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I propped myself up on my elbow and tried to haul a sheet over my body. “Careful. I might die from being over-romanced.”
“It’s cute.” He batted my hand away from the sheet. “Don’t. I was enjoying the view.”
I snorted and yanked it up anyway. “You’re shameless.”
A dozen shameless memories of last night flashed to mind, and I bit my lip.
“Proudly.” He twisted a strand of my hair around his index finger. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I couldn’t wait any longer for breakfast.”
“Does that mean I have to get dressed?” I wasn’t quite ready to share him with the world.
He laughed, the sound oozing from him as slowly and sweetly as honey. “That won’t be necessary.”
He flipped me onto my back, shoving the sheet completely out of the way, and began a slow descent from my neck to my breasts, where he paused. Sunlight caught his face as he lifted it to me, illuminating a fleeting tattoo, and my breath hitched. Last night had been like a dream, but seeing his beautiful, brutal body hovering over mine in the daylight was a fucking fantasy. A low throb pulsed between my legs when his mouth curved up on one side.
“After last night, I’m famished.”
Oh.
He kissed my navel before circling it with his tongue.
Oh.
He urged my knees apart, and I let them fan open, earning me another cocky grin as he continued to lick and kiss his way down. My eyes shuttered when he reached the apex of my thighs, my breath catching in my throat. I stretched my arms overhead, reaching to grip the headboard to brace myself, and my hand brushed something hard and cold under the pillow.
I pulled out one of Lach’s guns and frowned at it.
He paused, his breath hot on my skin and his eyes on the gun. “No need to resort to violence. I’m not going to stop.”
I realized I was accidentally aiming it at him and dropped my hand to my side. “You slept with a gun under your pillow?”
He chuckled. “I always sleep with a gun under my pillow.”
I started to push the weapon toward the edge of the bed, but Lach planted his hand over mine to stop me. “You’re always safe with me.”
Before I could tell him I knew that, he urged my fingers more tightly around the pistol and rose to his knees. Something primitive gleamed in his green eyes. Lach yanked me closer, guiding one of my legs around his waist and lifting the other to his shoulder. He paused as the tip of his cock nudged against me. “You’re always in control, even when my cock is buried inside you.” I moaned as he slid in an inch, and his eyes narrowed on my mouth. “Especially when my cock is buried inside you.”
My grip tightened around the pistol, its cold steel anchoring me as he plunged into me. Lach drew out languidly, and I whimpered in protest. He murmured my name as he guided the leg braced at his shoulder to his waist, planting his hands on either side of me to angle himself impossibly deep. I groaned, hooking my ankles against his back as he fucked me with deliberate, measured restraint that underscored his claim.
I was in control. I was safe. Even when I let my guard down, even when I was vulnerable, even when it felt like my entire being was at the mercy of this man—because he would put himself at my mercy.
“No matter what you’ve gone through.” His voice strained as he thrust, rolling his hips until he hit a spot that sent arrows of fire shooting through me. “No matter where you’ve been.” He glanced at the gun I held and snarled, the sound bolting to my core. “From now on, no matter what, no one will touch you without permission, or they will answer for it. Even me.”
The promise cleaved me, breaking open a deep, hidden void even I had never found. My body arched as I reached for him, the gun forgotten in my desperation for him to fill it, to fill me. I coiled my arms around his neck. “Kiss me.”
His mouth crushed against mine as he bore down, driving faster and harder. The kiss shifted to something frenzied and urgent. I was drowning, and he was oxygen. My nails dug into his shoulders as I surrendered entirely to the desperate need propelling me, to our undeniable connection, to this man.
The world fell away around us. My limbs tightened, my hips rising to meet his thrusts as if I could compel him into my very soul. And when I unraveled, he followed me over the edge.
After we both caught our breath, Lach gathered me into his arms, drawing my body against his. We laid in silence, his lips pressed against my hair as I traced the strange language of his tattoos.
“What is this?” I asked, my finger following the four symbols that had settled on his breastbone.
“Theban,” he murmured. “One of our ancient tongues.”
I peeked up at him. “Do you actually speak it?”
“Not well. It survives mostly in writing.”