#shadowsinger

You couldn't sleep. You had been tossing and turning, staring out the window for what felt like hours now.

The hazy effects of the wine you’d had at dinner had long since faded, leaving only a restless energy beneath your skin.

Well, restless and horny.

Your mate had worked you up all evening without even realizing it. The soft, absentminded caresses of your back and shoulders whenever he passed behind your chair. The gentle way he would rest his hand on your thigh beneath the table, giving it a lazy squeeze every so often.

His sweet kisses pressed to your temple. His genuine attentiveness—always making sure you were comfortable, that your wine glass stayed full, knowing precisely when to switch it for water before you’d had too much. Keeping your plate filled with all the little things he knew you loved most.

He was just so perfect. And you loved him so much.

You had loved Azriel long before either of you knew what the bond between you truly was.

You’d met before Rhys went Under the Mountain, when Azriel had been sent on some mission to the Summer Court, your home. You had been visiting a friend near the palace when someone barreled into you from behind hard enough to send you sprawling. You’d landed badly on your arm, the sharp pain immediate and blinding.

The poor male had looked stricken. Truly horrified. He had insisted on escorting you all the way to the healer’s cottage himself, hovering like a silent shadow the entire time, refusing to leave until the healer declared the break clean and easily mended.

Taking pity on the beautiful, guilt-ridden stranger, you’d informed him the only proper way to make amends for breaking your arm was to have dinner with you and your family.

Reluctantly, and with a suspicious narrowing of those hazel eyes, he’d agreed.

Eventually, friendship blossomed where neither of you expected it to. Azriel began finding reasons to return to the Summer Court. Then reasons for you to visit Velaris. Rhys and Cassian quickly became like brothers to you, welcoming you into their circle as if you had always belonged there. Azriel never once asked Rhys for special favors, but Rhys had always suspected something deeper lingered between you long before either of you were ready to see it.

It was after Rhys was trapped Under the Mountain that the bond finally snapped into place.

In the midst of fear, grief, and helpless waiting, you and Azriel found solace in one another. Pain forged what fate had already begun, tempering it into something unbreakable.

And maybe it was because he was grieving. Maybe because the walls he’d built around himself were too exhausted to stand. But for the first time, Azriel truly let you close.

He let you love the parts of him no one else saw. The quiet, gentle pieces hidden beneath the deadly reputation of the Night Court’s spymaster. The tenderness in him. The softness. The sensitivity he guarded more fiercely than any secret.

You loved all of him equally.

Azriel adored you just as deeply. The newness of being mates had never worn away, even after all these years. You were still just as enamored with each other as you’d always been. He was your best friend, your better half, everything you could have ever asked for.

But gods, did he keep you worked up.

The intimacy between you had never been anything less than devastatingly perfect. Equal parts worship and ruin.

You rolled onto your side and looked at him now as he slept peacefully beside you. Thick dark lashes brushed against his cheeks. His full lips were slightly parted, his handsome face stripped of its usual tension and vigilance. He looked younger when he slept. Softer.

Your mate was so unfairly pretty.

You loved looking at him—always, if you were honest. But especially like this, when he was asleep and couldn’t tease you relentlessly for staring. Though, truthfully, you quite enjoyed when he did that too. Being teased by Azriel was equal parts torment and reward.

Your gaze traced slowly down the sharp line of his jaw, where the faint shadow of stubble had begun to grow in. Along the strong column of his neck. Across the broad expanse of his chest and the sculpted planes of muscle that had no business looking so sinful in moonlight.

The dark swirls of his tattoos beckoned you, winding over golden skin like promises meant only for your eyes.

A soft sound nearly escaped you as you clenched your thighs together, your gaze catching on the small script over his heart.

Your name.

The tattoo that had appeared the night you accepted the mating bond. Not carved by hand nor inked by needle, but etched into his skin as when fate itself had marked him. Elegant script over the place where his heart beat strongest, a vow written in flesh that he would love you beyond breath, beyond death, beyond the final beat of his immortal heart.

