Page 20 of His Emotional Support Snack

Zuirvih tilts his head, nestling his face in the crook of my neck. His lips brush the rapid, frantic pulse fluttering beneath my jaw. He opens his mouth, his fangs scraping lightly against the delicate skin.

I brace for the bite, for the sharp pain of teeth tearing flesh to draw the blood he requires.

The bite never comes.

He drags his teeth across my pulse point, a blunt, scraping pressure that sends a shuddering jolt of electricity down my spine. He licks the skin, tasting the salt and the sweat, but he does not break the surface.

"Look at me."

The command is absolute. I force my eyes open, staring up into the glowing, violent violet of his gaze.

He brings his hand up from my ribs, cupping my neck, his fingers tangling in my dark hair. He tilts my head back against the marble and kisses me.

There is no gentleness in it. His mouth crashes down on mine, a bruising, dominant clash that forces my lips apart. The taste of spiced Zhisk and the crackling, volatile static of his magic floods my senses, an intoxicating drug that shatters the last of my defenses.

My free hand flies up, intending to shove him away, to strike the aristocratic arrogance from his face.

Instead, my fingers fist into the loose linen of his shirt. I pull him closer.

The surrender is a betrayal of my own body. The chaotic magic heightens every sensation, turning the brutal pressure of his mouth into a desperate, ravenous need. He groans—a low, guttural sound that vibrates through my chest. His tongue sweeps my mouth, tasting, claiming, devouring the space between us.

His grip on the back of my neck tightens. I am drowning in the heat of his body, the scent of cracked lightning, the terrifying, possessive weight of a Khuzuth lord staking his physical claim.

Breaking the kiss, he tears his mouth away with a ragged, harsh breath.

Instead of stepping back, his gaze drops. The violet fire in his eyes flares, wild and unhinged, tracking the rapid rise and fall of my chest.

Zuirvih sinks to his knees.

The movement is fluid, a predatory descent that leaves me trapped against the mantelpiece. My breath hitches, a high, panicked sound, as his hands grip my thighs. His bare, cool fingers slide up beneath the midnight blue silk. He bunches the expensive fabric, pulling it up over my hips, exposing my trembling legs to the cool draft of the room.

"Zuirvih—" The protest is strangled, dying in my throat as he parts my knees.

He leans forward, his silver braids spilling over my thighs like cool silk. He presses his face into my heat.

The first stroke of his tongue through the thin lace of my undergarments is a direct jolt to my sensitized nerves. I arch off the marble mantelpiece, my fingers clawing blindly at the polished stone behind me. The chaotic purple magic humming in the air spikes, turning the friction of his tongue into a liquid, burning fire.

With a low, guttural growl that vibrates against my inner thighs, he pulls back just enough to look up at me, his bare hands wrapping securely around my thighs. His violet eyes burn with a dark, tyrannical focus.

"Every inch of this skin is mine to claim, Esmeralda," he murmurs, his voice a low vibration against my damp flesh. "Your pulse, your breath, the way you tremble under my touch—you do not belong to yourself anymore. Do you understand?"

My throat is too dry to answer. Before I can find my voice, his fingers hook into the delicate lace and tear it away.

He does not hesitate. Pressing his mouth to my center, his tongue parts the slick folds. He licks and suckles with a brutal, relentless hunger, tasting the sweet, hot nectar of my arousal. His fangs scrape lightly against the sensitive peak, just enough to send a terrifying, electric shockwave of pleasure straight to my spine.

I scream, the sound muffled against the back of my hand as I tilt my head back against the cold marble. My hips buck helplessly, chasing his mouth, completely betrayed by the dark magic singing through my veins. The pleasure is too sharp, too intense, bordering on agonizing under the influence of his sensitizing spell.

Zuirvih pauses for a fraction of a second, his grip on my hips tightening until it bruises. He forces me to meet his glowing, unholy gaze.

"Do not close your eyes," he commands, his voice dripping with authority. "Watch the monster consume you. Tell me who you are breaking for."

"Zuirvih..." I gasp, my voice a broken whisper.

"My name," he purrs, his tongue giving a slow, deliberate lick over the swollen peak. "Say it again. Acknowledge your master."

The humiliation of my surrender burns, but my body has already chosen its master. "Zuirvih... please."

A dark, satisfied smile touches his wet lips. "Good girl," he whispers against my skin, before pressing his mouth back to my center with a devastating focus. He grips my hips, holding me securely against his mouth, drinking my cries as his tongue drives me over the edge.