Page 38 of Ashborne Forged

‘Mate,’ Kham rumbled in my head. ‘She is mate.’

12. All the Ways

~ VOSKI ~

The days that followed were incredible. My mate was stunning. Eager to learn. And quick to obey. Yet, her skills were oddly mismatched.

Grace knew roughly how to gut and skin a prey animal, because her father had taken her hunting on horseback since she was small. But she possessed only marginal skill in butchering a carcass, lighting a fire, and cooking the meat. I used the clean up from the meal as a reason to put my arms around her and show her the correct way to wash a plate, or hang leftover meat in a bag so it wouldn’t be stolen by wildlife.

“I’m too short!”

“I have arms enough for both of us. But you need to understand the knot…”

She instinctively knew how to throw a blade and rarely missed her target. Yet she’d never thrown a punch, and recoiled from the very idea. Holding her hips and positioning her legs, teaching her how to use the power of her core to throw a fist was pointless, because she froze the moment I put flesh and blood in front of her and told her to hit me.

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s the palm of my hand, Grace. I promise, you won’t damage me…”

She could sneak through the forest on feet silent enough to evade the notice of animals. Yet she possessed only rudimentary skills in identifying the signs of a campsite or an animal’s burrow.

“It just looks like a forest to me!”

“Focus. You aren’t just searching for signs of passage. You’re watching for worn trails through thin grass. Use your nose to identify cold ash, or fresh scat…”

But it was a joy to show her. Every time. She listened with a humility the men usually lacked. Trying new things with an eagerness to please that was almost childlike, though she was far from a child.

“Like this?”

“Lower your shoulders, let your lower back arch. Yessss…”

I held her hips as I eased into her from behind, groaning at the rush as she took me, deeply aroused by the sight of her hands clawing into the quilt until her knuckles turned white.

“Oh… oh, I like that one,” she murmured. Her breath caught as I drew out.

“So do I,” I growled through my teeth, taking her again, doing my best to be careful. She was still so new to this. And though Koa and the bond seemed to have healed her, I was still wary of frightening her.

Though, perhaps I had misjudged. A moment later, it was difficult to remain gentle when she dropped a shoulder and pressed back to meet me as I thrust, her voice breaking in small cries.

“Grace, are you—”

“Again!” she gasped.

God, I could have eaten her whole. Round ass in the air, her spine hollowed, shoulder blades rolling under her pale skin, her hair loose and messy, scattered over her shoulders and the quilt, she was beauty, and heat, and mindless need.

Teeth gritted, I planted a hand between those pretty shoulder-blades, where the muscle was now defined, splayed my fingers, and held her in place, cursing with delight when her head snapped back and her cry rose higher as I thrust.

She already tightened, pulsing around me, and I’d barely had her naked two minutes. The battle to hold myself in check never waged harder than when she lost her self-consciousness and began to vocalize—short, wordless cries, tiny mewls, broken sobs. My name.

She was succulent and ripe, and no matter how many times I had her, the fire inside me never died.

In an attempt to slow this down, but keep her moving toward her peak, I slid my hand down, down, let my fingers slide hard up the back of her neck, then curled my fist into her hair, fingernails scraping, squeezing the handful of golden strands until goosebumps pebbled the skin of her back and thighs.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I rasped and thrust again. And again, teeth gritted, fighting for control.

“Don’t… stop… please!” she panted, bending her neck into my grip like a cat searching for a stroke.

Her plea hit me like a punch. My hips bucked and I pulled her back, moaning her name, reveling in her cries, praying for the control to bring her to her peak before I exploded.