Thank the fucking goddess.
Stark leans back down, his face so close to mine. I catalog his appearance: his long, dark lashes framing eyes filled with a need mirroring my own. The rough stubble surrounding his full lips, lips that I’ve now tasted, lips that I crave on every part of my body.
“Tell me what you want, Meryn,” he growls.
The sound of his voice rumbles through my trembling body, breaking me and remaking me. My core clenches tightly.
Have I ever been asked that? Ever once in my life?
Tears spring to my eyes, and I look away from him, unable to deal with how much it means that someonecares.
Stark grabs my cheeks in his large, tattooed hands, forcing me to meet his demanding gaze. “Tell me.”
WhatdoI want? Him, of course, but that’s not what he means.
In this one place in my life, I want to surrender. To be safe to do that without the risk of losing myself entirely. I want to give into passion without possession. To be wholly somebody’s without feeling like I’monlytheirs.
“I want—I want you to be in control,” I tell him, working slowly through my own desires.
Stark makes a low hum of approval, his eyes growing hooded with dark satisfaction. “I’m more than happy to boss you around, princess.”
He leans closer, his breath hot on my ear. The sensation of him hovering over me is so delicious that it takes everything to not arch against him again.
“But surely you know you’re in control here,” he growls.
A mewling, frenzied sound rips out of me. “Say it again,” I beg, heat coursing through me.
“You arealwaysin control, Meryn. Now spread your fucking legs.”
I do as he demands, going slick at the command. He recaptures my mouth with his.
The way he kisses me is wild. Unleashed and raw. He takes my bottom lip between his teeth and worries it there, sending sparks through my whole body.
One of his hands moves to my hair, twisting silver locks and pulling gently, firmly. Testing. Making sure this is what I want.
“More,” I tell him, and he pulls harder.
Fuck.I press myself into his chest, moaning into his mouth.
His other hand traces down my body until he finds my breasts, cupping them through my clothes. I whimper, and he reaches down to rip my shirt out of where it’s tucked into my pants. Then his calloused hand slides up my torso.
Stark yanks down my breast binding and rolls my nipple between his finger and thumb. I gasp, moaning.
“More,” I beg again, and he shoves my shirt all the way up, exposing my breasts to the cold air. Then he continues to play with one nipple while he sucksthe other into his mouth, through his teeth. The combination of pain and pleasure pulls another moan out of me, louder this time.
He pulls back, gaze unyielding and heavy with need. “Strip,” he commands.
And yet, I know this is not like with Killian. If I wanted something else, Stark would accept it.
Fuck, it’s so hot.
I do as he tells me, tossing off my jacket and then pulling my shirt off over my head. The breast binding goes next. Then I wiggle out of my leather pants until all I’m left in are my briefs.
I hesitate, even with the ache at my center. Are we really doing this?
“Strip,” he says sternly, the uncompromising tone of his voice coiling deliciously in my gut. I do as he tells me.
And then I’m entirely bared to him, spread out on the forest floor like an offering.
