He nods.
His hands move to his belt, unbuckling as if he has all the time in the world, as if I’m not desperate to set my eyes on what’s beneath the fabric, every second stretched thin byintent. When he finally frees himself, he opens his trousers and releases his rock-hard cock with a boldness that steals my breath.
I don’t mean to gasp. Don’t mean for my mouth to water.
But the sheer size of him is breathtaking.
I thought I understood what it would be like when I felt him against me in my bed, but this is different. Harder. More commanding. Smooth and pale, threaded with veins.
“We do not have to do anything you do not want,” he says. “If this is all you need…”
Before he can say another word, I grasp his cock with both hands.
His eyes flare. His breath hitches. His head falls back against the barn wall as I move my hands up and down him at a slow rhythm. Frost threads through his exhale, a low sound tearing from his chest as control slips.
He groans when I quicken my pace, his gaze flicking between my face and the ruthless grip I have on the delicious girth of him.
“I have not been touched like that for a very long time, Neve Devlin,” he says, jaw tight, voice strained.
“Do you want me to stop?” I breathe.
Moonlight spills through the high barn window, bathing me in cold blue light. My nightgown turns nearly transparent, my nipples pink and almost painfully hard beneath the thin fabric.
He shakes his head. “Don’t you fucking dare.” His voice drops. “But it isn’t fair that I don’t get to touch you. Not when it’s all I’ve thought about since I woke that morning and found you in my arms. Not when I’m desperate to have the scent of you on my fingers.”
His hands grip my knees, firm and possessive, before sliding beneath my nightgown and traveling up my thighs.
I am acutely aware of him, of exactly where those fingers are headed, but I refuse to lose focus. I keep my pace steady, then push it faster, my hands sliding along his shaft, feeling it throb in my palms.
Then I feel a flash of warmth.
I am certain of it, right there in my fists, and for a split second he jerks as if he feels it too. But he does not stop. One hand tightens on my upper thigh, holding me open, while the other slides between my legs without hesitation.
My breath hitches as he cups me, his large hand fitting me with frightening ease. His fingers straighten, then curve, gliding along me until the sound that slips from my mouth is soft and helpless.
When he hears it, the smug grin that blooms on his face ignites something competitive inside me. A need to prove that I am not the only one blinded by this hunger. To show him that he is just as bound to it as I am.
I squeeze his cock harder.
He answers with a low, breathless sound, and the way it hits me only sends my pulse racing faster.
His finger trails along me again, teasing, skimming the edge of bliss without ever delivering, and without meaning to, I start to grind against his hand, chasing what he is so clearly intent on denying me.
“There she is,” he mutters. “I don’t know why you tried to play so innocent. The Fae don’t bother with such facades.”
My teeth grit. “Well, I am not Fae,” I say curtly.
My defiance only seems to arouse him.
“I know.”
And then, without warning, a finger slips inside me.
I gasp, eyes stinging, my bottom lip clenched between my teeth as I keep jerking his cock. I look at him through the blur of sensation, and the expression on his face isn’t smug. It isn’t hunger. It’s disbelief.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs. “And warm. So fucking warm.”
Another finger slips inside me. He moves them slowly, in and out as I grind against him, my hands still gliding along his magnificent shaft. His free hand leaves my thigh, slides to the back of my neck, and pulls me down to his mouth.
