Throughme.
It’s a cruel form of pleasure. With each punishing thrust of his rigid cock, Alexus’s power teases my body. It feels so real. Like a hungry tongue working my clit and laving my breasts, guiding me to the brink of orgasm but refusing to let me plummet over the edge.
And yet I love every moment of his sweet torment.
More, more, more,I think along the bond.
Harder, harder, harder.
Deeper, deeper, deeper.
He splays his warm hand across the small of my back, and I feel something liquid dripping onto me. When I look over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Alexus spitting, just enough to wet me. I don’t know what to think of myself, because that sight makes me tighten around his cock in a crushing grip.
He brushes his thumb over me again, wetting me where no one else has ever touched, rubbing small circles. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”
I nod and push back against his touch, trying to claim what I need, but I’m too tense.
As though sensing the issue, Alexus says, “Fever Lilac eases discomfort. Important for many wedding nights. Relax. Breathe. I’ve got you.”
My body responds with trust, tight muscles loosening and uncoiling as I take deep, calming breaths.
“There you go,” he says, gently easing the tip of his long thumb into my ass.
Though there’s a small bite of pain in the beginning, it dissipates quickly. He slips deeper, and the sensation that follows is mind-altering. To be so filled, so claimed, so penetrated—by the man I love—is everything.
“Someday soon, I’ll give you more,” he says. “Do you want that? To feel my cock here?”
“Yes,”I manage to sign, needing him to know just how badly I want to experience that feeling.
Pinned beneath his grip, his thumb buried deep, Alexus begins moving again. His thrusts become longer, dragging his thick cock out to that broad tip before sinking back into me so hard each impact inches the heavy wooden desk across the floor, scraping at the stone tiles.
Gods, it hurts. The good kind of hurt. The kind only he has ever given me. I’ll feel him tomorrow, and the next day, too, and perhaps the day after that. A constant ache between my legs that will remind me of every second of this night.
“Hold on,” he commands, and I grip the desk as though my life depends on it.
He uses his right hand to pin my knee to the desk as his left hand presses on my lower back, that thumb working me as he slams his cock into me over and over, giving in to the carnal need singing in the bond between us.
This time, when my orgasm threatens, his magick doesn’t relent. It pulses through my clit, a brutal vibration that sends me crawling again, doing my damnedest to flee such unfathomable pleasure.
And again, Alexus prevents my escape.
“If you try to run,” he growls, his right hand clasping the back of my neck as he lifts his knee to the desk behind me, trapping me with his weight, “I’ll only chase you. And I’ll catch you, my love. And fuck you even harder. You can make damn sure of that.”
These words. His voice. There’s a change I can’t register. Un Drallag, perhaps? That is the darker side of him after all, the side he so desperately wants to forget and bury. A side that feels like temptation to me. It sends a rogue chill coursing over my skin.
To push him to the edge, I try to move away again, using my grip on the desk to propel myself forward. He jerks me back andtsks.
“You like this, don’t you? The chase. Being at my mercy.” He leans down and drags his teeth across my shoulder. “I like it, too. Too godsdamn much. But you don’t get to pull away from me without punishment.”
He straightens, and his hand comes down on my ass, harder than ever before, sending zings of ruthless sensation shuddering through me.
I come instantly. Brutally. Erupting under the touch of this magnificent man and the waves of power pouring off him, power tangled with my own magick, humming in my veins.
As Alexus’s orgasm builds, throbbing inside me, my body squeezes him in spasms, coaxing him to the brink. I close my eyes, still reeling, and move along his shaft. Harder and faster.
The sound that tears from his body when he comes brands itself into my memory. It’s a sound torn between agony and sweet relief, a roar that brings with it a stunning surge of magick.
Wind rips through the room as his thrusts turn wild, sending sheets of parchment fluttering and the drapes whipping. Even the paintings hanging around the room clatter on their hooks, and the writing implements and ink pots, nestled in a wooden tray atop the desk, tumble to the floor.
