Page 75 of Beds and Blades

“Oh,” I said, because apparently my entire vocabulary had chosen that moment to evacuate.

The warmth arrived at the same moment. The ring settling into its permanent address. It was like it had been waiting for this finger specifically and had been keeping the other hand warm in the interim.

Then the bond formed. I felt his desire for me. I felt it from the inside. As a living thing, present and specific. His desire deepened mine. My desire deepened his.

My mind’s filing system did not break gradually. It stopped. There was nothing to manage. There was nothing to file. There was only this. His hands and his mouth and the bond transmitting everything we felt for each other simultaneously.

Every feeling I had been holding back flooded into him at once. And what came roaring back from him was raw, unrelenting need. The recursion hit like lightning. His desire ignited mine hotter. My desire poured fuel on his.

He smiled against my mouth.

His hand moved. Mine found him in return. I looked into his eyes while I did it, and neither of us looked away.

“The claiming is not complete,” he said.

“I am aware of that,” I said.

I worked him slowly.

He was heavy in my hand. Hot. My fingers closed around him, but there was no overlap—only the barest meeting of fingertips.

His hips shifted beneath my hand. A rough sound left him, low in his chest, and I felt the pleasure behind it as clearly as if it had begun in my own body. I adjusted my grip, learning the pressure he wanted, the pace that made his breath catch, the exact point where his control began to fray.

There was no guesswork anymore. I knew what he felt the moment he felt it.

The sight of my hand moving over him sent a fresh rush of heat between my thighs. I was slick before I consciously registered how badly I wanted him, and growing wetter with every stroke.

I tightened my grip by a fraction. The reaction was immediate.

His hand found my hair.

I kissed my way down his powerful body, dragging my tongue over every ridge of muscle until I reached his cock. I wrapped my hand around the base and felt him throb against my palm.

I took him into my mouth and felt his pleasure arrive simultaneously. Sharp and immediate. Unmanaged. No performance. No wondering. Just the direct transmission of what this was doing to him.

I licked him slowly from base to tip, savoring the taste of him, then swirled my tongue around the swollen head.

Skip groaned, low and rough, his hand sliding into my hair.

I took him deeper, lips stretching wide around his girth. The bond let me feel exactly what he felt—the wet heat of my mouth, the swirl of my tongue, the tight suction as I hollowed my cheeks.

His pleasure poured straight into me, making my pussy ache and drip.

I moaned around his cock, the vibration pulling another deep groan from him. I started moving faster, fucking him with my mouth—taking him as deep as I could, then pulling back to suck hard on the head before sliding down again. Spit ran down his shaft. I used my hand on the base, twisting and stroking in time with my mouth.

“I’m going to taste you,” he growled suddenly.

He pulled me off his cock with a wet pop and flipped me onto my back. Before I could catch my breath, his mouth was on my soaked pussy, devouring me with long, filthy strokes of his tongue. He groaned at my taste.

I could feel that he loved this, loved the sounds I was making, and loved the effect he was having on me. I could feel it all with precision in real time.

There was no uncertainty. There was no performance. There was only the direct, unmediated transmission of two people climbing toward pleasure together.

“Don’t fucking stop,” I gasped.

He did not stop.

He brought me relentlessly toward release. I was shaking and crying out, but he didn’t stop—licking me through every shudder until I was trembling.