“Ohhh. More!” Her voice comes out ragged. “I need—please!”
I add a third finger, and she gasps, discomfort flickering across her face before pleasure takes over.
Good. Now make her come. I want to watch.
But there’s no one watching me now. No one using me as a tool because they couldn’t do it themselves.
“That’s it,Moirthalen. Take it for me.”
She’s stretched around three fingers now, riding my hand, and the sounds spilling from her mouth aren’t commands or corrections, they’re raw and desperate and real.
“Cairn … I … I’m going to?—”
She shatters around my fingers, her body shuddering, her inner walls clenching in pulses. I keep my eyes on her face, noting the way her mouth falls open, her eyes squeeze shut, and the way she looks like she’s falling apart.
When she comes back to herself, her eyes are wet and shining.
“I didn’t know it would be like that,” she whispers.
I withdraw my fingers slowly, and she whimpers at the loss. Bringing them to my lips, I lick them, tasting her pleasure. My erection aches, hard and heavy against my stomach and I want inside her so badly I can barely form thoughts.
I curve one hand over her thigh, up her stomach, until I can cup her breast. My thumb strokes over her nipple, and she shudders against me. My other hand reaches between us, gripping my dick, and I position myself against her entrance.
“Take me. As slow as you need.”
Her tongue comes out to wet her lips, and then she cautiously sinks down.
The first inch of tight heat nearly undoes me. My hands clamp onto her hips, and I have to grit my teeth against the urge to thrust up, to bury myself to the hilt.
All the way. Give me all of it.
Hands on my hips, forcing me deep.
“Take your time.” My voice is tight.
Her eyes fly to mine, surprise filling them, wondering why I’m not pushing. She sinks lower, then stops, panting, as she adjusts to the stretch of me inside her.
“Breathe,Moirthalen.”
She takes a shaky breath and slides down another inch … another … until she’s fully seated, and my entire length is deep inside her. For a moment, neither of us moves. She’s so tight. So hot. And she’s looking down at me with those brown eyes, her lips parted, and her hands braced on my chest.
In that moment, the Nightwild magic flares.
Mine.
I force it away, helped by the way she shifts above me. I feel iteverywhere—a slow drag of friction that makes my breath hiss between my teeth.
“You feel—” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t need to because I can see it in her face. The fullness, the stretch, the overwhelming newness of it.
“Move when you’re ready.”
She lifts her hips and sinks back down. Her breath catches, and she does it again.
Faster. Harder.
Nails digging in. Riding me like a tool bought for pleasure.
But her rhythm stays slow and careful. She’s not using me, she’sdiscovering. And watching her face shift from hesitation towonder to dawning pleasure makes me harder.
