Page 179 of Shadowborne: Reckoning

“Let go, Donavyn,” I whispered, then flicked my tongue under his lip. “Show me.”

He trembled, but his grip on me tightened as he fought, still holding himself back. I loved him even more in that moment—for his willingness to choose his wisdom over his need. It was why I trusted him. But I whispered, urging him on, rubbing my body on his, until he dropped his forehead to mine and stared into my eyes.

He clearly prepared to say something, but I didn’t want anymore words. So, I took him in hand and began to stroke, tipped up my head and teased him with my tongue. And when he groaned, I whispered temptations until the bond quivered and I felt something in him give.

With a low groan in his chest he unleashed.

Donavyn dropped to his knees and I gasped, thinking he would put his mouth on me, but instead he swept me up, lifting me to his chest, growling my name, and then tossed me onto the bed.

I laughed as I bounced—but he followed me immediately, crawling up and over me, lifting my knee to hook it over his hip, then burying his hands in my hair as his weight pinned me into the bed and he devoured my mouth.

“Beautiful… sweet… I can’t even put words to the way I want you, Bren.”

“Tell me,” I gasped.

“Actions speak louder than words,” he rasped, pushing up over me with a wicked grin, then arched his back to grind into me, hard enough that pleasure sparkled on the edge of pain.

I grabbed for his hips, holding onto him, gasping as he began to move, but a moment later he was over me again, fisting his hand in my hair and pulling my head back as he dove for my throat.

There was something thrilling about the intensity of him, each of his movements on the edge of control. Strong. He clawed, gripped, and pulled, his breath rasping in his throat. But his eyes were alight with heated joy and I let my head sink back, exploring him with my hands, but leaving myself open and willing—urging him to take me however he chose.

I lost all awareness of time passing, or space. I only knew his touch, his kiss, the press of his body against mine. And the slowly growing pleasure—frustrated because I was still empty.

“Donavyn… please.”

He gave a low, wicked chuckle and rubbed himself against me. I blew out a breath and my hand slapped to his stomach, but still he didn’t take me.

We moved together, quivering, dancing to the beat of our own hearts. And with ever growing urgency.

Then, Donavyn dropped his shoulders and began to slide back down my body. I grabbed for his back, letting my hands claw up the muscles and mounds of his strength as he slipped down my body, biting my lip because I thought I knew what was coming.

But then, to my dismay, he pushed up to kneel between my knees and look down at me, his hands still stroking up and down my thighs, my hips, my belly. I opened my eyes to find his gaze blazing, his eyes drinking me in.

And, reveling in my own boldness, I opened my knees wider and arched to press into his touch as he passed over me.

“Fuck, Bren.”

“Yes, please.”

A choking, groaning laugh burst from him and I smiled.

Then the light in his eyes got fiercer and he reached for me. “So, fucking beautiful.”

My breath caught at the rough growl in his deep voice, and I started to pant. His touch was thrilling, tingling, making the ache inside so deep it was almost painful. I wanted him within me so badly, and yet I didn’t want to lose that touch as he teased and pressed, rubbed and slid, each pass over that bundle of nerves pressing my need higher.

“Donavyn,” I gasped. “Please.”

He watched himself touch me, lips peeled back and breath hissing between his teeth. “You’ll have me, Bren. Don’t you worry.”

His voice, so deep with gruff, desperate need, made my stomach twist and thrill at the same moment he passed over where I wanted him most, and my hips bucked. I gripped the quilt to ground myself because I couldn’t reach him, planted my feet and raised my hips.

I thought he’d put his mouth on me, or grab me and enter me, or—

But with a ragged growl, he gripped my hips and flipped me over onto my stomach, then pulled my hips up so I was on my knees. And with no warning, pulled me back onto him, entering me, filling me, threatening my limits in a single, strong thrust. As my head threw back and I cried out with joy, he clapped an iron hand to my shoulder and pulled me back onto him as he thrust.

Pleasure rocked through me. Tingling, pressured, spiraling need that sparkled under my skin from the nape of my neck to the soles of my feet. I shuddered with it as he drew out of me, then thrust again so hard our thighs slapped.

“Donavyn!” I cried, my voice high and thin. Shoulders still on the bed, face turned aside, I gripped the quilt in both hands as he leaned over me, sliding one hand down my arm, then his fingers between mine, gripping my hand and the quilt in one fist. Then he thrust again.