Oh fuck, I want to drop to my knees and tongue at her cute little clit piercing—before sliding my fingers up into her, exploring her depth and heat.
So I do. Dropping to the ground, not caring about the dirt, I push her skirts up.
Cinder’s grip on the back of my neck tightens painfully.
When I tilt my head up, I’m met with that same wild fear I saw in her eyes as her family approached.
“Not that,” she confesses breathily.
For a moment, my lust fogged mind doesn’t understand. Then I do.
My fangs.
A desperate twitch clenches in my cock as I realize I won’t be tasting her.
But it’s not about what I want.
Cinder needs control. Safety.
And sex. My dark goddess absolutely needs sex. A bone-shaking orgasm that will sweep everything else away, and I want to give it to her so badly the muscles in my body hurt from the tension of holding back.
“Right,” I say, hoarsely.
Standing, I grab her hand and practically fly further into the maze, dragging Cinder behind me. Eventually, I find what I’m looking for. A wrought iron bench.
Technically this gives credence to my story. The white gardiniums curls and curve around the hedges here, filling the air with their potent floral scent. Similar to gardenias of the Common World, these flowers only bloom in Midnight. And when they do, they open with little soft sighs.
I turn around and fall to my knees again and reach under her skirts. Instead of pushing them up this time, I find one of the layers of fabric to her dress and rip.
Cinder jolts at the sound of tearing cloth coupled with my violent motion of separating it from her.
I pull out a long piece of her dress.
“It’s not marshmallows,” I confess, “But hopefully, it's enough.”
Understanding dawns in her violet eyes. “Tear me another,” she demands.
I don’t question her, I just obey.
“Turn around,” she orders.
My brow dips in confusion, but I do as I’m told. She pulls my arms back and uses one of the strips of fabric to tie my wrists together.
Oh fucking witchtits, I just got harder.
Then the other cloth goes over my head and into my mouth as she ties it around the back of my head.
Looks like my idea doesn’t suck after all.
As I congratulate myself on the spark of genius, I realize I should have unbuttoned my slacks. But then Cinder is there, fingers deftly releasing me from my confines. Faster than I anticipate, her small hand sweeps up and down my fast-hardening shaft.
My groan is muffled into the cloth, as my vision blurs from the intensity of sensation she inspires.
“Sit on the bench,” she orders.
I do as she says. At first it’s tricky, but I manage to position my arms through a gap in the bench so I’m not in danger of squishing or ripping my limbs off.
Cinder approaches as soon as I’m settled, a wild gleam in her eye. In no time, her hot heat sinks down on my cold, hard shaft. So shocked by the blazing heat of her, I nearly suck the gag down my own throat.
