The Warlord Gena Showalter (primary phonics TXT) 📖

Those brands secured telepathic communications and allowed a summoning. Ian used his brand to locate and flash them all. “How do you have a brand and not understand its purpose? Who gave it to you?” More important, what did they plan to do with her?

“Nice try, but you won’t scare me into talking. No, you know what? I’m happy to share this time. Neeka gave it to me, and even when she’s being the most annoying person ever born, with questionable motives, she has my best interests at heart. She’d never do anything to endanger me. Unlike my own dear husband, who does everything to endanger me.”

No one executed better assaults against a man’s ego than Taliyah and her viper’s tongue. “Be absolutely certain you trust her. The brand can be used against you. This Neeka has paired you with some unknown deity who might hope to weaponize you for their own gain.” Was this how she remained lucid, despite her hunger? Did some god use the mystical link to provide her with power?

“I get it. You’ve seen my taste in spouses, so you doubt my intelligence. Here’s the thing. The guy who plans to kill me shouldn’t question my best friend’s intentions. She’s bled for me. You’ve made me bleed. So yes, I’m absolutely certain I trust her. Now do us both a favor and exit my stall. I’m treating myself to a spa day. I’ve earned it.”

Exiting is a favor—to myself. But it was too late. He’d touched her luscious body. He’d inhaled her scent and warmed.

Instinct demanded he heat her.

Roc stepped closer, urged by primitive forces. He settled his grip on her waist and gently massaged, thrilling when she groaned. No one made sexier sounds than a needy Taliyah Skyhawk.

Had she rolled her hips, as if imagining his fingers inside her? Wishful thinking? Roc couldn’t deny he imagined it. He’d had a taste of her. For his sanity, he required more.

As always, she rallied quickly, her defenses firmly entrenched. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is a little more than watching, yes?”

“Don’t care.”

“You’ve forgotten that I’m a disgusting phantom so quickly? How embarrassing for you.”

The reminder hit like a typhoon. He skidded two steps back, ripping his hands from her.

She was right. How easily he’d caved. When you played with your temptation, you deserved your inevitable wounds. But he still didn’t leave the stall. He couldn’t. She’d turned to face him, and his mind lost control of his body.

Water sprayed between them, mist twirling up. She became a dream...a nightmare. Despite the acerbic tone she’d used before, she evinced raw desire now.

Her nipples drew tight as she roved a slumberous gaze over him. Did she note the tension in his stance? The hardness of his shaft? Did she celebrate her effect on him?

Tiny pink claws glided down her torso to tease the thatch of curls between her legs. “I can’t help but notice you aren’t leaving, husband.”

Was it possible... Did she experience the same frenzied tug-of-war? Did her body experience the same ravening hunger as his?

His heart thudded, as if he were a young lad dealing with his first maid. Roc had decided to take his interactions with her one minute at a time. This minute required a decision and the strength to see it through.

Pleasure a phantom and suffer, or not pleasure a phantom and suffer?

Before Taliyah, he would’ve opted for the second. Gladly. No thought needed. A phantom, much less a sacrificial lamb, had no business in his bed. But a gravita...a wife...

He swallowed, different muscles flexing. Want her? Take her...

Why shouldn’t he take her? He was Commander. Why deny himself what he wanted? He’d earned the right to have whomever he wished, whenever and wherever he wished.

Erebus sought his misery. Why oblige his enemy and welcome his own torment? The god expected Roc to fight his attraction, remaining in an aggravated state. He hated what Taliyah was, yes; she would feel like paradise regardless. He didn’t trust her, but he didn’t need to trust her to protect himself from her attacks.

You will regret this.

“Well,” she demanded, anger eroding her softened repose, “are you just going to stand there?”

He met her gaze, fury to fury. She began to pant. A telling sign he didn’t have the strength to resist.

Motions clipped, he kicked off his boots and unfastened his leathers. “This means nothing, bride.”

She cupped her breasts, eyelids sinking. “It means less than nothing.”

They stepped toward each other, bumping together. As he lowered his head for a kiss, she lifted to her tiptoes. Their tongues thrust and tangled together, a fevered madness setting in.

23

Taliyah didn’t want to think, but thoughts zipped through her mind with dizzying speed anyway, culminating in a need to both push the Astra away and lock him in place. To savor this sense of satisfaction and curse it.

He’d imprisoned her. Insulted and threatened her. And fed her. Tended to her when she’d sickened. Freed her from the belt. Watched her with undisguised lust. And now he kissed her with stunning ferocity.

She told herself she didn’t have to make a lifelong decision here. Enjoying the moment was a perfectly acceptable plan. Right now, the fact that she’d missed him didn’t matter. And why bother trying to guess how she’d feel after the shower? She’d feel how she’d feel. She could handle herself and Roc then.

Her claws curled into his chest as she returned his kiss with every drop of lust frothing inside her. Lust she shouldn’t feel, given her hunger, but there it was. She couldn’t slake it. His warmth seeped past her skin, chasing away the dungeon’s chill.

Steam enveloped them, and water rained. Warm droplets dripped into their mouths and splashed over their bodies.

He yanked her closer, smashing her breasts into his chest, and she slung her arms around him. With every inhalation, her nipples grazed his ripped chest. She scored his back, lost. Everywhere he touched, sensations left a mark. Hotter heat. Wild tremors. Delicious prickles and tormenting flutters.