Page 57 of Given to the Black King

One hand holds my weight beneath my backside. The other fists in my hair, keeping my head at the angle he needs. The fangs remain outside the line of my lips. When I turn, he turns with me. When the kiss becomes rough, the care becomes more exact rather than less.

He carries me to the bed.

Not gently.

My back hits the furs. He comes down over me, horns framing my face, shoulders blocking the firelight.

The size of him makes me feel trapped.

That is part of why I came.

“Torgan.”

He stops.

“Keep going.”

The old-blood growl answers.

He catches the front lacing of my gray dress in one hand.

“Was this expensive?”

“Very.”

“I will replace it.”

“Later.”

He pulls.

The cord snaps. Two eyelets tear free of the cloth. The front opens from my breasts to my waist.

Cool air reaches my skin.

His eyes fix there.

Then his mouth closes over one nipple.

I arch beneath him.

He sucks hard, tongue rough over the tight point, while his hand covers the other breast. His palm is broad enough to hold all of me. The claws curve around my ribs without touching.

I reach for the base of one horn.

His hips jerk against me.

I rub my thumb where horn meets skin.

Venom shines along his fangs.

He cannot safely close those points around my breast. Instead he turns his jaw, brackets the flesh with the fangs, and clamps his back teeth into the fullness below my nipple.

Pain sparks through the pleasure.

A sharp sound tears out of me.

He lifts his head at once. “Too much?”