Even now, seeing it made warmth bloom in your chest.

You were carried with him always. Into battle. Into sleep. Into every quiet breath he took.

Azriel sighed softly in his sleep, the sound drawing your attention from the broad planes of his chest down the hard lines of his stomach. Moonlight traced every sculpted ridge of him, and your mouth nearly watered at the sight.

You could wake him. You could climb over him right now, sink down onto him, and take exactly what you wanted. He had told you often enough to do just that.

The memory of his deep voice, rough and breathless in your ear as he made love to you, played through your mind.

"I’m all yours, baby. Use me. Love me. Take me whenever you want me…whenever you need me."

Your gaze wandered back up his body, lingering on the powerful lines of his arms and those rough, beautiful hands. Dark tattoos curled around corded muscle, veins tracing beneath golden skin. Even in sleep, there was strength in every inch of him.

Your breathing grew heavier as the scent of your own arousal filled the room.

Still, you didn’t want to wake him. Your sweet mate had been working himself ragged lately—long nights, early mornings, sent to Windhaven for training more often than not. You missed him terribly, but you knew he needed every scrap of rest he could get.

So when his tongue darted out in sleep to wet his lower lip, your resolve shattered.

Slowly, carefully, you slid your panties down your hips and legs, tossing them onto the floor beside the bed. Your fingers slipped between your thighs, finding yourself slick and aching.

You ran your fingertips through your folds, coating your clit before circling it gently. A shaky breath escaped you. It felt good, good enough to make your back arch, but not enough.

You had been spoiled for decades by your mate’s thick, calloused fingers. Your own touch never quite compared.

As you continued stroking yourself, your eyes landed on his large hand resting beside your hip.

Fuck.

You needed it.

Gently, trying not to wake him, you lifted his hand and guided it between your thighs. You pressed his fingers where you needed them most, using your own hand to move them through your wetness.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feel of his rough skin against your most sensitive places.

You were just beginning to find a rhythm that might finally send you over the edge—rubbing his middle finger over your swollen clit with the perfect amount of pressure—when his fingers twitched.

Then slid deep inside you.

Your eyes flew open. Panting, you turned to look at him.

Azriel still appeared peacefully asleep beside you, lashes resting against his cheeks, expression calm. Yet his fingers were buried knuckle-deep inside you.

A helpless whine escaped as you rolled your hips, trying to coax movement from him, trying to make him hit that spot only he ever seemed able to find. Your own hand returned to your clit, circling quickly as you rode his fingers.

Pleasure built fast, hot and relentless.

Then he gave the slightest curl of his hand inside you.

You shattered.

Your mouth fell open, unable to hold back the soft cry that spilled free as pleasure rushed through you.

The mattress shifted sharply beside you.

Azriel jolted upright, instantly alert, eyes sweeping the room before landing on you as if checking you were unharmed.

His dark hair was tousled from sleep, lips swollen and soft. It took him only a heartbeat to understand what he was seeing.

His gaze moved over your flushed face, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the rise and fall of your chest. Then lower—realizing his hand was no longer resting at your waist where it usually stayed while he slept.

A low sound rumbled from deep in his chest when he found his fingers still buried inside your trembling body.

Experimentally, he curled them deeper.

You gasped.

His groan answered you.

“What’s this, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep as he slowly withdrew his fingers. You whimpered at the loss, and a smirk touched his lips. He brought those same fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them as his gaze darkened over your body. “Just for me?”

Your cheeks burned.

“I needed you,” you said, reaching for him with a pitiful pout.

Immediately, he moved over you, covering your body with his own. The delicious weight of him pressed you into the mattress, and you felt how hard he already was against your thigh.

He brushed his nose along the side of your neck before pressing a soft kiss below your ear.

“Poor girl,” he murmured. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

He kissed your pout, then drew back to frown down at you.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of my mate.”

