I don’t move fast enough, so he grabs my waist and pulls. The water surges around us as he positions me exactly where he wants—straddling his thigh.
Oh.
The hard muscle presses right where I need it.
“There we go,” he murmurs, reverent and ruthless all at once, hands steady on my hips. “Now you’re going to ride my thigh, Saelûn. Just like this.”
“You want me to?—”
“You heard me,” his grip tightens. “Grind that pretty pussy against me until you come.”
My face burns. “Andrik, I can’t?—”
“You can,” his eyes are molten, fangs dripping steady drops of venom. “And you will. Because if you can’t make yourself come like this—” His thumb traces my hipbone. “—you don’t get my tongue.”
I whimper.
“Move, Lumi.”
I shift experimentally. The pressure sends sparks up my spine.
“Harder,” his voice drops, rough with strain. “Don’t be gentle. Take what your body is begging for.”
My hips roll once, and it feels phenomenal.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls. “Fuck, that’s it. Use me. That's what I'm here for.”
I grind down harder, chasing friction, until I find the perfect pressure against my clit.
“Look at you,” his hands guide my movements, claws tracing over my skin. “So desperate. So fucking beautiful when you’re needy like this.”
“Please, Andri.”
“No,” His grip tenses, holding me still. “You don’t get to beg yet. You earn that privilege.”
A sob catches in my throat.
“What’s wrong, lûvenkae?” his lips brush my ear. “Is this not what you wanted? Dirty words? My hands reminding you who you belong to?”
“Yes. Yes, but?—”
“But what?”
“I need more.” I whisper, breaking.
“You have more,” his thigh flexes beneath me, and I gasp. “Right here. So take it.”
I move back and forth, shamelessly. I’m so close. The pressure is building so high it feels like I’m going to explode.
He leans back slightly, searching my face. His arms move faster, guiding me over his thigh in a pace I couldn’t keep on my own.
“Do you know how long I’ve existed, Lumi?” His voice is quieter now. “Thousands of years. And not once did any of it matter,” he says, eyes darkening. “Until you.”
“I’ve heard every language. Every dialect. Every filthy word ever whispered in the dark.”
His thumbs slide over my ribs.
“I can talk to you however you want,” he continues, eyes locked on mine. “Poetic. Reverent. Filthy. Degrading. Sweet. Praising. Possessive.”
