freak out about it, though. Eamon waited on the other side of the door. After taking in a mouthful of air, she slowly blew it out her nose. The action soothed her ragged nerves, and she stood up straight. Crisis averted. She hoped the rest of the evening took the same route.

  At least Aistiane had dropped by to deliver the promised bankcards and related bank information. Caralyn had been at work and feared she may have missed something important because Eamon remained close-mouthed about her visit. But since Aistiane made no attempt to contact her, it was probable that she didn’t have much to tell Caralyn at the moment. Which was sort of unfortunate. She was anxious to know how the whole finding-the-mates thing would work. Maybe ignorance was bliss.

  With a smile pasted on her face, she opened the door. Eamon sat on the bed, back against the pillows and legs loosely crossed. He glanced up from inspecting his nails, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. She only noticed the slight telltale micro expression because she’d been paying close attention to all his expressions for the last week.

  “You look positively divine.” The blatant appraisal in his eyes backed up his compliment.

  A pleased flush rushed up her neck. She’d never get tired of hearing such things from him. She wet her dry lips with a swipe of her tongue. “You’re looking pretty handsome yourself.”

  And he truly was. He appeared even more handsome than normal, if that was possible. His charcoal gray sweater showcased the strong column of his neck and clung lovingly to his strong shoulders. He’d tied his hair back but made no effort to hide his ears, so he must have his glamour in place. She still wondered why she could see through it. Maybe because she knew what to look for? But not at the beginning when she’d first met him. Scratch that. She had known on some level because she’d been drawing him for how many years?

  He smirked. “Looking good is a normal occurrence for me. I think these clothes do me justice, which is surprising since they’re of human make.”

  His ego would probably never bite the dust, and that was saying a lot since he apparently would never die of old age. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “They do fit you well.”

  “Well?” he asked, lifting an imperious brow. “I wear these clothes — they don’t wear me.”

  That they didn’t. Even his dark blue jeans hugged all the right areas. “You do know how to fill out your clothes.”

  “I must say the same thing about you and that dress.” His hot gaze slid over her like a caress. “I’ll have fun stripping it from you tonight.”
>
  Heat crept over her face, and without thought, she ran a hand down the side of her sweater dress. The material clung just right, not too loose but not skin tight, either. Another plus was that it proved quite warm when paired with thick tights and knee-high boots.

  She focused back on him. “Are you ready to go?”

  He unfolded from the bed with catlike grace and stretched. “I’m ready when the lady is.”

  What a change from being called mortal or human. If it weren’t for Andrian, this would feel like a date.

  She swallowed the paper wad stuck in her throat. A date — this was anything but that.

  He sauntered toward her and held out a hand. “Let’s go, then.”

  Without hesitation, she laid her hand in his. Warm and strong, his fingers closed about hers.

  “Shall we go grab the graykindred?” A sharp smile came to his face. “I don’t mind leaving him behind like the garbage he is.”

  She sent him a disapproving look. “Must you speak of him like that?”

  “He has less complimentary things to say about me. Believe me.”

  A sigh slipped out. “I do, and I know you hate each other, but when you two speak of each other so derisively, I fear it’ll only make things worse.”

  “You worry for my safety.”

  “Both of yours, truthfully. I hate leaving you guys alone when I go to work because I’m afraid what I’ll find when I return home.”

  “And what have you found so far? Nothing.”

  “That’s not quite true, but yeah, it hasn’t been as bad as I thought it’d be.” Not wanting to give him ideas, she gave him a stern look. “And it better stay that way.”

  “You’re going to turn me over your knee, otherwise?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I like your hands anywhere below my waist.” A strange expression flashed across his face as he added quietly, “I like your hands anywhere on me.”