Page 158 of Given to the Black King

The next stroke puts the underside ridges exactly where they need to be.

I lose the ability to direct anything.

Torgan feels it.

He does not demand words.

He keeps the same movement. Slow enough that every drag registers through both bodies. Deep enough that the blunt flare presses hard at the end of each stroke.

My fingers falter over my clit.

His take their place.

The bond fills with his concentration, his pleasure at touching me, his quiet satisfaction each time my body tightens.

I reach for the base of his horn.

He catches my wrist.

“Too much.”

I let go.

“Later?”

“Yes.”

I kiss him instead.

He angles around the fangs. The kiss stays slow until my body begins to shake.

The climax builds without violence.

No wall. No blood. No chase.

Only the repeated drag of ring and ridges, his fingers circling me, and the bond carrying our pleasure back and forth until neither body can hold it alone.

I come with my face pressed into his neck.

He feels the first contraction and stops moving for one breath, overwhelmed by the sensation from both sides.

Then he thrusts deep and lets go.

His base swells partially and pulses against me. His release comes hot and heavy inside my body. I feel each spurt directly and again through him.

The second wave of my climax rolls through the bond and takes him with it.

We hold each other while it passes.

No one breaks the bed.

That feels like progress.

When he softens, he eases free so slowly I feel every inch leave me. The bond answers with one last warm pulse.

He cleans us with a cloth warmed near the fire, then returns to the bed and fits himself around my back again.

The wind moves around the tower.