She rose to unsteady legs and took a few uncertain steps, the metal bird at the foot of the bed clocking her every move. Alerting Galen?

The thought comforted her. Just in case he didn’t know she’d awoken, she would text him. She opened the nightstand drawer, expecting to find her old cell phone. Hmm. No phone, but there was a huge box of condoms. Flavored condoms. Extra small. No way these came from Galen. So who had put them there?

A mystery for another day.

In the bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Well, well. A glimpse in the mirror revealed her bloodstained clothing had been replaced by a pink T-shirt that read “Give Me Galen or—Just Give Me Galen!” and shorts with little red hearts.

In the drawer with an assortment of hair bows, tiaras, and brushes, she found another box of flavored, extra small condoms. Seriously. Who had stayed in her room?

Rushing footsteps echoed seconds before the bedroom door swung open. Galen strode inside, those gorgeous wings arching over his broad shoulders, and closed the entrance with a kick. His pale hair stuck out in spikes. A black glove covered his prosthetic. He wore a white T-shirt, the material hugging his biceps, and a pair of loose-fitting lounge pants. Casual clothing, yet he appeared anything but relaxed.

Familiar tension emanated from him as he crossed the distance and leaned against the bathroom door. Seeing him set off a chain reaction of sensation. First came heat, then tingles, then a flood of arousal. She hurriedly shut the drawer, hiding the condoms.

“How are you?” he asked, cautious.

Why cautious? “I’m better.” Alive. If she had died without being with Galen—a time born of desire rather than anger, resentment, or revenge—well, talk about a true travesty.

“Are you pissed at me? For the letters, I mean.”

“No. I’m glad you read them,” she admitted. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

He regarded her warily as she approached and wrapped her arms around him. Was he, perchance, afraid to hope she meant the words?

“I missed you,” she said, rising to her tiptoes. Her lips hovering over his, she breathed in his sweetness.

At first, he was stiff as a board, maybe a little confused. “Do you want to talk about—”

“No. I want to kiss you.”

Relaxing, he gripped her lower back with one hand and cupped her nape with the other, the prosthetic. One yank, and her body was flush against his. Their groans blended when he crashed his mouth into hers and kissed her.

As he walked forward, she hooked her legs around his waist. He blindly reached out to fiddle with the knobs in the shower. Water burst from the spout in the ceiling, raining in the stall, creating a soft pitter-patter. Soon, hot steam turned the bathroom into a sultry dreamland.

“I want you. I need you,” he rasped. “But what do you want, sugar? What do you need?”

“You.” Only ever you. “All of you.”

“Then all of me you shall have.” He gripped the collar of his shirt and tugged, ripping the material. Then he gave her shirt the same snatch-and-go treatment. Cool air brushed her breasts, her nipples puckering. He groaned. “My glorious female.”

She stepped closer, warm skin pressing against warm skin. Inhale. Friction. Exhale. Friction. Desire sparked, spreading like wildfire, burning her inside and out.

With his forehead resting against hers, he said, “If you’re doing this to forget what happened or because you feel indebted to me…I’m okay with that. But next time, or maybe the fifth—or fifteenth time, I insist you want me the way I want you, or I’ll say no. Probably.”

She laughed, then moaned. “Too much talking. Kiss me.”

Hand and gloved metal in her hair, he returned his mouth to hers. Their tongues thrust together in a wild dance. He urged her feet to the floor and tore the waist of her shorts, her panties. Yes, yes! Giving as good as she got, she shredded his soft cotton lounge pants, leaving him bare.

Galen. Bare. A sight she hadn’t gotten to enjoy either time they were together. The first time, they’d been in a public setting, and in a rush. The second, Cronus had interrupted. Now, they were alone and well-guarded. She could do anything she wished…

Legion ended the kiss, needing a moment to drink him in visually. He was beyond gorgeous, probably the most beautiful man ever to live, with muscles galore, two butterfly tattoos on his chest—the perfect canvas for her tongue—and a wealth of bronzed skin.

Her gaze dropped, and she licked her lips. He was big. Huge. And her aching body was empty without him.

When he gripped his length, as if in offering, she licked her lips. Magnificent. Had any male ever been so seductive?

