Page 64 of Given to the Black King

He takes my wrists in one hand and pins them above my head.

His other hand hooks under my knee and opens me wider.

Then he drives into me.

The force knocks the breath from my lungs.

He does it again before I recover.

The bedframe slams against the wall. The ring below his crown catches on every withdrawal. The underside ridges scrape through me on every thrust. His broad root strikes against my entrance, swelling further but never locking.

His claws score the wood above my hands.

There is no room left for thought.

Only his weight. The stretch. The hard drag of his body through mine. The wet sound of each stroke. My cunt opening and gripping around anatomy built to make escape slow once he is close to climax.

“Say my name.”

“Torgan.”

He thrusts harder.

“Again.”

“Torgan.”

His teeth bare. “Say it again.”

Possession tightens low and deep inside me.

“My choice,” I gasp.

He closes his eyes for one beat. “Yes.”

Then he turns me.

One arm around my waist. The room spins. I land on my knees with my chest against the furs.

He pulls my hips up.

The position opens me differently. The thick head presses against my entrance again before he enters. This time I know what is coming.

I push back.

The ring slips inside.

He growls.

His clawed hand spreads between my shoulder blades, holding me down without cutting. His other hand guides himself back into me.

My shout disappears into the furs.

He pauses only long enough to let my body take the full thickness.

“Continue,” I say.

His hand slides into my hair and lifts my head.