Page 60 of Given to the Black King

Torgan’s claws gouge the bedpost.

I do it again more slowly.

Warm, thick slickness spills from him, more than a human man would produce. I spread it over the crown and down the ridges.

His hips move into my hand.

“Again.”

I stroke him harder.

He bends over me, one hand braced beside my head. His breath comes through his teeth.

I sit up and take the slick head into my mouth.

His entire body locks.

“Iona.”

The warning is almost a snarl.

I look up at him and suck.

One claw tears through the bed curtain.

The flare stretches my lips. The firmer ridge below it drags over them when I pull back. I cannot take much of his length, but the two firm lines underneath give my tongue something specific to follow. I work over them while one hand strokes the shaft and the other tests the thickening base.

His hand closes in my hair, holding rather than forcing.

His hips twitch forward once and stop.

I use the slickness spilling from the crown to make the movement easier. The heat of it coats my lips and hand.

The base begins to swell under my palm.

The base thickens beneath my hand.

I pull my mouth free. “And after the bite?”

His gaze goes to my throat. “Full swell. We stay joined until the venom passes.”

Heat pours between my legs.

He smells the answer before I speak.

“You like that.”

“Yes.”

His claws dig deeper into the post.

I take him into my mouth again. I want the sound he makes when the ring catches against my lips. I want the way the ridges harden beneath my tongue. I want the king’s body betraying exactly how close I bring him.

His grip in my hair tightens.

“Enough.”

I take him deeper.