He surges up, trapping me against the throne, and captures my mouth in a searing kiss. I taste myself on his tongue. It only stokes the inferno raging within me. Blindly, I fumble with the laces of his breeches, desperate to free his straining erection.
“Gods, you look good on this throne,” he says against my lips. “Like you own it.”
With a growl, I rip open his leather breeches, freeing his cock. It springs forth, hard and ready. Drayven hisses as I wrap my fingers around him, stroking from base to tip.
“Fuck, Flori,” he groans, thrusting into my hand. “I need to be inside you. Need to fill you with my seed.”
“Finally.” I squeeze hard until he makes a desperate sound.
“Now,” he growls.
“So bossy,” I smirk and pull him down as I twist out of the throne, changing our positions. Before he realizes what I’ve done, I’m straddling his seated thighs—thick, muscular thighs—gripping the backrest beside his broad, naked shoulders. “Fit us together, Dray.”
Eyes filling with lazy heat, his spine relaxes against the throne. His head tilts back with pure male ego, knowing he’s about to be ridden. And I love it. I love the possession in his eyes. I love that he’s all dominance and self-assurance while I’m on top.
“I like seeing you like this,” he purrs, echoing my thoughts. His gaze locks on my breasts directly before his face.
I don’t know why I ever doubted he’d be attracted to me. He doesn’t even see the inked badges, only me.
He leans down and draws my nipple into his mouth, twirling his slippery tongue around the nub, eliciting a moan from my lips. The blunt head of his cock nudges my entrance. I’m so aroused that he glides in with ease. We both groan as I sink until he’s buried so deep, stretching and filling me, that I forget how to function.
“Ride me, Flori,” Drayven rasps, voice rough with need. “Take what you want.”
“As if you can”—I pant—“stop me now.”
I rise slowly, savoring the drag of his thick cock against my inner walls. Then I slam down, taking him to the root. My clit hits his pubic bone, and a flash of bliss teases me. He throws his head back, throat working with a guttural moan, his fingers flexing on my hips.
He wants to lift me, to take over and control the pace, but he resists. So I reward him for his patience. Bracing my hands on his sweat-slicked shoulders, I repeat my move, rising and falling on his cock. Again. And again. Each stroke sends jolts of heat and pleasure radiating through my core.
“Gods, you feel incredible,” he rumbles. “So hot and tight around me.”
I clench deliberately, and he curses under his breath. He thrusts up to meet my downward strokes, the force of our joining rocking the obsidian throne. Sweat beads on our skin as we move together. But it’s not enough. I’m supposed to be focusing on his pleasure, making him come, but already, I’m picking up the pace, chasing the release building inside me.
“That’s it, love.” Drayven rolls my nipple between his finger and thumb, sending sparks of bliss straight to my core. “Use me.”
He deliberately places his palms on the armrests and relaxes back into the throne, eyes down, drinking up the sight of our bodies joining.
“Dray?” I bite my lip, slowing my hips.
“Keep fucking me, Flori. I want to see you use my cock for your pleasure. Show me how much you want me.”
Something in his tone gives me pause. But it’s not him thinking he’s unworthy or that I’m out of his league. He needs to feel like this is my choice, too. That I want him just as badly as he wants me, no matter what.
My body responds to his quiet consideration, hips rolling with renewed fervor. I rock against him, grinding my clit witheach downward thrust. The sensations build rapidly, my inner walls fluttering around his thick shaft. Drayven’s heated gaze remains riveted on the place we’re joined.
“Look at you,” he growls appreciatively. “My fierce, beautiful queen. Taking me so deep.”
“Keep talking like that,” I moan.
“Fuck yourself on my cock, Flori. Like you can’t get enough.”
His filthy words turn me on, and I ride him harder, faster. The wet slap of flesh fills the temple, mingling with our ragged breaths and moans. My thighs burn. My heart pounds. Tension coils tighter.
“Dray, I’m close,” I pant, my nails digging into his shoulders, his neck, his hair.
“Finger yourself,” he grunts, his knuckles whitening on the obsidian armrests.
“You do it.”
