Page 156 of Given to the Black King

“It requires isolation.”

“We have four hundred steps of it.”

His hand stills inside me. “You counted?”

“I counted while you carried me.”

The satisfaction in the bond is shameless.

I squeeze the ring beneath his crown.

He growls.

“Arrogant.”

“Chosen.”

The answer warms me more than the growl.

I move closer until our foreheads touch.

“What do you want?”

“Your leg over my hip.”

I give it to him.

“Turn slightly.”

I roll onto my side facing him. One leg lies over his hip, opening me without putting weight on the bite or the remaining soreness in my ribs.

He reaches for the oil.

I watch him coat himself. His hands are steady. The claws stay hidden.

“Touch yourself,” he says.

The command enters the bond with his want behind it.

I slide my hand between our bodies and circle my clit.

His gaze fixes on my fingers.

He feels the pleasure before my face shows it.

“Hold that pace,” I remind him.

He positions himself.

The blunt flare presses against me.

I breathe through the stretch. The raised ring catches, then slips inside. The firmer underside follows.

He stops halfway.

The bond carries his sensation of my body gripping him and my sensation of his cock opening me.

We both groan.