“I aim to please.”
She gives me a look that is half amused and half something far more dangerous.
“Good,” she says quietly.
Her hand slips into mine again, but this time she is the one guiding me. Toward the bed.
“Then stop thinking and start doing.”
Her words land in the quiet room like a spark on dry tinder. The softness of a moment ago is gone, replaced by a heat that crackles through the bond, sharp and demanding. I don’t need the bond to tell me what she wants. I can see it in the darkening of her eyes, the flush on her skin, the way her breath hitches as she stands there, waiting.
My hands go to the clasps of her cloak. The movement isn’t gentle. It’s decisive. The heavy wool falls to the floor with a soft thump, forgotten. My fingers find the laces of her tunic next, tugging them loose with a sharp pull. The fabric parts, revealing the simple shift beneath, and the warm glow of the sigil over her heart.
“Threx,” she breathes, her own hands coming up to claw at the fastenings of my own shirt.
“I’ve got you,” I growl, and I do. I push the tunic off her shoulders, then the shift follows, catching for a moment on the swell of her breasts before it joins the cloak on the floor. The candlelight paints her naked skin in gold and shadow. She’s glorious. All soft curves and lean muscle, her nipples tight andpebbled in the cool air, her stomach quivering as she stands exposed before me.
She doesn’t shy away. She meets my gaze, her chin lifted, even as a fresh wave of color stains her cheeks. Her hands finish with my shirt, pushing it roughly over my head. Her palms flatten against my chest, over the mirrored sigil, and she pushes.
I let her. I stagger back a single step, the backs of my knees hitting the edge of the narrow bed. I sit, and she follows, crawling into my lap without hesitation. The heat of her bare skin against mine is an electric shock. She straddles me, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of my hips, her core a hot, damp pressure against the fabric of my trousers.
Gods.The bond screams with shared sensation. Her need, her boldness, her slight tremor of anticipation, it’s all mine. And my own hunger, a deep, possessive ache, floods back into her.
Her mouth finds mine again, and this kiss is nothing like the one before. It’s all teeth and tongue and desperate, hungry noise. She grinds down against me, a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that has a groan tearing from my throat. My hands grip her waist, holding her still for a second, just to feel the frantic beat of her pulse against my thumbs.
“Impatient,” I murmur against her lips.
“You’re still wearing too much,” she pants, her fingers fumbling with the buckle of my belt.
I help her, making quick work of the leather and the laces of my trousers. I shove them down just enough, and then I’m free, hard and thick and pressing urgently against her stomach. Her eyes drop, and she lets out a soft, shaky sound. She wraps her hand around me, her touch tentative at first, then firmer, learning the shape and weight of me.
“Elowen,” I warn, my voice rough. “If you keep doing that, this ends before it starts.”
She bites her lower lip, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Then don’t let me.”
I don’t. In one fluid motion, I flip us. The world spins, and she’s beneath me on the scratchy wool blanket, her dark hair fanned out around her, her body open and waiting. I settle between her thighs, nudging them wider with my knees. The scent of her arousal is heavy in the air, and I lower my head to breathe it in, to taste it.
I drag my tongue through her folds, and she arches off the bed with a sharp cry. Her hands fist in my hair, not pushing me away, but holding me there. I feast on her. I lick and suck and tease, mapping every sensitive inch of her, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her moan. The bond is a feedback loop of pure pleasure, every flick of my tongue against her clit echoes through my own nerves, every one of her shuddering breaths fans the fire in my gut.
“Threx, please,” she sobs, her hips moving helplessly. “I need you. Now.”
I lift my head. My chin is wet with her. “Tell me.”
Her eyes, glazed with pleasure, find mine. “I need you inside me.”
“How?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Hard. I want to feel all of you.”
A primal satisfaction rolls through me. I shift my weight, guiding myself to her entrance. The head of my cock presses against her, and we both go still for a heartbeat, suspended in the aching tension of anticipation.
Then I push forward. She’s so tight, always tight, so impossibly hot and wet. I sink into her slowly, an inch at a time, letting her body stretch to accommodate me, watching her face. Her lips part on a silent gasp, her eyes squeezing shut. The bond hums with a sensation so intense it’s almost pain, the perfect,overwhelming fullness for her, the exquisite, velvet clutch for me.
When I’m fully sheathed, buried to the hilt, I stop. We’re both breathing hard, sweat already beading on our skin. I open the bond wide, letting her feel everything—my control stretched thin, the raw, possessive joy of being inside her, the fear of hurting her warring with the desperate need to move.
Her eyes open. They’re dark, bottomless. “Don’t you dare stop.”
I draw back almost all the way, then drive back in. Hard.
