Every inch of me pulsed.
And then he found the center of me.
He pulled me closer with a growl, his lips closing over my clit in a hot, sucking kiss that made me cry out. His tongue moved with sinful precision—lapping, flicking, circling in rhythms that felt ancient and sacred and made for me. Each stroke stoked the fire until I thought I’d unravel entirely.
I gasped, breath caught between a moan and a scream, as his tongue plunged deeper, exploring my slick folds with maddening patience. He moved in time with the rise and fall of my hips, matching my rhythm until our bodies danced in perfect sync.
But even at the peak of pleasure, a dark thrill twisted in my mind—the vivid image of Balthazar plunging that dagger into the woman’s throat. Blood. Control. Power. Guilt curled around my pleasure like smoke, but I didn’t stop. Icouldn’t.
And neither did he.
He picked up speed, his fingers joining the wicked rhythm of his mouth, stroking and teasing as he pushed me higher. I moaned, my body trembling with every lash of his tongue, every firm, skilled caress. The pleasure was unrelenting and kept building, climbing, devouring.
Then he paused—just long enough to look up at me.
His gaze was molten. Intense. Possessive.
And then he smiled—a wicked, knowing smile that made my toes curl.
Without breaking eye contact, he dipped his head again and brought me back into the fire. His tongue danced against me, faster, firmer—each motion more devastating than the last. My moans turned to cries, my hands tangling in his hair, my body arching into his mouth as pleasure crashed through me.
My climax hit like lightning—savage and brilliant. It ripped through me, setting every cell ablaze. I came with a broken cry, back arched, body convulsing, as if consumed by a dragon’s fire, burned down to the raw edges of my soul.
Balthazar drank in every tremor, every gasp, his hands gripping my thighs as I shattered beneath him.
When it ended, he surged up and pulled me into his arms—his embrace fierce. He crushed me to him like he feared I might vanish. His mouth claimed mine in a wild, punishing kiss, his tongue still tasting of me, of sin, of surrender.
When he finally pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes burned with hunger—and something darker. Something far more dangerous than lust.
Possession.
“You are pure temptation, my sinful angel,” Balthazar growled, his voice thick with lust and reverence as he wrapped his powerful body around mine again.
His heat surrounded me, flesh against flesh, the weight of him anchoring me to the mattress. His lips grazed the curve of my throat, and when he entered me once more, it was slower—deeper—as though he were branding me with every motion, claiming me all over again.
My heart swelled at the words he whispered in the dark.
But my mind was elsewhere—always watching, always scheming.
Balthazar was falling for me. I could feel how he touched me now, not just with hunger, but something tender. I would use it. I would take everything he had to give—and then some.
The candles sputtered and died, one by one, until we were cloaked in darkness. We lay in silence, tangled limbs and sweat-slicked skin, the air still heavy with the scent of sex—musk, wax, and my sweetness clinging to his mouth.
“I’ve got to go,” I whispered against his chest.
No answer.
His breathing was slow and deep. Asleep, or pretending to be.
“Balthazar,” I repeated, dragging my fingers lightly across his chest, “Ihaveto go.”
Still nothing.
“My father’s going to kill me if I’m not back by morning.”
He groaned, rolling onto his back, throwing a lazy arm across his eyes.
I slid from the bed like silk, reluctant but resolute. My limbs still ached with the afterglow of his love. I dressed, savoring the feeling of his lingering touch on my skin as I cinched the last strap into place. I looked at his sleeping form—wild and beautiful in the shadows—then turned away.
