I gasp reflexively, my pussy tightening around him.
“If you don’t like it, you can always come the good old-fashioned way,” he says.
I bow my head, wanting to sob because I’m so fucking turned on, and he’s so goddess-damned evil.
“You understand my needs like no other.” I gasp out the sentiment. It doesn’t sound like a lie because Memnon does, indeed, seem to know every trick of my body.
He leans in near my ear. “Who understands your needs?” he presses softly.
This monster.
I turn my head to meet his gaze, our faces inches apart.
“You, my husband,” I spit out.
He holds my gaze for a second longer before he remembers himself.
“Good woman,” he praises me, his lips curving into a smile. And then his magic is scouring my clit and sliding up my stomach and over my breasts, teasing my nipples as well.
My arms buckle, and Memnon releases my throat so that my upper body can collapse onto the mattress.
The sorcerer brushes my hair off the nape of my neck and presses a kiss there. Between that and the relentless rub of his magic, I shatter, arching back against him as I come and come and come.
His hips slam into me, pumping harder and faster, trying to give me everything I crave all at once.
“Fuck,” I hear him curse under his own breath, even as I feel his cock throb inside me. Then, with a roar, he comes, his own climax lengthening my own.
I press my ass against Memnon even as I place my forehead on my hands. My orgasm hasn’t even ended, but the pulsing ache from the cursed witch’s brew is back again.
I make a frustrated sound, wanting to weep. My body is tired, but it doesn’t seem to matter; it’s demanding release again.
“Memnon, I think…” I think I need more.
The sorcerer smooths a hand down my sweaty spine. “I know, est amage. I can feel it through our bond. As long as you need me, I will take care of you.”
And he does. Many, many times over.
CHAPTER 19
I know I’ve done a bad thing before I even open my eyes.
A very, very bad thing named Memnon.
The room smells like sex, and my body is sore everywhere. My wicked soul mate lies asleep in my bed, holding me like I’m his own personal teddy bear. His leg is draped over mine, and his arm is wrapped around my chest, like in sleep he fears I might escape him.
If I could scream at drunk Selene, I would. My pussy feels swollen and bruised, and my body is sticky with sweat and come. I pinch my eyes shut, willing it all away. Especially the pretty things he said between bouts of sex. Those linger with me even now.
The man deserves my ire, not my interest.
I turn over in his arms so I can look at him. Memnon makes a noise low in his chest and pulls me tighter against him.
“Again?” he murmurs, his eyes still closed and his voice thick with sleep.
I want the earth to swallow me up. “No,” I say hoarsely, a blush creeping up my neck.
“Thank the gods.” He sounds legitimately relieved, which only makes me flush deeper. “Much as I want to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours, I think you broke my dick last ni—”
I cover his mouth before he can finish the sentence.
Memnon’s eyes blink sleepily open, and I can feel his lazy, languid grin beneath my hand.
He reaches out and strokes my cheek. Aww, is my mate embarrassed?
“Last night never happened,” I say. Just sex. It was just some casual, highly erotic sex. That’s all.
Oh, it definitely happened. That memory is up there with finding you and marrying you the first time around.
I close my eyes and inwardly wince. I see he’s taking last night in the complete other direction.
He runs his knuckles over my bare flesh. “Are you sore?” he asks, his brow furrowing.
I open my eyes and shake my head, even as I feel the throb from between my thighs. “I’m fine.”
Memnon frowns, studying my features. “Fine,” he echoes, testing the word out. I think the sorcerer is coming face-to-face with this expression for the first time. “I don’t believe you. We fucked a lot—I wasn’t gentle.”
I remember. I asked him not to be.
I groan and bury my face against his chest. The things I said, the things we did…
Definitely hexing whoever made that batch of witch’s brew.
Memnon laughs softly, rubbing my back and pressing me in close against him. It’s strange that these types of touches are new yet also old and familiar.
“My little witch is embarrassed,” Memnon says, sounding both surprised and delighted by it. He kisses the top of my head, the action oddly endearing. “I also don’t believe you’re fine.”
As he speaks, I feel warmth spread out beneath his palm and along my skin. It soaks into my flesh, and my various aches and pains vanish.
I lift my head and give him a grateful look. Now is when I push him away. Only…I don’t want to. And I know this is how all bad ideas begin when it comes to Memnon—giving the guy a chance—but right now, as I stare at the sorcerer’s scarred, inked torso, the past feels like it’s rising up from the depths.
On a whim, I run my hand over his skin, tracing his various tattoos. I had asked him not so long ago to tell me what they all meant.
Now I don’t need to.
“Your first hunt,” I say softly, tracing a ram with a twisted torso on his arm. “And your first animal kill,” I say, moving my fingers over a fallen deer. My hand moves to a horse whose body is decorated with swirls and stripes. “Your first battle,” I say. My fingers move to another fallen ram with designs on its body. Looming over it is a fanged predator. “Your first human kill,” I say. “And your first brush with death.” My touch moves up to his neck. “Here’s my familiar, and—” My fingers glide to his other shoulder. “These are the various tribes you unified, and here are more whom you defeated.”
My hand drifts to the skin above his heart. “Here’s your family crest,” I say, tracing the dragon, “and…” He was planning to add the tree of life around the dragon as a representation of me and the bond that ties us together, but he was cursed before he got the chance.
Memnon watches me like he’s hanging on to my every word. I realize how truly lonely it must be for him, living in this modern world where no one understands who he is or where he came from or what his life was like. His people are hardly more than a shadowy smudge in history books.
“It’s still surreal that we had an entire life together,” I murmur.
Memnon’s eyes turn sorrowful, and his hand slips down my torso, his index finger tracing a design over my abdomen, right where, long ago, I carried his child, and right where, long ago, Eislyn shoved a knife through me and ended that possibility.
“But we didn’t have an entire life together, little witch,” he says softly. “Look at me. I may have been in my prime by ancient standards, but by yours, I am young. We were young when things ended. You and I were robbed of our life before we could fully live it.”
I have to breathe through my nose, just to alleviate a sudden tightness in my chest. Once the feeling abates, I exhale. That was then. This is now. He and I may have once shared something real and amazing, but things are different. I am different. And Memnon has been unforgivably cruel to me.