Seduction of a Psychopomp: Erogenous Hand Holding and Other Ways to Tame your Reaper (The Boundlands, #3)

by Elsie Winters

“For all I know, my family might come and steal me back. They’ve already gotten what they wanted from our arrangement, after all,” I warned him. I wouldn’t put it past my mother to demand something dramatic like that, as upset as she had been about “losing me” to a non-fae. He leaned closer, every muscle in his body tensing as his fingers gripped the armrest tightly, and a primal kind of possessiveness flared behind his eyes. “I’d like to see them try.”

“Let’s get you back to bed, Doveling,” he murmured.

Life and death will fade away and every version of this planet will crumble into dust, and I will still belong to you.”

“I worked very hard all night not to cloak myself, and I still managed to startle you,” he said dryly.

“But it startles you when I remove it, so I’m… trying to be better about it.” The tips of his little rounded ears were bright pink, and he awkwardly rubbed his thumb along the edge of the dusty cover—another book written in a language I couldn’t read. “But I startled you anyway just by sitting here in broad daylight, so I’m beginning to think maybe the problem isn’t me.” I glanced at him in shock only to find him staring at me with the smallest hint of mischief in his eyes. He wasn’t smiling per sé, but he could have been, if you squinted really, really hard.

He dropped his left hand onto the bed with his palm up again, and I’m sure I had hearts in my eyes when I took the offering and placed my hand in his with a grin. He didn’t seem to emote much, but his eyes were sparkling, and even though his face was stoic he still seemed… happy.

And perhaps, since we had forever, this was a gift. He was a puzzle I could tinker with for years and get to know a little at a time, treasuring each little kernel of himself that he shared with me instead of consuming him all at once.

“Ah, no,” he replied, hunching into himself shyly, as if trying to hide from my eyes.

I only managed to get two small logs into the firebox before I felt his hands smoothing down my wings as he gently tugged me away. My eyes widened at the sensation of him touching me in such a familiar way, and I turned to find him trying to guide me back to the table. “Rest, Doveling. This is my job.”

But I couldn’t pay attention to the text because somehow his hand had brushed against mine, or mine against his, and then his fingers had closed around mine and we were holding hands. And that was how we spent the next couple of days. Whenever I wasn’t sleeping, we were huddled together in the library reading books, him reading whatever it was he read in various languages I didn’t understand, and me reading specific texts that he selected to help me learn more about the cultures here or—at my request—to broaden my understanding of Common Tongue. But always holding hands.

I would be reading a passage about grammar variations among modern elvish communities and his hand would sneak across the table to tangle with mine. Every time we laced fingers, I would feel a secret thrill, reveling in the way my body warmed and tingled just from the feel of his skin against mine. It was truly bizarre. I had held hands before. I’d even kissed several boys growing up. Nothing had ever felt as erotic as this. It got to the point where just seeing his fingers twitch made me short of breath.

I noticed that, if I spoke, I had his full attention. He would listen to me talk about anything, but when I asked him about himself, he had a hard time answering with more than a few words and seemed almost bashful. It was very strange to me that someone so powerful and fearsome could be shy, but I couldn’t deny what I was seeing with my own eyes.

I might have thought it didn’t have the same effect on him as it did on me, but his fingers twitched in the tiniest of spasms, and as I trailed my hand higher up his arm his skin tightened into prickled gooseflesh. I reached his binding mark, the image that represented our marriage to one another, and began to lightly trace the contours of the image. The tip of the roots and up the trunk of the tree. The bare branches on one side and the lush foliage on the other. His breath hitched, and when I raised my gaze to meet his, I found he was staring me dead in the eye, his pupils completely dilated and his expression as hungry as a wolf.

“Tell me, Doveling,” he whispered, and I shivered at the promise of vengeance I imagined in his voice.

“I would like for you to wear whatever pleases you.” His gaze flickered to mine again before skittering away, a blush touching his cheeks. He seemed even more shy than usual this morning.

His lips were as plush and silken as I remembered them, but even better than that was his finger still lingering under my chin and the shaky breath he exhaled as I tasted him with the gentlest of kisses.

My husband had resting scowl-face. The blush in his cheeks had begun to fade but now it returned with a vengeance, making me laugh even harder.

The twinkle returned to his eye. “I will provide you with all the decomposing flesh carcasses you want.” I gasped and hit him with my napkin, and I swear I saw the corner of his lip twitch up right before his hand snaked over the corner of the table to hold mine.

Victor didn’t respond except to slide his gaze up to meet mine from where it had lingered on my torso, his eyes widening even farther, but I was getting better at reading him. As far as responses went, that was the equivalent of a stuttered, “Wha—what?”

I felt a little silly standing here, dressed like this in front of him, with him being fully clothed. But he did seem to like it. “So that’s a no, then? You didn’t buy it?” I took a step toward him, and his eyebrows came together like he was doing intense mathematical equations in his head. He started to shake his head in denial, but only got as far as turning it to one side before he seemed to get stuck, still looking terribly confused as he stared at me out of the corner of his eye. My smile was probably blinding. This was fun. I’d never seen him so flummoxed.

He was too busy having an aneurism or solving the mysteries of the universe or whatever it was he was doing while staring at my tits.

He may not have known what to do with me or what it meant to be a husband yet, but he liked that I was his wife.

She said my husband would like it,” I said, stressing the word. I laid the nail of my first finger near the top of his binding mark and dragged it lightly down the tree from the top of the leaves to the tip of the longest root. I looked up at him through my eyelashes to find him looking dazed. “Does he?” I prompted, and he responded with a silent nod. “I think I’m going to need your help to take it off,” I whispered. He gave a rough exhale, and when his eyes focused, they were decidedly hungry.

“You are my wife.” I suspected if he had a tail, it would have been swishing.

I felt his tongue dart out to taste the skin just below my ear, and I sighed his name as I arched to give him more access. At least… I thought I’d sighed his name. What I’d actually said was “Husband,” and I didn’t realize it until he’d groaned in response. He practically melted into a puddle, moaning into my neck with a husky, humorless chuckle.

“How are you real?” I asked, feeling dazed myself. Every muscle was taut and defined. He looked powerfully strong and trim, the firelight casting each curve and dip in sharp relief. His expression was almost bashful. He wanted to cover himself back up.

I lowered myself onto it as gently as I could. Victor’s head tipped back, eyes shut and mouth dropping open as his fingers tightened on my thighs.

why is this so hot 😭

“This can’t be normal,” he practically growled to himself, vexed with the constant erection he seemed to be sporting beneath his trousers.

“Do you have any idea how much ranting we had to listen to after you kidnapped your wife?”

Loudly slamming doors when you are perfectly capable of walking through them was nothing short of drama for drama’s sake, and Celeste had jumped nearly a foot in the air at the offensive sound.

“Do you think she has any extra we could take with us?” Her hesitant, tiny grin was so beautiful I couldn’t respond immediately. “I’ll go ask,” I murmured, thrilled to my core to do so.