Is us.
He cages me with his arms, huge hands braced on either side of my head. The shadows thrown by his bone spurs stretch long across the walls. He looks like a god carved out of nightmares and devotion.
“Touch me,” I whisper, reaching for his jaw.
His eyes flare crimson.
“You’re not afraid?”
“I’m terrified,” I admit. “But I want you anyway.”
His breath shakes out of him. He lowers his body onto mine—slow, heavy, overwhelming. Every inch of him presses me into the mattress, heat sinking into my bones.
His claws ghost down my sides again, testing, mapping. I arch into him.
His mouth crashes onto mine.
Possession. Fire. A storm tearing me apart and stitching me back together at the same time.
My legs part wider around his hips. His knee nudges me open, forcing me to feel how ready I am—how wet, how wanting. His cock drags against the inside of my thigh, thick and hot, and I moan into his mouth.
“Mine,” he growls into my ear. “All of you. Mine.”
Then—
He moves lower.
Slowly. Torturously.
His lips drag along my jaw, then my throat, then down the center of my chest. His claws frame my ribcage as if he’s bracing himself against hunger he’s afraid to unleash.
He kisses the underside of one breast, then the other, tongue flicking the peak until I gasp his name.
“Vokar—”
“Say it again,” he murmurs against my skin. “Say me.”
“Vokar,” I breathe, trembling.
His growl shakes the bed.
“You fall apart so easily,” he whispers, breath hot against my sternum. “Perfect little thing.”
His mouth trails lower, worshipping. Devouring. The air changes around us—hotter, sharper, charged like ozone before lightning strikes.
When he reaches my pussy, I swear the air leaves my lungs entirely.
He spreads me open with two enormous fingers—gentle, impossibly careful—and stares like I’m something holy.
“So small,” he murmurs. “And you open for me.”
“Please,” I gasp. “Don’t tease. Please, Vokar?—”
He bares his teeth in a grin that’s all hunger and pride.
“I like how you beg.”
Then he lowers his mouth.
