Chapter 45
Reagan
Light pierced through the bookshelves, and the motes of dust drifting in each beam were so fine they shimmered. Reagan realised the room must smell of what they did last night.
He smiled to himself, not caring about it, about anything. Except the cold.
Even with their warmth tangled beneath the thick blanket he had summoned after Jane fell asleep, the room’s freezing air refused to let him shed the cover. Each breath fogged as he stared at the mantel where the fire had withered to a measly tongue of flame overnight, and Reagan willed it to rise.
Jane’s shallow breathing told him she was still fast asleep, half lying on her side with her face turned towards him, the blanket drawn to her neck. Not surprising if the crescents beneath her eyes were any indication of how little rest she’d had in previous nights.
Folding the arm she had leaned on, he brushed a tangled strand from her face and studied her, the russet curls draped over the couch. He lowered his nose to them, breathing them in until the scent of her crowded his senses.
It struck him dumb how different he felt in the span of a single day. Yesterday morning he had woken reeking of liquor and dreading the hours ahead. And that same evening, they had been granted a bloody reprieve, and she had tapped her access.
He remembered the gleam of mana in her hands, the warm flush rising in her cheeks, the flustered expression that told him that was the first time she’d done it.
Eventually he would have to jest that she tapped it because she couldn’t fathom the thought of him walking out the door, her need for him that immense.
He could already imagine her eyes rolling.
She had proved it in less than three months, enduring sessions of siphoning, even with the consequences of years tied to her nullifying relic.
He remembered how suffocating siphoning had been when he’d trained for Lordship.
As if liquid fire raced through his veins, teaching his body to access more.
The larger the access, the higher the burn.
Jane had never complained, or Evenwood would have come to fill his ears about it.
Heat gathered under the blanket, and he lifted its edge, regretting it instantly.
Her thigh draped over his leg, and every inch of her remained gloriously, delightfully naked, urging a familiar ache to flare. They’d been so tired yesterday they’d fallen asleep like that.
He admired the outline of her chest beneath the blanket, the slow dip and rise with every breath. The urge to tear the blanket away grew stronger.
So many tortured days spent avoiding even the sight of her, and now it felt like seeing her for the first time. She was, to his utter delight, beautiful beyond imagination, beyond his best memories, delectable to the point his mental sharpness matched that of a damp sponge.
Lady of Mountheim. His.
He leaned down and pressed his mouth softly against her lips. They curled almost imperceptibly, yet when he drew back, sending a faint gust of mana skimming her pulse, it was still even. Still sleeping.
He glanced toward the door.
Let everything wait. The less he crossed those hallways, the fewer chances of someone pestering him and interrupting this.
He considered how much time they had, what he would have to do today, but it was no good distraction.
Reagan became painfully aware of every place they touched, every dip and curve of her body lining up against his. It was too tempting.
A good, selfless man would let her sleep. Reagan didn’t pretend to be selfless, but he would make it worth her while.
He extricated himself, slid lower on the couch, and tugged the blanket from them both. Need wrenched through him as she stirred, her back against the couch.
Cold mist escaped his lips. His hands smoothed along the sides of her legs, keeping her warm, and he lowered his mouth to kiss the scar on her belly.
Jane hummed low in her sleep. He kissed her again, this time where the rune scar marked her creamy thigh.
His hands slipped to the backs of her knees to ease her legs apart.
Reagan placed another kiss to the inside of her knee, then inched upward, forcing himself to take his time, as her eyes fluttered. Not fully open, yet she smiled.
His own lips curled, and he kissed higher along the inside of her thigh. She shivered, goosebumps breaking across her skin as her eyes roamed him whole, seeming to notice exactly where he’d settled.
“Morning, Jane love,” Reagan said, low and rough, the smell of her already tightening every muscle in him. “Do you like waking up like this?”
He edged forward, taking in the sight of her laid bare as his shoulders spread her wider.
Jane stopped breathing. The answering rush of heat crackled through him.
With his eyes fixed on hers, he set his mouth to her sex, tasting her slowly. Her short gasp made his cock pulse. He kissed her again, and again, until he was delving his tongue inside her, his power gathering on his fingers.
