He groans, a deep, vibrating sound that shakes me to my core. He laps at the hardened nipple, his tongue broad and hot, drawing the sensitive flesh between his teeth and suckling hard. I cry out, my hands gripping his broad, scarred shoulders. The sensation is absolute fire. He is learning me, exploring the human frailty he was so certain he would destroy, finding only a woman desperate for his weight.
His hand slides down the curve of my stomach, his long, calloused fingers grazing my navel before dipping lower. He parts my thighs, the heavy warmth of his palm pressing against my slick, aching core.
"You are drowning for me, Mireya," he growls against my skin, his fingers sliding through my wetness.
"Khaelor," I gasp, my hips bucking instinctively against his hand. "Please. I need..."
He does not make me beg long. He shifts downward, his hands gripping my thighs and pulling me to the edge of the mattress. He kneels on the stone floor, burying his face directly against my core.
The first sweep of his tongue draws a raw, uninhibited scream from my throat.
He devours me. His mouth is relentless, consuming my taste with the starving desperation of a man breaking a century-longfast. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as his tongue works a devastating, rhythmic friction against my most sensitive flesh. The pleasure builds too fast, a violent, cresting wave that makes the muscles in my thighs tremble.
"Khaelor!" I shout his name, my fingers burying into the thick furs beneath me.
He pulls away, his amber eyes completely black with desire, his mouth slick with my taste. He rises, his hands going to the dark fastenings of his trousers. He strips them away.
I stare. The sheer, terrifying anatomy of the Dark Elf is laid bare. His erection is massive, thick and heavy, the ashen-violet skin marked with the same faint, pulsing black-gold veins that trace his chest.
I reach out, my small hand wrapping around the formidable length of him. He is scorching hot, smooth as polished stone, a drop of clear pre-cum weeping from the blunt tip.
Khaelor’s jaw locks, his entire body going rigid under my touch. "Do not test my restraint, little flame. There is none left."
"You are beautiful," I whisper, tracing the heavy ridge.
"Not as wondrous as you." He shifts his grip, catching my waist and pulling me upward. "Ride me. Take the exact measure of what you have unchained."
I straddle his hips, positioning myself over the thick, blunt head. I look down into his eyes, reading the absolute, terrifying devotion burning in the dark. I sink down.
He fills me completely, the sheer size of him stretching me taut. A long, shuddering moan escapes my lips as our bodies lock together, skin to skin, biology to biology. No rot. No death. Only the profound, agonizing perfection of the union.
Khaelor grips my hips, his long fingers biting into my flesh. "Move, Mireya."
I lift my hips and slide back down, taking him to the hilt. The friction is a slow, liquid fire. He groans, thrusting his hipsupward to meet my descent. The pace accelerates, the slow exploration giving way to a feral, desperate rhythm.
I lean forward, burying my hands into his silver hair, pulling sharply as his hips slam upward against mine. He watches my face, his eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure, every harsh gasp that tears from my lips. The slap of our skin echoes in the heavy silence of the room.
He pulls me down, burying his face in the heavy swell of my breasts, his teeth scraping my collarbone as he thrusts harder, deeper, striking the center of my aching core.
"Khaelor!" I scream, the tension snapping like a severed wire.
The climax rips through me, a violent, consuming starburst of pleasure that violently contracts my internal muscles around his length. Khaelor roars my name, a guttural, earth-shattering sound, driving his hips upward one final, devastating time as he pours his release into me.
I collapse against his chest, my breath tearing from my lungs in ragged sobs. His massive arms wrap around me, crushing me against his thundering heart, his face buried in the crook of my neck.
As the heavy, blinding haze of the orgasm slowly begins to recede, my eyes flutter open.
I stare up at the vaulted ceiling in the bedchamber.
The dark stone is not empty. Deep within the masonry, the ancient, dormant Blackflame wards are igniting. It is not the toxic, erratic violet of the curse’s starvation. It is a brilliant, steady, protective gold that bleeds across every corridor of the estate, weaving a flawless, stabilized lattice of pure magic above our heads.
The house is singing.
I do not speak. I do not point to the ceiling. I simply bury my face against Khaelor’s shoulder, savoring the heavy,Protheka-shaking climax we just shared, holding the secret of the stabilized wards tight against my chest.
16
KHAELOR
