I pull out, only to slam in again.
She angles her hips, matching my thrusts, panting through it, and commands, “Harder.”
I hesitate, unsure about her raw, wicked tone—but there’s a real need in her voice, too, that has nothing to do with control.
So, I tug down her lace neckline, freeing her breasts. I squeeze and cradle and toy with the right one, then take the left nipple in my mouth.
She bucks against me, hissing with pleasure, as the miniature cloud overhead lets out a tiny bolt of lightning. The orchids strain toward us, splashing their scent all over the greenhouse.
“Blessed be these perfect fucking breasts,” I murmur in her ear. Blood, sex, prayer—it all sates her. Everything I have to give. “Blessed be your mouth, gasping my name.”
“More, Basten.”
“You want a fucking litany? Will that get you going? How about I worship you until you come undone on every saintly fucking inch of my cock?”
With each uttered prayer, her fey lines glow brighter, pulsing with her building passion.
“Basten—don’t stop. I want to feeleverything.”
She’s so needy. So insatiable. Even with her pointed ears, there’s still something so innocent about her that it makes my cock rock hard.
I trace a hand down the curve of her back, planting a firm palm against the small of her back, letting her know I’m not going anywhere. I drag my lips up from her nipple over the throbbing fey line on her throat, then settle them on her lips.
She sighs against my mouth, nudging my lips open so she can slip her tongue inside. Our tongues war with each other, in rhythm with our frantic thrusts. More condensation drips from the ceiling. The glass is fogged, but I’m well aware that while her storm might hide us from prying eyes, we’re making enough noise that they can hear us even in the stables.
Deep inside, I smirk to myself, almost hoping Woudix is still nearby.
Let the God of Death get an earful.
Her cunt tightens around me, and I know she’s close. Her power is snapping and popping, making the plants go haywire around us. My balls ache and tighten. I’m close, too, but I want to give her pleasure first.
When she comes, she makes such noises—sweet and sinful at the same time. Her fingernails dig into my back, tearing open wounds barely healed from our last bout of lovemaking. The sweet bite of pain shoots straight to my cock, swelling it even more.
I come a second after her, burying my cock root-deep, practically bending her over the table as my cum empties inside her.
Fat, warm raindrops fall on my bare shoulders, rolling down my sweat-soaked back.
I press my forehead against Sabine’s as we both catch our breath, bodies trembling from the aftershocks. Her fey lines glow steadily now, bright as a freshly filled lantern.
“That’s it,” I praise her, smoothing a sweat-soaked strand of hair off her forehead. “You take everything I give you so well.”
It swells in my chest. Raw, blistering, masculine satisfaction that I was able to ground her when she started to spiral. I tamed her storm, made her choose me instead of chaos.
She won’t be lost to me—not like Solene in those paintings.
I step back, still riding the high, until I feel a tug around my ankle.
Frowning, my gaze drops.
A vine is coiled half a dozen times around my left ankle, with inch-long thorns stabbing outward like a warning: Move, andbleed.
Sabine is oblivious to the vine—I’m sure she didn’t consciously ask it to trap me here.
Regardless, it’s there. Fierce and possessive.
My stomach tightens. A ripple of concern crawls back into my mind—that maybe the ancient part of her that I saw in the foundation pictograms was the one holding the reins all along.
Sabine, however, merely sits upright, eyelids heavy and sated, a cat-like smile on her lips. She adjusts her dress back over her breasts.