It was hardly the first time. Still, Reagan remained so insatiably curious about her, so impatient to lick and fuck every inch of her. In all possible ways that their bodies could.
And to Reagan’s eternal gratitude, Jane was just as curious, always so responsive to him.
He grinned against her, watching her need-filled eyes fixed on what he was doing.
He craved her like this, imagined her like this so many times, wet and about to come in his mouth. His cock throbbed fiercely now as he watched her angling her hips, breathing through her mouth and meeting his gaze as he lavished her with slow strokes of his tongue.
When he pushed two fingers inside her… Curses and blessings. He groaned at her tightness, at her warmth, at her answering moan.
Jane panted harder with every lick. Reagan was rewarded with her fingers clutching his hair. Her quick breaths told him she was close.
He wagered he could pinpoint the exact moment—the precise flick of his tongue—that would make her come.
But he wanted to prolong it, hold her at the edge of madness and keep her there, just because he could.
So he slowed his fingers, gave her a measly kiss, forced himself to hold back and kiss her thigh.
Jane whined softly. “Caedmon.”
Insufferably slow, he closed his mouth over her again, then drew back, breathing against her.
“Caed.” His name was a plea, her hips stretching towards him. Her lambent eyes met his. “Please.”
Reagan grinned before he pressed his mouth to her again, working her until she screamed.
It was all the wicked confirmation he needed. That he knew her inside and out, knew the pattern of her breath and the exact sound she made when her climax was about to reach its glorious peak.
Just as before, an obnoxious surge of satisfaction ripped through him at having drawn those sounds from her.
Reagan kissed her glistening skin one more time before pulling himself up and bracing atop her.
“You are,” she said, still breathing hard, “such a prick.”
He laughed low under his breath, noting the flush on her face. His head dipped to catch her nipple in his teeth. She whimpered.
“Perhaps.” Oh, definitely. “But I think you like that about me.”
“You’re delusional.”
The irreverent tone had him stiffening harder. He needed her.
Reagan angled himself between her legs. The way her body stretched toward his was all the request he needed before he sank into her.
Both of them shuddered. Jane wrapped her beautiful legs around him, crossing her ankles just above his lower back, and tugged.
The next thrust drove him to the hilt, and Reagan all but growled like an animal.
Her breath shook out of her, and her nails clawed at his back, at his waist. And curses, the way she felt, the way she looked at him with such unguarded need as he pushed into her, held him in the most entranced state of his life.
Yesterday he had been too desperate, too starved. But now they found a familiar, measured rhythm that kept him inside her for longer. He’d barely let her wake, yet Jane met his pace instantly.
And then she tested his restraint, halting him with a hand on his chest.
He drew back, reading her, watching Jane shift onto her stomach, lifting that perfect, creamy ass for him.
Reagan cursed, mouth watering, and thought he caught her sly grin. He’d answer her challenge in kind. He spread her knees wider, gripped those luscious hips, and leaned in, licking her thoroughly.
Jane gasped, fingers digging into the cushions, but she stayed, matching his want with her own. He’d taste every inch, claim every part of her one day. Not now. Not when his cock throbbed this hard and desperate.
He bent over her and thrust without holding back. Reagan would have their whole lives to explore her, and an odd sort of peace settled in him at the thought.
◆◆◆
Jane’s head rested on his chest, her hands drifting in long caresses, tracing the lines of his stomach.
“I swear it. Barracus came with the Hall,” Reagan said, and she chuckled. “No. He rose through the ranks as a battle mage, but he was already commander for my parents.”
“What about Cerridwen?” she asked.
“Cerridwen was a close friend of my mother’s,” he explained, brushing a curl from her temple. “I think she was tired of teaching and wanted something different, so she became Second.”
Jane exhaled and tipped her gaze toward the ceiling. “And Gwin and Finn entered the staff two years after you took over?” she asked, and he assented. “I can’t believe I never asked that before.”
“Because you were always distracted by my cock,” Reagan said, grinning.
Her eyes narrowed on him, the shimmer of her access brimming in her hazel irises. “Yes. That must be it.”
He didn’t try to hold back his laugh. “I love how you don’t take me seriously.”
“You say that because I’m probably the only one,” she said pragmatically. “I imagine I’ll have to learn that from you, how to be taken seriously as Lady.”