Page 78 of Given to the Black King

Venom floods my mouth.

I tear away before it can spill between us.

“Shoulder,” she says.

“No bite.”

“I did not ask for one. Put your mouth on the mark.”

She presses her shoulder to my lips.

I turn my jaw and set the old bruise between the fangs without closing my teeth. My tongue lies flat over the mark. Her salt and heat fill me.

The ache quiets.

Not completely.

Enough.

I groan against her skin and thrust harder.

She gasps, one hand fisting in my hair. “Yes. There.”

Language leaves us after that.

Her body slams down over mine. My hips drive up. The already-cracked headboard knocks against the wall, but the iron bolts hold. Every short withdrawal catches inside her. The harder underside grinds through her with every return.

She takes my left hand from her waist and puts the flat side of one claw over her nipple.

I drag it across the tight point.

Her cunt clenches around me.

I do it again.

She comes without warning.

Her whole body locks in my lap. The contractions seize around my cock, dragging hard over the swollen root.

The fang hunger surges with my own climax.

My mouth opens against her shoulder. The fangs frame the bruise, close enough that one wrong turn would pierce her.

I try to pull away.

She locks both arms around my head.

“Stay.”

“I cannot bite.”

“Do not bite. Hold.”

Her body keeps pulsing around me.

I hold.

My lips and tongue seal over the safe mark. The fang points touch nothing. My hands grip her hips with claws curved away.