His teeth clenched as he allowed her to go at her own pace, sinking down one slow inch at a time.
It wasn’t until she was fully seated that he tightened his hold on her hips and began to move.
Savoring his deep, steady pace, Fallon laid her hands on his chest, following the instinct to roll her hips to meet his upward thrust. She smiled with satisfaction as he gave a low shout as his fingers tightened on his hips.
She might be naive, but she was a fast learner.
“You’re going to be the death of me, princess,” he panted.
Fallon leaned down, sucking his lower lip between her teeth. His hips jerked off the mattress, as she bit the tender flesh at the same time she scored her nails down his chest.
Fallon chuckled, loving the sensation of having Cyn in her thrall. It might be nothing but an illusion that he was offering her, but it gave her a heady sense of power.
In this moment there was only the two of them.
No past.
And no future.
Shoving away the worries that waited just beyond the bedroom door, she concentrated on the sensation of Cyn’s deepening thrusts, her soft pants filling the air as she hovered on the cusp of bliss.
Cyn tightened his grip, his face burying in the curve of her neck. Then, still pumping into her at a furious pace, he tilted his hips for an even deeper penetration, sending her into a shattering climax.
Fallon shuddered in ecstasy, convulsing around him as he cried out with the violent pleasure of his own release.
Chapter Twelve
Anthony Benson woke to find he was lying on the floor of his foyer.
Grimacing, he forced himself to the kitchen to devour the meal he’d prepared before leaving his private estate.
It was difficult enough to layer the magic through the caves of the Commission. Even with the potion to amplify his power, it drained him to the point of exhaustion. But to be forced to send a blast of energy to disrupt whoever had been spying on him had depleted what few resources he had left.
He was fortunate he’d managed to reach home before he collapsed.
Once he felt the magic returning to his body he took a quick shower and pulled on his usual uniform of slacks and a brown tweed jacket. Only then did he head to his library where he paced the floor with short, jerky steps.
Who the hell had been scrying the caves?
And why?
Had they been searching for him?
A trickle of fear inched down his spine. No. It was impossible.
Halting at the table below the large bay window, Anthony poured himself a large shot of whiskey. If anyone suspected that he was manipulating the Oracles, he would have been destroyed before he could reach the caves.
It was more likely that the Commission had decided to beef up their security.
Which still posed a problem.
His cloak would have hid his identity, but if the Oracles were aware that there was someone sneaking through the tunnels, it would make it almost impossible for him to return.
Which meant he had to hope this last Compulsion spell would be enough to gain complete control of the Commission.
But first . . .
He drained the whiskey and set his empty glass on his desk.
The imp Keeley should have returned by now. Which meant he’d either been captured or turned traitor.
Either way, Anthony needed to shut his mouth before he could start squealing and ruin everything.
Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his phone and sent a short text to Yiant.
Minutes later the slender fairy appeared, attired in ornate robes that revealed he’d been in the middle of some flamboyant fey celebration.
Offering a low bow, Yiant straightened to offer Anthony a patently false smile. “My lord, I am honored by your invitation, but as I said, I truly have no more potions.”
Anthony waved aside the overly practiced words. Really. Dealing with the fey was like dealing with the slimy politicians in Dublin. Cunning, slippery bastards who would stab you in the back without hesitation.
Thankfully he had them by the nuts.
And he wasn’t afraid to squeeze his grip when necessary.
“I need you to make me a portal,” he said.
The fairy frowned. No doubt he’d hoped for a quick return to his party. “To where?”
“The King of Vampires’ lair.”
Pure shock drained the color from the fairy’s face. “You want me to take you to Styx’s lair?”
“Unless he’s been replaced,” he mocked.
“But . . . it isn’t possible.”
Anthony adjusted the cuff of his tweed jacket, his voice dangerously soft. “You really need to stop saying that to me.”
Yiant licked his dry lips. “I mean that his home is protected by layers of magic that prevent the opening of a portal.”
Anthony shrugged. “Have you been there?”
“Naturally I traveled to pay my respects after he’d settled at the lair with his mate.”
“And to scout the terrain in case you wanted to spy on the Anasso?”
“Of course not,” the fairy denied, his eyes wide with innocence.
A lie. One that Anthony ignored.