He switches to my other breast, giving it the same relentless attention, his free hand sliding down over my stomach, over the torn remains of my dress, and cupping me firmly between my legs. I moan, rocking against his palm. The thin barrier of my underclothes is soaked through.
“So wet for me already,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath scalding. “Your body knows it belongs to me even if your mind still questions.”
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my underclothes and rips them away. The air hits my exposed flesh, but before I can feel exposed, he spins me around and pushes me firmly against the door I have just closed him behind. The rough wood presses against my front, his immense, heated body a wall at my back.
My fingers dig into the hard muscle as I push back against him. “More,” I plead. “I need you—all of you.”
“Look at you,” he says, his voice a dark whisper in my ear. One hand splays possessively over my stomach, holding me still, while the other trails down. “Offering yourself to a demon. Begging for my claim.”
His fingers find my entrance, sliding through my slickness with a rough, approving sound. “You are dripping. Does the thought of being taken by me excite you so much, Elowen?”
“Yes,” I breathe, pushing back against his hand. “Yes, Threxian.”
He pushes one thick finger inside me, and I cry out, my head falling back against his shoulder. He works it in and out slowly, torturously, curling it to stroke a spot deep inside that makes my knees buckle. He holds me up easily, adding a second finger, stretching me, preparing me.
“The bond is more than power,” he says, his lips against my throat, his teeth scraping my pulse point. “It is this. It is knowing what you need before you ask. It is feeling your pleasure as my own.” As he speaks, I can feel a ghost of the sensations he creates in me echoing back through the bond to him, a feedback loop of mounting need.
He withdraws his fingers, and I whimper at the loss. I hear the rustle of clothing, the distinct sound of a buckle, and then the hot, heavy weight of his cock presses against me. It is immense, velvety smooth skin over unyielding hardness, and the tip nudges against my entrance, spreading my own wetness.
“This is the union,”he growls. “that binds our souls together. Once I am inside you, the bond is sealed, but the bond will not truly belong to you until you choose it.”
I am beyond words, beyond thought. I am need and fire and a desperate, aching emptiness only he can fill. I reach a hand back, grasping his thigh, and push my hips back in answer.
His breath burns against my ear.
“But I will not steal your choice from you in the middle of this.”
His hand tightens on my hip.
“The bond may bind us tonight… but whether you claim it completely will be yours to decide later.”
I can barely think through the heat racing through my body.
“Then stop talking,” I whisper. “And take me.”
He needs no more. With a low, triumphant snarl, he grips my hips and sheaths himself inside me in one long, relentless stroke.
I scream. The stretch is immense, a burning fullness that steals my breath. He is so deep, so impossibly there, touching a place inside me I did not know exists. He holds himself still, buried to the hilt, his body trembling with the effort of his restraint.
“Breathe, mate,” he commands, his voice strained. “Breathe and feel it.”
I drag air into my lungs, and as the initial shock fades, it is replaced by a sensation so profound it steals my breath all over again. The bond does not just warm; it ignites. It is as if a circuit has been completed. I can feel the fierce, possessive heat of his desire, the raw, barely-leashed power of him, and beneath it all, a terrifying, profound sense of… rightness. Of home.
He begins to move.
It is not a gentle rhythm. It is a claiming. He pulls back almost all the way and then drives back into me, hard and deep, setting a pace that is punishing in its intensity. Each thrust rocks me against the door, the wood creaking in protest. The sound of our bodies meeting, skin on skin, is wet and obscene and perfect.
“You take me so well,” he grunts, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “Your tight little cunt is made for me.”
His words are crude, filthy, and they send another jolt of pure lust straight through me. I am mindless with it, meetingevery brutal thrust, my own pleasure coiling tighter and tighter. I can feel his own climax building, a storm gathering through the bond, and the knowledge that I am driving this ancient, powerful demon to the edge is its own potent aphrodisiac.
“You feel so good,” I gasp, my voice trembling with each punishing thrust. “I have never felt anything like this. Never.”
One of his hands slides around my hip, his fingers finding my clit. He rubs rough, tight circles there, perfectly in time with his thrusts. The dual assault is too much. The coil snaps.
My orgasm rips through me with a force that blinds me. I convulse around him, a raw, broken cry tearing from my throat as waves of pleasure crash over me, each one amplified and echoed back through the bond from him. I feel his own control break.
With a roar that shakes the very foundations of the cottage, he slams into me one final time, his body going rigid against mine. I feel the hot, sudden rush of his release deep inside me, filling me, claiming me in the most primal way possible. The bond blazes white-hot, a perfect, searing fusion of our pleasure, and in that moment, I know it is done. The union is complete.
