Chapter 22
Kira didn’t know what else to say to him. There was nothing she could say. She’d had nightmares for years after her family died. Blood and fire and death. They faded, over time, but they never went away completely.
She couldn’t take away the nightmares.
But the tired, defeated look in his eyes scared her. This wasn’t Flynn. Flynn was a warrior. And whatever he thought, he was unbroken.
Undefeated.
They sat there for a while longer. Finally Kira said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Markus before. I just didn’t know how.”
He gazed into space, his eyes far away. Finally, he nodded. “I’m sorry I blamed you. It wasn’t your fault.”
Tentatively, she moved her hand, resting it on his thigh. He didn’t pull away.
After another long silence, he said, “The message never mattered, did it? I ran myself almost to death for nothing. He knew I wouldn’t get there in time.”
He’d put it together, then. How he’d gotten to the battle too late, but Markus had gotten there in time to find Kira and spirit her away.
“He was trying to save you. He didn’t want you to die with all the rest.”
Flynn didn’t say anything.
“He really did love you, you know,” she said softly. “I think you might have been the only person he ever loved.”
Flynn just shook his head.
Kira’s heart ached for him. He shouldn’t be here. Not like this—sad and defeated, surrounded by the bones of his enemies.
She stood up. “Come on,” she said, extending her hand.
He shook his head. “You go. I’m not in the fucking mood to walk all the way back to the compound right now.”
“We’re not walking.”
She turned to the side and opened a portal in the air, its edges shimmering. “Come on, Lion. Bus is leaving.”
He shook his head again, but he climbed wearily to his feet. “I hope you know a fucking short cut.”
“I’m a princess of the House of Al-Maddeiri. I can walk through worlds in my sleep.”
That wasn’t an idle boast. In five minutes she’d moved them through the spirit world and they were stepping through another portal into Flynn’s bedroom.
He gave her a sideways glance. “I’m really going to have to get some wards set around this place, if any uppity draken can just walk in.”
She shook her head. “You like me, really. Everybody does, because I’m nicer than you.”
That got an almost-smile.
She led him into the bathroom that adjoined the bedroom. She liked it even better than the one downstairs, and she’d gotten pretty intimate with it in the last few days. It had a shower bigger than most people’s closets, and a skylight that showed the stars overhead.
She prodded Flynn inside and turned on the multiple jets, dousing him with soothing hot water from all sides. He needed to wash the stink of dirt and decay off him. Even more, he needed to wash away the memories.
She knew what that felt like.
While he showered, she went out to his office on the balcony overlooking the living area, opened the side cabinet and rooted through the bottles there. In the back was a truly stellar thirty-year-old bottle of whiskey, that she’d bet money came from Alexander Grant’s private stock. She took that back into the bedroom and put it on the bedside table, and checked the bathroom.
Flynn was leaning against the wall in the shower, eyes closed, letting the water pour down on him. He wasn’t even bothering to wash off the dirt.
Kira bit her lips, then sighed. Stubborn lion.
She stripped off everything but her panties, then took a fluffy washcloth from the shelf by the shower and stepped inside. Steam billowed around her.
Flynn gave her one baleful look, and then closed his eyes again. “You are not fucking washing me like a cub,” he said. “Leave me alone. I’m tired.”
“Shut up.” She picked up a bottle of shower gel from a tiled shelf, opened it and sniffed it. It had a woodsy, masculine scent.
“Nice,” she said. She poured it on the washcloth and began rubbing it over his chest. His body was still new to her, new enough that she never tired of running her hands over the contours of his pecs, the ridges of his abs, the dips and hollows of his ribs and collarbone.
She moved the washcloth slowly, sensuously. Down his chest to his tapered waist and washboard abs, over the curves of his hipbones and the perfect ‘v’ of muscle from his hips down to his dick.
She could see a little stirring of interest, and she smiled to herself.
She knelt, running the washcloth down his strong, heavily muscled legs. She loved his legs—the ropes of defined muscle, the light dusting of hair that was surprisingly golden, rather than black like the hair on his head.
Golden lion, black mane.
She washed his calves, the tops of his feet, and then ran the washcloth up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, stroking up and down, up and down. His dick was growing harder now, strong and thick. She reached again for the shower gel, and poured some into her hand.
She rubbed it over his erection, stroking slowly, her hand slick with soap. Flynn tilted his head back against the tiled wall and groaned.
“Damn.”
She continued stroking, still kneeling. Flynn’s hips rolled, and another groan ripped from him. Kira splashed water over his dick, straight and hard now, pulsing with need. When she’d washed the soap off, she ran her tongue up the side of his shaft and swirled it around the head.
His fingers tangled in her hair, as if he needed an anchor. The other hand was flat against the wall, water raining down on them both. It was wet and sexy and sensuous, and she loved the taste of him, the way he filled her mouth, the look on his face as he let himself go, let himself feel the insane pleasure.
Finally, he reached down and lifted her to her feet. He ripped her panties right off her, not bothering to slide them down, his eyes intent on her, taking in every inch of her soapy, water-slicked body.
He backed up two steps to the tiled bench at one end of the shower, and pulled her on his lap, growling. Then his mouth was on her breasts, lips and teeth and tongue everywhere, making her ache with wanting.
As if he could hear her thoughts, he slid his fingers between her thighs, giving a louder growl when he felt how slick and wet she was.
Kira arched, so sensitive that the touch of his fingers was almost unbearable. But Flynn was relentless, his other hand splayed across her lower back, his mouth still pulling on her nipple, his fingers slipping inside her and then out to tease her clit, and back inside her.
The spray pounded down on her, hot and wild, and she arched her back, moving against his hand, wanting more—always more.
She reached down and pushed his hand away, closing hers around his shaft and guiding him inside her. He filled her, pleasure almost to the point of pain, and she felt his teeth graze her nipple, his thumb still stroking her clit.
Electricity shot through her—love and power and the darkness of long-held pain. She wrapped her arms around Flynn’s neck and pulled him inside her, again and again, until they exploded, love and pain and power together, rising up into the dark night sky.