Page 95 of Given to the Black King

His mouth drops.

He sucks hard enough to leave color. Then harder. He turns his jaw, keeps the fangs outside the flesh, and closes his back teeth around the fullness beneath my nipple.

The pain pulls a cry out of me.

He releases, licks the mark, and moves to the other breast.

I pull against his grip until my shoulders ache.

“Hands,” I gasp.

He frees them.

I grab both horns.

His whole body drives down against mine.

“That,” he says, voice broken around the word, “was not permission.”

“It is now.”

I drag my palms over the rough bases.

He shudders. His hips grind once between my thighs, hard enough that I feel the shape of him through his trousers.

Then he rises onto his knees and cuts my drawers away with one claw.

The claw never touches skin.

Cool air reaches me.

His hand follows. Two fingers slide through the wetness he has been smelling since the armory.

His eyes close.

“Mine to hunt.”

“Tonight.”

His gaze opens.

“Because you chose.”

“Yes.”

He puts those fingers inside me.

No teasing. No slow test. I am ready and he knows exactly how much. He works me with hard, sure strokes, thumb against me, his other hand holding my hip to the cloak.

I try to close my legs.

His knee keeps them spread.

“Stay open.”

My body clenches around his fingers.

The command goes through me faster than touch.