His hands slid up your sides, pushing your nightgown higher as they went.

“You’ve been working so hard lately,” you said seriously, catching his right hand and pressing a kiss into his palm. “I wanted you to rest. I’m sorry for waking you. I should’ve gone to the bathroom.”

He frowned harder at that.

“Don’t ever hide from me. Not for anything.” His voice softened, but the intensity in it made your chest tighten. “I hate being gone so much. You’re all I think about when I’m away.”

He brushed his knuckles over your cheek.

“You waking me in the middle of the night for time with me is never something I’d refuse. Whether it’s to talk, to hold you, for you to boss me around…” His mouth curved wickedly. “Or for whatever wild little thing you were just doing with my fingers.”

You covered your face with both hands, mortified.

Azriel laughed softly and pulled them away, threading his fingers through yours before pinning your hands above your head. He crawled closer until every inch of him surrounded you, then kissed you slow and sweet.

“I love touching you,” he murmured against your lips. “Even in my sleep.”

His hazel eyes held yours, molten with affection and heat.

“Don’t insult me by denying yourself something I’m more than happy to give you. I’ve already told you that.”

Warmth flooded your chest at the look on his face, the love there so open it nearly stole your breath.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs hooking around his hips as a smile curved your lips.

“Then I suppose,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “you’re going to have to remind me just how much you love touching me.”

Azriel went still for half a heartbeat, hazel eyes flashing with something hot and possessive before a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.

“Is that so?” he murmured. “My sleepy little thief steals from me in the dark, then gets demanding when she’s caught.”

You tugged him down by the back of his neck, smiling against his mouth. “I’m your mate. It’s hardly stealing.”

A low laugh rumbled from his chest. Gods, he loved his mate. And Cauldron help him, you knew exactly how to make him weak in the knees. Waking to the feel of your tight warmth wrapped around his fingers, using his hand to chase your own pleasure, had nearly undone him on the spot.

His wicked little female.

Azriel moved over you with practiced grace, shedding the last of his clothing before reaching for the hem of your nightgown. He peeled it slowly over your head, tossing it somewhere into the darkened room without care. His gaze swept over your bare body, open admiration written plainly across his face.

“Beautiful,” he said, voice rough with sleep and want. “Always so beautiful for me.”

Heat climbed your cheeks, but he gave you no time to answer.

He bent to your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there. His mouth trailed lower, down the line of your neck and across your collarbone, lingering over the swell of your breasts. He groaned softly as he took one nipple into his mouth, tongue circling it with maddening precision while his scarred hand slid between your thighs.

You gasped, back arching as his fingers found the slick heat waiting for him.

“There she is,” he murmured against your skin. “So ready for me.”

His fingers drew slow, rough circles over your swollen clit, the callouses on his hands sending pleasure skittering through every nerve in your body.

“Azriel—”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed between your breasts, then lower. “I know exactly what you need.”

He moved down your body, kissing a path across your stomach. When he reached your belly, he paused, nuzzling there affectionately, almost reverently, before pressing one soft kiss to the skin. The tenderness of it made your chest ache.

Then he breathed warm air over the place you needed him most, and every coherent thought vanished.

“I need to taste you,” he growled.

Before you could answer, his tongue swept through your slickness in one long stroke. A deep groan tore from him at the taste of you, like it was something he could never get enough of.

Your fingers buried in his dark hair instantly, tugging hard enough to earn a pleased sound from him. He looked up at you from between your thighs, hazel eyes dark and hooded, mouth shining.

The sight alone nearly sent you over the edge.

“Gods,” you breathed.

“That’s right,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Look at me.”

He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. Your legs trembled around his shoulders.

“I need you inside me, Az.”

The words came out broken, needy, and Azriel swore under his breath. Who was he to deny you anything? Especially this.

He kissed his way back up your body, leaving your skin flushed and sensitive in his wake. When he reached your mouth, he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

Then he settled between your thighs, broad shoulders fitting there like they belonged nowhere else.

His arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. You glanced at them immediately, at the flex of muscle, the elegant swirl of tattoos disappearing over powerful forearms.

Azriel caught you staring and smirked. He knew exactly how much you liked his arms. You’d told him enough times.

So, being the arrogant male that he was, he flexed them for you.

Your lips parted. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, dragging the blunt head of himself teasingly along your entrance, “you’re soaked for me.”

He nudged against you once, twice, making you squirm.

“Azriel.”

“What?” he asked innocently. “I’m just enjoying how pretty my mate looks when she’s impatient.”

You reached for him, nails scraping lightly down his back. “Stop teasing me.”

That breathy plea shattered whatever restraint he had left.

His teasing expression softened into something molten and hungry. He bent to kiss you once—slow, deep, claiming—before guiding himself inside you in one steady thrust.

Both of you moaned at the same time.

He buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, forehead dropping to yours as he fought for breath.

“Every time,” he whispered hoarsely. “Every damn time, you feel like the first.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, legs locking around his hips. “Then stop talking,” you murmured against his lips, “and show me how much you missed me.”

Azriel caught the challenge in your voice, and something heated flashed through his gaze.

“Careful what you ask for, sweet girl,” he murmured.

Then he moved.

The first slow roll of his hips stole the breath from your lungs. He held himself over you on those powerful arms, every line of muscle flexing as he set an unhurried rhythm that felt designed solely to ruin you. Each measured thrust dragged a gasp from your lips, each retreat making you chase him helplessly.

“There you are,” he said softly, watching every expression that crossed your face as though it were something sacred. “Missed this look on you.”

You could barely form words. “Azriel…”

“I know.” His mouth found your throat, kissing the spot beneath your ear that always made you shiver. “I missed hearing my name like that too.”

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding the place that made your body tighten instantly. The contrast of his rough touch and the tenderness in his eyes nearly undid you.

He always knew exactly how to touch you. Exactly how to take you apart and hold you together all at once.

The room filled with the soft sounds of breath and whispered praise. Azriel never stopped speaking to you when he loved you like this, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he missed you, how perfectly you fit him, how he thought about you every night he was away.

You clung to him, nails dragging lightly across his back as pleasure built hot and relentless inside you.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice roughening. “Let me have it, baby. Let me feel you.”

Your body trembled beneath him. He dropped lower, bracing on one forearm while the other arm flexed beside your head, bicep taut beneath your grasp.

When release finally crashed through you, you cried out and bit down on his bicep to muffle the sound.

Azriel groaned low and deep at the sensation, the sound vibrating straight through you. Instead of pulling away, he pressed closer, letting you hold onto him however you needed while waves of pleasure rolled through your body.

“Good girl,” he whispered against your temple, kissing there gently. “That’s it.”

Your legs tightened around him, body still trembling.

The feel of you coming apart around him was what finally shattered the last of his own control. He buried his face in the curve of your neck with a broken sound, arms tightening around you as he found his own release, holding you so close it was hard to tell where one of you ended and the other began.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then Azriel lifted his head, hair tousled, lips swollen, and eyes heavy with satisfaction as he glanced down at the mark blooming darkly across his bicep.

A slow, smug grin spread across his face.

“You bit me.”

You buried your burning face against his chest. “I did not.”

He huffed a laugh, wrapping an arm tighter around you before lifting the marked arm into the moonlight like evidence.

“This says otherwise.” He admired it shamelessly. “Think I’ll need to get this tattooed. Memorialize the best morning of my life.”

“It is not morning,” you mumbled into his skin.

“Feels like it.” He kissed the top of your head. “Waking up with my mate using my hand to make herself come, then leaving me a pretty little mark while I finish the job?” He gave a thoughtful hum. “Best way I’ve ever woken up.”

You groaned and tried to hide deeper against him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love me.”

He tipped your chin up just enough to kiss your pout away, smiling against your lips.