He lifts me at the hips and carries me to the bed, setting me down very gently, slipping the sash that binds us from around his body. I don’t want to lose contact with him, so I touch him until I can’t reach, as he stands, and begins to unbutton the hooks of his robe.
Hiskrythis glowing vibrantly, and his cock is erect and ready. The same look that seemed so like a smile is on his face. “Now, Anya Mann, you are mine.”
The robe falls away, and he climbs onto the bed, lowering himself over me, propped on one side of my body. His claws are extended, and he slices each button of my robe slowly, making me gasp with anticipation as he moves down my body, from my throat, between my breasts, to my mound, between my legs. He draws a sharp claw along the inside of my thigh, but the touch is feathery and ignites me. I know that he will never hurt me.
“Kryth’a sar slorim,” he says, rolling over onto my body. He kisses me, and I smile—I can’t help it.
“I love you,” I say.
He enters me slowly, staring into my eyes.
“Say it again,” he growls. His cock is thickening, hiskrythhot and pulsing. I can feel the intensity of his feeling for me through his skin, read it in his face.
“I love you,” I repeat.
This drives him wild, and soon we are tangled in each other, rolling in the green velvet blankets, our skin slippery and wet, tongues exploring each other’s bodies like hungry animals.
“I love you,” I whisper, digging into his back with my nails, when the first threads of my explosive orgasm begin to curl around my womb and I start to tip over the edge.
I love Rys, and Rys loves me.
The End
