“Fucking stars,” he muttered, and then his mouth was on mine again. Desperate, claiming, tongue sliding deep as if he could taste the filthy promise in my words.
His hand fumbled at the waist of my pants, impatient fingers working the fastenings.
I gasped against his mouth as the fabric loosened, hips rocking forward into the hard line of him. His hips surged in response, grinding into the pressure of my palm.
But then—oh gods—his hand slipped inside.
I moaned, the sound muffled against his mouth as his fingers slid beneath the fabric.
His groan was pure sin. “Fuck, Isara.” His head dropped to my shoulder, chest heaving against mine, and I felt his whole body tremble as his fingers dragged deeper.
Then his fingers shifted until the rough pad of his thumb circledright there.
A strangled cry clawed its way up my throat.
His mouth ghosted over my jaw as he worked that bundle of nerves in tight, devastating spirals, maddeningly slow. Just enough pressure to leave me gasping. Not enough to push me over.
“You’re already shaking,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I haven’t even started.”
I smirked against his jaw, then nipped at it. “Maybe you’re just slow.”
His breath caught. And then?—
He sank a finger inside.
I choked on a moan, my spine arching off the wall as pleasure skated up my spine like lightning on blood.
“You were saying?” His voice was velvet and venom and fucking triumphant.
I bit his shoulder through his shirt, hard enough to make him grunt.
Another finger joined the first. My breath shattered against his neck as he thrust them into me. I gripped him hard, each pass dragging another broken, helpless sound from his lips. He bucked into my palm with that same frantic rhythm his fingers used inside me.
His thumb never stopped moving. Not once. Circling in those tight, devastating spirals, pressing hard enough to steal my breath.
“Fuck,” I gasped, my head slamming back against the wall. “Varyth.”
He groaned against my throat. “I feel you, Isara. Gods, you’re perfect.”
And still, my hand moved. Stroking the full, thick length of him through the fabric that strained to hold him back, dragging the heel of my palm over the tip just to hear the way he choked.
His hips surged into my grip. “You’re going to make me come like this,” he growled, teeth sinking into the curve of my neck. “You’re going to make me fucking lose it.”
His hand on my thigh flexed, holding me up as his thumb pressed harder, faster, perfect.
“You’re not walking away after this,” he growled into my mouth, lips crushed against mine as his fingersthrust, again and again, deep and possessive. “You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m not saying shit,” I gasped, tightening my grip around him. “Not until youbeg.”
His fingers curled, and everything else dropped away.
My climax tore through me, crashing through every nerve, drowning every thought until there was nothing left but him. My body trembled against his, my cry muffled as Varyth caught my lips with his.
He swallowed my moans, his fingers slowing but never stopping, drawing out every last pulse, every tremor, until I was shaking, breathless, half-limp in his arms.
When I finally came back to myself, Varyth was still holding me, his fingers buried inside me, forehead pressed against mine as his ragged breathing matched my own.
I was trembling, my body hypersensitive, my mind blissfully empty. And I was still holding him.
