Of course his witch loved rules. It was practically plastered over her forehead and across every record he found. No one who never even missed adayof college hated rules.
It was a good thing he loved to make them.
Harlan gently swept his tongue around her nipple, tasting freshwater and a hint of salt from her skin, before he murmured, “Rule number two, then, is to always tell me when you don’t like something. I can’t spoil you if you’re uncomfortable. Understood?”
Zia arched her back, thrusting her breasts closer to his mouth. “Yes. Understood. Definitely.”
He gave her a swift, appreciative nip with his fangs. “That’s my pretty anchor. So good for me, aren’t you?”
She made a needy noise.“Gods,I hope so.”
He whispered things against her skin: confessions, hopes for their future, how godsdamned lucky he was to have an anchor such as her, and how he’d dreamed of fucking her every time he closed his eyes. All the while, he situated himself against her and slowly rocked his hips, the underside of his cock sliding against her with teasing pressure.
His breath exploded out of him when he felt how wet she was, how smoothly he glided. She was soft and wet and hot andperfect.The scent of her desire coated the inside of his mouth, his throat, and made frenzied need pop and crackle in his veins.
Harlan jerked his hips, skin slapping against skin, and felt the pressure build in the base of his spine. His own scent, sharp and barely present under the velvety weight of hers, warned him that soon it would not just be pre-come and her arousal slicking his way.
Zia canted her hips up, desperate to meet him, as he ran his tongue around a dark pink nipple. His palms kneaded her thighs, her sides, the soft skin of her tanned arms. There was not a single part of her lush body he disliked. Every bow of muscle, every elegantly shaped bone and taut sinew was erotic, precious in the extreme.
There was only one Zia in this world, and he loved every fucking bit of her.
Harlan released one well-loved nipple with an obscenepop!Looking up at her from under his lashes, he grated, “Do you want my venom, pet?”
She was breathing hard and her eyes were glazed, but her answer was strong.“Yes.”
“Do you want my cock?”
Warm hands smoothed over his shoulders and upward to tangle themselves in his long hair. He let her draw him up until their lips hovered over one another, barely a breath apart. Speaking against his mouth, Zia answered, “Baby, I want everything you have to give me.”
Harlan traced her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, dipping in just enough to taste, before he pulled back. His hair fell around them like a waterfall of gray-streaked silk. Rising up on one hand, he used the other to position himself as he stared down at the center of his world.
Neither blinked or even breathed when he entered her.
Fuck.
She was tight as a fucking glove. A part of him winced, wishing he’d filed his claws so he could have prepared her better, but a larger part of him was savagely pleased by the idea that he was her singular focus, the source of both pain and pleasure.
Besides, he couldn’t feel toobad when she looked at him likethat.
Harlan took in the expression of exhilaration on her face, the way her lips parted and her eyes widened, and asked, “Does it hurt, pet?”
“Yes,” she answered. Her chest moved with each deep inhale. Sweat gleamed in the golden light that snuck under her curtains. Her fingernails bit into his ass, trying to force him forward.
She licked her lips. “It hurts and Iloveit.”
“Made…” He sank in another inch. “For…” Another.“Me.”With one sharp thrust, he was seated firmly inside her.
Zia made a high pitched sound and threw her head back. Her spine locked as tension rippled through her. Knowing instinctively what she wanted, what sheneededfrom him, Harlan didn’t wait for her to adjust. Bracing himself on his elbows, he lowered his mouth to her throat and scraped his fangs against the sweat-slicked skin there.
The moment blood started to well from the tiny scratches, he began to thrust. Hard.
She bucked under him, a wild moan echoing off of the walls of her tiny bedroom, as he sucked at the little droplets. Her flavor burst across his tongue — sweet and earthy like the scent of dried grass, with the richness of fine wine.Perfect.
Her fingernails dragged up his back and dug in.“Harlan!”
He set a bruising pace. There was no softness in this, no delicacy or uncertainty. His anchor wanted all of him, so he gave herallof him. When he reached down to slide one hand under her back, angling her hips up, he gave her even more. He plunged deeper, faster, until he knew that each thrust edged closer to pain than pleasure.
Each brutal stroke made a luscious sound: wet skin meeting wet skin, the explosion of breaths over swollen lips, the stutter of a heart doing its best to keep up, the soft cries of his anchor as he hit just the right spot again and again and again.