He gave her the same once-over, only slower, more thorough. His pupils swelled, swallowing his irises, making her adore the body she’d been given.

No. No male had ever been so seductive.

“The prosthetic,” she began, only to release a keening noise when his knuckle circled her nipple. “Let me help you take it off.” She would kiss the wound he’d sustained on her behalf.

“No need. The glove is waterproof.” He stepped into the shower stall, taking her with him, hot water washing over them. “I can get it—and you—soaking wet.”

“Mission accomplished,” she whispered.

He gave her nipple a light pinch, sending a shaft of pleasure straight to her core. “You ready for more?”

“With you? Always.” An undeniable truth. A shocking truth.

Before she could fist his massive erection, he spun her around, putting her back to his chest. He lifted her arms and flattened her palms against the tiled wall. “I want you more ready.”

She expected intense sexual play, with his big hands kneading her breasts. Man and machine working together. Barring that, she expected him to thrust his fingers inside her, and go straight for the gold. Instead, he gently shampooed and conditioned her hair, then soaped her up from top to bottom, his touch perfunctory. Letting her become accustomed to each new sensation?

“I’m ready,” she said, and groaned.

“Not enough.”

Maybe he needed to be readied. She turned to face him, snatched up the soap and cleaned him. Remaining perfunctory wasn’t an option. She worshipped his body. Wasn’t long before little growls rumbled in his chest.

“You don’t follow any rules but your own, do you?” he rasped. “I am the same.”

“I’m glad.”

Without warning, he spun her once again, forcing her back to rest against his chest. This time, he fit his erection in the crack of her ass. He nibbled on her earlobe, cupping her breasts. While both his hand and the prosthetic kneaded her plump, giving flesh, the prosthetic applied a little more force. The variation drove her wild.

Anticipation buzzed along her nerve endings, and she wondered what he would do next.

“More?” He glided a hand down, down her stomach, and circled her navel.

“Yes, please.” Reaching back, she tangled her fingers in his wet hair.

He continued to knead with the prosthetic, kicking her feet apart and using his other hand to thrust two fingers inside her. Immediate pleasure. She cried out, her back bowing.

The heel of his palm pressed against the center of her need, every inward glide sending a new bolt of frenzied passion through her. He made love to her with those fingers. Thrusting deep, so deep. In and out. In and out. Going slow, so agonizingly slow. No longer just driving her wild—driving her to the brink of madness.

“This first time,” he said, “I’m going to make you come hard and fast. I’m going to take the edge off, and give you a taste of all I’m offering.” He ran the shell of her ear between his teeth. “But it’s not going to be enough. It’s never going to be enough.”

Pressure built, bliss consuming her bit by bit. She panted harder, writhed with more force, and tugged on his hair, awash with sensation. “Galen.”

“More?” he asked. Still kneading, still pinching. Still thrusting his fingers in and out, i

n and out.

Then he wedged in a third finger.

She came in a rush, a strangled cry leaving her, inner walls contracting. Bright, beautiful stars winked through her vision, her mind snagging on a single word: yes, yes, yes. Her galloping heart banged against her ribs. For a moment, her lungs hitched, breathing impossible. Then she was panting again, drenched in Galen’s scent. No. Their scent. Wildflowers, dark spices, storms—sex.

Hard and fast? Check.

The strength leached from her muscles, and she sagged against him. Good thing he kept his strong arms banded around her, keeping her upright.

“Good?” he asked, his tone rough, ragged, and strained.

“So good.” But he was right. It hadn’t been enough. New fires erupted, pressure building all over again. Hunger turned ravenous, another cascade of warmth pooling between her legs. “Are you ready for this, Galen?”

“Yes,” he hissed. He dipped his finger into her core, as if he needed another hit of her wetness. As if she were a drug.

“Not enough,” she said, mimicking him. Determined to make him as mindless, she whirled around. She kissed down his chiseled torso…licked his butterfly tattoos, exactly as she’d imagined. The mystical ink heated against her tongue.

“You don’t have to do this, sugar.”

Tags: Gena Showalter Lords of the Underworld Fantasy