Page 157 of Given to the Black King

“Too much?”

“No. Stay.”

My fingers keep circling.

He watches the small movement while my body adjusts around him. His pleasure rises through the bond every time I tighten.

When I am ready, I pull him closer with the leg over his hip.

He enters fully.

The position keeps our bodies pressed together. No hard impact. No room for distance.

He moves in short, slow strokes.

The ring drags near my entrance. Two firm lines press through me. The swelling at his base grows gradually against my body, increasing the fullness without locking us.

His mouth returns to the mating bite.

The points rest to either side while his lips and tongue work over the healed crescents.

I send him the sensation deliberately.

The warmth of his mouth.

The deep drag inside me.

The pleasure under my own fingers.

His whole body shudders.

“Again,” he says against my throat.

I send it again.

He answers with his own: the tight pressure of my cunt around the crown, the scrape of my nails at the base of his horn, the pleasure building around the swelling root.

The loop catches.

This time we do not let it run wild.

We hold it between us. Add one sensation. Remove another. Learn where the bond amplifies and where it confuses.

He slows when the feedback becomes too large.

I tell him when I need more.

Our speech becomes shorter as the rhythm deepens.

“There.”

“Yes.”

“Again.”

“Hold me.”

His hand closes around the back of my thigh. The claws remain hidden. He draws my leg higher and changes the angle.