Page 76 of Given to the Black King

She lowers another inch.

The ring passes inside. Her body closes around the shaft beneath it.

A groan tears out of me.

She pauses, eyes shut, breathing through the fullness.

“Tell me,” I say.

“Stretched.”

“Pain?”

“Some.”

“Stop?”

“No.” She opens her eyes. “Do not move.”

I do not.

She sinks farther at her own pace. The firmer underside drags along her inner wall. I feel each small tightening as she discovers what my shape does to her.

“There,” she whispers.

She lifts half an inch and sinks again.

The ridges catch the same place.

Her mouth opens.

She does it once more.

My claws press pink tracks into her sides.

When she finally sits fully in my lap, my base is thick against her entrance. Not enough to trap. Enough to make her very still.

She sits motionless on me until the first sting settles into pleasure.

I smell both.

“Iona.”

“Still yes.”

She rocks once.

The tight drag pulls a groan from me. She does it again, testing the angle, then begins to ride.

Slow at first.

Her hands brace on my shoulders. Her hair falls around us. I keep my palms on her hips and the claws curved safely along her sides.

The old blood quiets enough to listen.

She circles her hips and finds the place that makes her gasp.

“There.”