Page 77 of Given to the Black King

I start to thrust upward.

She presses one hand flat against my chest. “No. Mine.”

I force my hips still.

She rides my shape at the pace she chooses. Each descent takes me fully. Each lift drags the harder underside through her until her breath breaks.

The sight is unbearable.

My marks on her body. My cock disappearing into her. Her hands controlling how much of me she takes and how fast.

Her throat opens above me when her head falls back.

The ache roars.

I clamp my mouth shut and turn my face away.

Iona catches one horn and forces my head back toward her.

“Look at me. Not my throat. My face.”

I obey.

She strokes the warm base of the horn with her thumb.

My hips jerk upward despite her order.

The thrust drives me deeper.

She cries out.

I freeze.

Her nails dig into my shoulder.

“Again,” she says.

“You said your control.”

“I changed the term.”

“How much?”

“Meet me.”

I thrust upward as she drops.

The impact knocks a sound from both of us.

Again.

She rides down. I drive up.

The pace turns rough quickly. Her knees grip my sides. My hands pull her onto every thrust. The claws leave red tracks but no broken skin.

Her mouth finds mine.

She follows the angle I taught her. Her tongue moves carefully beside the fangs, touching the smooth inner curve of one without pressing on the point.