I reach her core, the heart of her pleasure. I look up at her, my eyes locking with hers. Her face is flushed, her lips swollenfrom my kisses, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and a raw, desperate need.
“Please,” she whispers, the word a broken plea.
I smile, a slow, predatory curve. “Please what, cara?”
She doesn’t answer. She can’t. She is lost.
I lower my head, my tongue flicking out to taste her. She cries out, her body convulsing, her hips lifting off the bed. I part her folds, my tongue delving into her, tasting her essence, drinking her in. She is a storm of salt and sweetness, a flavor I will never tire of.
I bring her to the edge, again and again, my tongue a relentless instrument of pleasure. She is sobbing now, her hands tangled in the sheets, her body a taut bow of sensation.
“Let go, Snowflake,” I command, my voice a low growl against her slick folds. “Come for me.”
And she does.
With a final, desperate cry, her body shatters. Her release is a violent, beautiful thing, a testament to her surrender. I hold her hips, feeling the aftershocks of her pleasure, a fierce, possessive satisfaction surging through me.
I move up her body, my lips finding hers again, kissing her deeply, tasting her release on my tongue. I pull back, looking down at her, at the beautiful, broken, sated woman beneath me.
“You are mine, Wynter,” I say, my voice a low, absolute decree. “Every part of you. Every pleasure. Every breath. All of it. Mine.”
She stares up at me, her eyes wide, dazed, her body still trembling. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to.
I have claimed her. And she knows it.
Twenty Four
Kaden
Sheliesbeneathme,a beautiful ruin. Her body is pliant, her eyes dazed with the aftershocks of her release. The scent of her pleasure, sharp and sweet, fills the air, a potentaphrodisiac that pushes me closer to the edge. I have tasted her surrender, and it has only made me hungrier.
I shift, my weight settling between her thighs. She gasps, her eyes fluttering back into focus, a flicker of awareness, of fear, returning.
“Shhh,cara,” I murmur, my lips brushing against hers. “The night is not over. I’m not finished with you yet.”
I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock pressing against her slick, swollen folds. She is so wet, so ready for me. Her body, which has only known the cold, clinical touch of a doctor, is now about to know me. Its master. Its king.
Her eyes are wide, a maelstrom of fear and a dawning, dark anticipation. She is terrified. And she is undeniably aroused. The combination is intoxicating. She believes she is safe, protected by the small implant in her arm. A foolish, naive belief. She has no idea I had it removed. She has no idea that every part of this act is a step toward my ultimate goal.
“Look at me, Wynter,” I command, my voice a low, guttural growl. “I want to see your eyes when I make you mine.”
She obeys, her gaze locking with mine. I see it all there – her fear, her fight, her surrender.
I push into her, slowly, deliberately. She is tight, so incredibly tight. A virgin. The knowledge sends a bolt of possessive, primal satisfaction through me. I am the first. I will be the only.
She cries out, a sharp, pained sound, her body tensing, her hands flying up to push against my chest. “No, please, it hurts…”
“I know, Snowflake,” I whisper, my voice rough with a strange, unfamiliar tenderness. I still my movements, giving her body a moment to adjust, to accept me. I lean down, kissing her deeply, my tongue tangling with hers, a distraction from the discomfort. I kiss her until her frantic struggles soften, until her body begins to relax, to yield.
“Breathe,” I murmur against her lips. “Just breathe.”
She does, her chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. Her body, slowly, painstakingly, begins to accommodate me. The pain in her eyes recedes, replaced by a dawning wonder.
I begin to move, my thrusts slow, deep, deliberate. Each one is a claim, a brand, a declaration of ownership. I watch her face, her every expression. The flicker of pain, the gasp of pleasure, the way her eyes flutter shut as she loses herself in the sensation.
Her hips begin to move, tentatively at first, then with a growing confidence, meeting my thrusts. She is learning. She is adapting. She is embracing the darkness.
I increase the pace, my thrusts becoming harder, faster, more primal. The sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room, a raw, carnal rhythm. She is moaning now, her head thrown back, her hands clutching at the silk sheets.
