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I am a fool. Oh, she gives all appearance of surrender, but I know the scheming witch. ’Twas witless to engage in whatever cunning she wages.
Even so…I cannot stop from sliding up her flushed body and sinking between her fleshy thighs. I take her mouth in a kiss thick with urgency and press my stiff cock to her swollen cunt.
Wet. Hot. Silky. Mind-boggling.
Mine.
She gasps, eyes widening as I tease her with a shallow thrust—and encounter something I never expected to find.
Chapter Seventeen
Shock sears me. “You are untouched?”
Morgana possesses the power to regrow her hymen? ’Tis not possible.
But the proof blocking my entrance does not lie.
Has her magic grown to such seemingly impossible feats? Bloody hell…
Her inky lashes flutter up from her red cheeks. Her violet eyes are dilated, dreamy. She’s more beautiful than ever. The woman steals my breath and floods my loins.
The voice in the back of my head reminds me to exercise caution. If I do not, I will succumb to her enchantment and lose more than my mortality.
But I fear ’tis too late for that.
“Y-yes.”
A virgin.
How?
“Marrok.” She swallows, a heart-tugging insecurity all over her face. “Please…”
Not only must I claim her for strategy’s sake, but since answering her Mating Call, I find her irresistible. I burn to make her mine.
Danger be damned.
“Hold tight to me.” I tangle our fingers together.
She nods and squeezes my hand, excitement and wonder shining in her eyes.
That expression melts my enmity.
I shove all thought aside, inhale her heady scent, and brace myself.
With a forward push, I tear through her barrier. My groan merges with her gasp as I thrust down. She looses a jagged cry. I ease back, then tunnel down again, repeating the process methodically until she’s panting and I’m buried inside her to the hilt.
“There.” I brush a stray curl from her cheek. “It is done.”
Morgana gives me a shaky nod. “This feels… I can’t explain it. Meant to be? Does that sound weird?”
Not as weird as it should. “I understand.”
She smiles again, her expression not merely open but inviting me deeper. Need claws up my spine.
I ease out, gritting my teeth at her tightness, groaning at the spine-melting friction. As I push in again, she breathes a sound that’s something between a sigh and a whimper. She’s perfection. Claiming her has me feeling euphoric.
My reaction makes little sense. Morgana has enjoyed the centuries of torture she’s heaped on me. Why am I not inflicting the same? Why do I feel compelled to be tender?
