Page 40 of Given to the Black King

He angles his jaw so the fangs curve outside the vulnerable flesh between my thighs. One forearm pins my hips so I cannot thrust unexpectedly into the points.

“Torgan.”

His tongue passes through my wetness in one broad stroke.

I nearly come off the table.

His forearm locks me down.

He does it again, slower. His lower lip presses against me. His tongue opens me while the fangs remain clear, gleaming on either side.

The room disappears.

He does not tease for long.

His tongue finds the place that makes my legs shake and stays there. Two thick fingers press inside me.

I tense around the stretch.

He stops at once, mouth resting against me, breath burning over wet skin.

“Too much?”

“No. Give me a moment.”

He waits.

I move my hips against his fingers.

They go deeper.

“Oh.”

That is the last clear word I have for some time.

He curls his fingers and seals his mouth around me. The fangs stay outside. The sight of them near my skin should frighten me out of wanting this.

Instead I grip the bases of his horns.

His whole body jolts.

The growl against me is almost violent. His claws punch through the maps on either side of my hips.

“Again,” I gasp.

I drag my thumbs where horn meets skin.

His fingers drive deeper. His tongue works harder.

The pressure builds fast. One slow stroke of his tongue catches exactly where his curled fingers press from inside, and the two sensations meet.

My hands lock around his horns. My thighs close hard enough to trap his shoulders, but he holds me open and keeps both fang points clear. The first contraction tears a sound out of me. The next empties my lungs. I come against his mouth in tight, helpless pulses while he keeps the same pressure and growls through every one.

The vibration makes the aftershocks sharper. My hips jerk beneath his forearm. He follows rather than restraining them, mouth sealed to me until pleasure turns almost painful.

I pull at his horns.

He stops at once.