That’s my girl.
Always so cooperative and giving, especially when it came tothis. And it was my turn to give her something. I nibbled my way up her thigh, inching toward my mark.
She tightened her grip in my hair, her back arching ever so slightly as if to pull me closer—not that I needed the encouragement.
I dragged my tongue in a slow line along the curve of her thigh, then shifted higher. Her legs trembled with anticipation against my cheeks, and her breath hitched, her impatience unmistakable. Her scent filled my senses—salt and heat and something darker that had nothing to do with blood and everything to do withher.
I glanced up, and her eyes locked onto mine.
That was all I needed.
I buried my mouth against her.
She gasped, the sound tearing from her as her hands fisted tighter in my hair. I moved with purpose—slow at first, savoring her, exploring every sensitive place, every reaction. She rolled her hips instinctively, chasing friction, and I gave it to her. Gavehereverything.
My tongue worked in rhythm, precise and unrelenting. Her legs squeezed around me once—tight, desperate.
Her voice broke on a whisper of my name—“Rath”—and something in me snapped.
I adjusted my angle and used my mouth like a weapon. Her nails scraped across my scalp as she clung to me, demanding more. So, I gave it.
It didn’t take long for her to unravel.
Her hips jerked and she pressed herself even closer. I moved my tongue in tighter, firmer strokes, and angled myself to give her exactly what she needed. Her body seized around me, thighs locking, back arching. Her voice cracked on a cry that echoed across the tower, high and raw and perfect. Her magic flickered beneath her skin, harmless but electric, like a storm trying to break loose. I held her steady until the tremors faded, until her breathing evened out just enough for her to slump backward and rest her head against the stone wall.
I pressed one last kiss to the inside of her thigh—soft and reverent—then slowly let her down.
I stood and stripped my clothes, not bothering with finesse. She didn’t take her eyes off me, not even when I cupper her rear and lifted her again in one smooth motion, this time wrapping her legs around my hips.
I found her mouth again, kissed her hard and deep, and she responded just as fiercely, her hands sliding down my back, nails dragging along my flesh.
I repositioned her, then pushed into her in one slow, steady thrust.
She gasped, and her head dropped to my shoulder. My own breath stuttered in my chest as her body tightened around me, hot and perfect and everything.
“Rath…” she whispered, her voice a little broken.
“I know,” I rasped.
I gave her a second to adjust, to breathe—but she didn’t need it. She rolled her hips against mine, impatient and commanding, and that was all the invitation I needed.
I moved. Slow at first. Then deeper. Harder.
She clung to me like I was the only thing holding her together, her hands gripping my shoulders.
Her breath came in quick, sharp bursts against my neck, her moans barely audible but enough to drive me to the edge. Every time I surged forward, she met me with equal force. Her legs locked tighter around my waist. Her lips brushed my ear.
“Faster,” she murmured.
I adjusted my grip and slammed into her, earning a startled cry that was all pleasure, no pain. I bit down on a curse, trying to hold myself together. She felt too good. Too real. Too much.
Others said they lost themselves in lust. But for me, it was quite the opposite. I found myself in her. And I never wanted to lose that.
She pressed her forehead to mine, her breath coming in hot pants, and whispered, “Don’t stop.”
“Not a chance.”
I kept moving, kept driving into her like I could carve the need out of my body with each thrust—but it only grew worse. More urgent. More consuming. The slick sounds of our bodies moving together echoed in the air, underscored by her breath, by my desperate groans.
