Page 98 of Veil of Blood and Bone

There is a varied level of eroticism with Wren.

On top of me, his shadows hook me into his grip. They lift my legs on either side of him while he kisses me hard. He chuckles at my groan and the way my fingers fight for purchase. I’m fumbling, hasty, but to do what?

What do I need?

“Such a good monster,” he rumbles against my lips. “I can’t believe you don’t remember this. It’s my pleasure to remind you.”

I don’t, unless I count the comfort in this stranger’s hands. It’s not quite familiarity but a sense of peace in the loss of control and heat of his lips. The growl of his excitement.

Shadows catch my legs to keep them wide open. And I gasp when those shadows slide over my pants, across my overheated core.

“In this life,” he says, “like every other, you are in my hands. Not the other way around.”

His shadows aren’t insubstantial the way I expect, not smoky and nebulous, half formed thoughts and dreams. They stroke and they caress, finding the exact right spot and brushing my clit until energy spikes through me.

The moment they slip beneath fabric, skimming my folds, my skin tightens and my jaw drops.

They nip and bite and lap, driving over the sensitive bud.

“Wren!”

“I’m a Fae lord,” he reminds me. “As such, I’ll tease you. I’ll play with you. I’ll own you as I see fit. You’ll come when I tell you to come, and you’ll love it.”

My body lights and tenses in preparation for the leap off the edge. How easily he manages it and without taking his hand off my neck.

He hasn’t even touched me yet. He hasn’t groped for my breast or anything. No fumble or starved foreplay. No wet kisses.

His hand has never made it lower than my hip bones.

But I breathe easier with him close to me.

“If you want a brutal, savage fuck against a wall, you have your bird.”

The lash of a warning closes my throat, but the energy builds. Shadows circle my clit repeatedly, the pressure right, throwing me toward the finish line.

Wren doesn’t move as I slowly lose myself to the sensations, bracing for the inevitable.

He looms over me with eyes hooded and hooked with mine, a piece of me fusing to him. An unsteady breath leaves me feeling, my hand braced on the couch at my side.

“If you want to be worshipped, with the threat of death in his fangs, then you have your devoted bloodsucker.”

I gasp. “Oh my god.”

“I’m done running around this. I know what I want and you know what the depraved little pieces of you demand, whether you admit it or not. So if you want to have me, you’ll learn how to beg.”

I come on his final word. His shadows toss me from the frying pan directly into the fire, and the orgasm rips through me.

Holy fuck.

He basically snapped his fingers and I did what he wanted. I’ve never come so quickly before. Spots dance in front of my eyes, and when I open them, Wren fills my vision. His eyes still haven’t let mine. My head swims.

The force of the crescendo leaves me dizzy and reeling.

Despite the feeling, my mouth forms the word my brain can’t process yet: never. I will never beg for sex. Or for anything.

It’s like we both enjoy torturing ourselves. There’s a level of pleasure in denial.

Wren grins down at me and then slides his hand between us. His fingers graze the top of my yoga pants as he sweeps beneath the elastic.