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" What - what - what are you doing?" he demanded." I am almost six hundred years old," Magnus claimed, and Ragnor snorted, since Magnus changed his age to suit himself every few weeks. Magnus swept on. " It does seem about time to learn a musical instrument." He flourished his new prize, a little stringed instrument that looked like a cousin of the lute that the lute was embarrassed to be related to. " It's called a charango. I am planning to become a charanguista!" " I wouldn't call that an instrument of music," Ragnor observed sourly. " An instrument of torture, perhaps." Magnus cradled the charango in his arms as if it were an easily offended baby. " It's a beautiful and very unique instrument! The sound box is made from an armadillo. Well, a dried armadillo shell." " That explains the sound you're making," said Ragnor. " Like a lost, hungry armadillo." " You are just jealous," Magnus remarked calmly. " Because you do not have the soul of a true artiste like myself." " Oh, I am positively green with envy," Ragnor snapped." Come now, Ragnor. That's not fair," said Magnus. " You know I love it when you make jokes about your complexion." Magnus refused to be affected by Ragnor's cruel judgments. He regarded his fellow warlock with a lofty stare of superb indifference, raised his charango, and began to play again his defiant, beautiful tune.They both heard the staccato thump of frantically running feet from within the house, the swish of skirts, and then Catarina came rushing out into the courtyard. Her white hair was falling loose about her shoulders, and her face was the picture of alarm." Magnus, Ragnor, I heard a cat making a most unearthly noise," she exclaimed. " From the sound of it, the poor creature must be direly sick. You have to help me find it!" Ragnor immediately collapsed with hysterical laughter on his windowsill. Magnus stared at Catarina for a moment, until he saw her lips twitch." You are conspiring against me and my art," he declared. " You are a pack of conspirators." He began to play again. Catarina stopped him by putting a hand on his arm." No, but seriously, Magnus," she said. " That noise is appalling." Magnus sighed. " Every warlock's a critic." " Why are you doing this?" " I have already explained myself to Ragnor. I wish to become proficient with a musical instrument. I have decided to devote myself to the art of the charanguista, and I wish to hear no more petty objections." " If we are all making lists of things we wish to hear no more . . . ," Ragnor murmured.Catarina, however, was smiling." I see," she said." Madam, you do not see." " I do. I see it all most clearly," Catarina assured him. " What is her name?" " I resent your implication," Magnus said. " There is no woman in the case. I am married to my music!" " Oh, all right," Catarina said. " What's his name, then?" His name was Imasu Morales, and he was gorgeous. "
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" When he lifted his head, she clung to his shoulders, both of them breathing hard. He cradled her cheek in one palm. “I’m not asking you to believe now. I know it’s too soon for that, after…well, after everything. If you can believe just for this second, then for the one after that, and after that, soon you’re believing in me, in us, all the while. Think you can handle that? This second?”She smiled, desire pulling at her again. “I can do that.”An answering smile flirted with his mouth. He kissed her. “What about this one?”“I can do that too.”He lowered his mouth to hers again. “How about this one? "
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" I doubt your Argonaut kin would approve of that,” she managed. “They didn’t much like me being in your realm.”
“They’ll just have to get used to it. Some things in life are more important than duty and honor.”
Gods, how she wished that were true. “Nothing in life is more important than duty and honor, Titus.”
He cradled her face in his hands again. “You are.”
That was it. All she could take. A desperate need to be close to him one last time overwhelmed every thought and action. She pressed her mouth to his. Kissed him hard. Gasped when his arms closed around her waist with the strength of a vise. Lost herself in the sweet taste of his tongue stroking urgently across hers.
“I want you,” she whispered against his lips. Desperation clawed at her soul.
She pressed her lips to his again, opened, licked into his mouth. Warmth, wetness, hunger caressed her tongue in an erotic dance. She trailed one hand down his bare chest, over the waistband of his pants. "
― Elisabeth Naughton , Bound (Eternal Guardians, #6)
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" The scent of freshly laundered clothing that had been dried in the desert sun lingered around him. She breathed deeply, remembering how kind he had been to her that day, and she closed her eyes. The tip of his tongue brushed her mouth, and her lips parted slightly. She tilted her head back, relaxing against the strength of his arm as he cradled her. His other hand found her hip. Kisses, not so light now, trailed along her jaw before dipping lower. She sighed, the roughness of his unshaven cheek teasing the delicate skin of her throat, sparking a sense of restlessness in her that she did not know how to resolve. She wanted to touch him too, to kiss him in return, but she also wanted to stay just as she was because she liked what he did to her. "
― Paula Altenburg , The Demon's Daughter (Demon Outlaws, #1)