He blinked at her. “Why would it be rubber?”

She sighed. “So many things I’ll have to teach you. I’m all for tradition, but do you really want something between us?”

He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. “Somehow we managed to get to this bed before sleeping together. I want to do this right. A proper marriage.”

“This claiming business is important to you, huh?”

“It is.” His forehead rested against hers. “But, Melanthe, you must be certain of this. We haven’t been together for long. And while I can’t have others—obviously wouldn’t even if I could—you could find someone else.” He began stroking one of her supple thighs. “If we take this step, you’ll have to pick me over all the men you’ll meet in your eternal life. Because I won’t ever let you go.” As if I would now . . .

She laid her silken hands on his face. “I picked you over all others when I walked through that portal with you. I want to be your wife.”

His heart felt too big for his chest. “My wife.” He dipped down, rubbing the base of one horn up and down her neck. Mine. She had to know he was marking her with his scent.

When she tilted her head away to give him more access, to let him do as his instinct commanded, he wanted to kiss her until her little toes curled.

“Just one last consideration,” she murmured absently. “I’m probably not even in season anymore, right? We could’ve been in the belly of the beast for weeks.”

He raised his head. “Though I’d wanted to impregnate you so you’d feel bound to me, I can’t lie. I scent you’re in season. It’s waned, but still there.”

“Then our already slim odds waned too.” She pressed her lips to his neck, then his jawline, then to the corner of his mouth. “You amaze me, Thronos. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to your honesty.”

“You’re going to have to. Because I’m about to marry you.” Season or not, she still wanted this. He turned to slant his mouth over hers.

Lanthe’s lips parted, welcoming his tongue as it slipped toward hers. She loved how leisurely he took their kisses, working the slow build—despite the tension in his massive body.

Despite the scorching hardness of his shaft beneath her ass.

As they tangled tongues, he reached higher between her thighs, his fingers trailing upward. There was something so erotic about wearing his shirt, his hand moving unseen beneath the fabric.

Against her lips, he rasped, “Need to get you ready.”

Seeing his gorgeous physique in that towel had already primed her pump. But who was she to disappoint the Vrekener? “I told you: I look at your body and mine grows wet for it. Anything else will be a bonus.” She spread her thighs for him.

He took the invitation, gently cupping her sex, pressing the heel of his hand against her sensitive clitoris.

With his other hand he started to rub her stiffened ni**les, one, then the other.

Lightly pinching. Thumbing the very tip. Rolling each peak between his fingers . . .

When he dipped down to suckle her through the fabric, she gasped, threading her fingers in his damp hair. With each pull of his lips, she arched to him for more.

“Love suckling you. Could do it for hours.”

She was moaning when he moved to her other nipple, his breaths hot against the sensitive tip. As he sucked, he eased his finger inside her, groaning to find her so aroused.

The electricity that always sparked between them grew like a lightning storm. His finger was just a tease, a precursor to the delight she’d almost experienced with Thronos before—when he’d started to wedge his huge shaft into her.

At the thought, she rocked to meet his thrusting finger, her ass rubbing over the hardness she’d soon enjoy.

He grated, “This will be over before it starts.”

She was ready for him. She cupped the back of his neck. “Then get inside me. Quick, before something interrupts our wedding.”

His brows shot up. “My thoughts exactly.” He moved her from his lap, laying her back on the bed. Once he’d stripped her of the shirt, he dropped his towel, revealing that mouthwatering erection.

She took her time admiring all seven feet of his warrior’s body. His wings were unfurled, her demon’s sexy backdrop. His horns had gone ramrod straight.

When he’d run those lengths against her before, her sex had clenched in reaction. He’d marked her with his scent—and she’d loved it. She wanted to kiss and stroke those horns. Then lick his firm lips. And his flat ni**les. She wanted to run her mouth along the rigid edges of his pec muscles before following his goodie trail down. . . .

What was her type? Voilà.

He moved to kneel between her legs. Because they were about to do this. Without protection.

Her biological clock was screaming: Roll. The. Dice.

Yet then he spread that sheet over her. It was about eight feet square, with a strategically placed slit. The politics of this rankled. She didn’t get contraception, but he got this barrier?

No, no, this was important to him. Her self-help books told her compromise was vital to a developing relationship.

Then she lit on an idea, a way for them both to be happy with the sheet; she decided to play along for now.

As he aligned the opening with her sex, he asked, “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“If you go slow.”

He levered himself above her, resting on one straightened arm. “Slow?” His gaze fell upon her ni**les jutting against the sheet. “I fear I won’t last. I’ve craved you for too long.” With his free hand, he gripped himself, aiming for the sheet’s gap.