Page 48 of Maid For The Dark Elf

My fingers fumble with the intricate lacing—too many conflicting impulses, haste fighting desperation. A sharp tug breaks the cords rather than loosening them. Good enough. Rosalie gasps against my mouth, pulling my shirt over my head with the same urgent intensity. All these formal garments, these layers of noble propriety, fall to the floor of the alcove.

“Caelric—” She breathes my name like a prayer.

My hands find the curve of her waist, then slide around to cup the sweet arch of her back. My erection strains against my trousers. No gentle finesse now, no careful seduction—just need.

I free my cock, stroking once, twice, my breath catching at my own touch. Gods, I’ve imagined this moment too many times to count, but nothing compares to the reality of her watching me with wide, darkened eyes.

Bending her over is instinct. I guide her with a hand between her shoulder blades, lowering her until her palms brace against a silk-draped table. The fall of her chestnut hair spills down her back, and I push aside the fabric of her shift to expose the pale curve of her ass.

“Tell me if I go too fast.”

“Stop talking.”

I slide into her—she’s already wet and tight. The sensation’s immediate, intense, a groan tearing from my throat before I bury myself to the hilt.

“Fuck.”

Her answering gasp is sharp and choked, her back arching against my chest. I surrender to the rhythm she sets—hard, deep thrusts that drive the table across the floor, quieting only when I plant my feet.

My hips slam into hers. The slap of skin echoes with each movement. “Rosalie—” The name’s raw, torn from me as she rocks back to meet every thrust.

Her hands grip the table, knuckles white. “Harder.”

I obey, driving deeper with every stroke until her breathless moans build into something sharper, more desperate. My fingers dig into her hips, likely leaving bruises I’ll kiss better later. Right now, all that matters is the sensation, the heat of her surrounding me, the way she shudders around my cock as her climax hits.

“Caelric!”

I kiss her shoulder, tasting salt and moonlight. Her sigh shudders through me, a ragged sound of surrender that only sharpens my desperate need. My cock pulses against her thigh, aching for more. Not nearly enough.

One hand tangles in her hair, the other grips her waist, and I turn her—fast, ungentle, driven by something beyond control. Her back meets cool stone floor instead of silk sheets, her breath catching at the suddenness of it. Good. Let her feel the roughness. Let her feel how badly I want her, propriety be damned.

I press her down, hands framing her face, my length sliding back into slick warmth in one smooth, desperate motion. Rosalie’s eyes drift shut, lips parting on a gasp that goes straight to my gut.

“I would have preferred…” My words come raw, breathless. “Our first time be in a very expensive bed. Silks, incense, the whole thing…”

Each syllable punctuates the next hard thrust. The floor offers no give, just solid stone meeting every forceful drive of my hips.

“But, fuck Rosalie…” I bury myself deeper, my voice dropping to a rough whisper at her ear.

“I think we’re well past that, considering this is our second time,” she pants out breathlessly.

I groan. “You feel so fucking good.”

Her nails dig into my shoulders, a sharp delight. A low moan escapes her, the vibration humming through my chest as I brace above her.

Her breasts rise and fall with every panting breath, swaying with each deliberate, crushing movement of my hips. I watch them bounce, mesmerized by the way the shadows play across her skin—pale against my dark hands when I cup one, squeezing hard enough to make her arch.

“You taste even better.” I lower my head, my tongue tracing the curve of her ear before I nip the lobe. “And you sound divine when you come.”

She arches again, her hips lifting to meet my next thrust. “Caelric⁠—”

“Listen to you,” My breath hitches as she tightens around me, her body already fluttering on the edge. “So fucking close.”

The rhythm breaks into something frantic—no grace, no finesse, just flesh slapping against flesh, the wet sound of our joining filling the alcove. Her breaths come in sharp pants now, each one a broken note of my name.

“Let go,” I murmur against her mouth, stealing another kiss. “Give it to me again. I want to feel you⁠—”

She shatters with a cry, nails raking down my back, her body clenching around me in waves that steal my breath. “Gods, Caelric!”