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“Getting wetter,” she rasped.
In. Out. He worked her, savoring every sensation. The tightness of her. The slick glide. Knew it would feel good. But this? Exquisite.
At first, he moved slowly, always savoring. But soon, that wasn’t enough for either of them and he picked up speed. Her tightness never eased up, only intensified, her inner walls clenching on him, trying to hold him inside. His erection throbbed in time with his motions, demanding the same kind of attention. He bit the side of his tongue, tasted blood—and inserted a second finger.
A gasp of delight escaped her.
The harder he worked her, the more she seemed to like it. Never been so pleased. She even raised her hips to meet his thrusts, and it was the sweetest agony. The clenching intensified. In and out. In and out. He quickened his pace. Thrusting and thrusting, faster and faster, using more and more force with every upward glide until she could only rock back and forth.
“My queen likes this.” He was awed, humbled.
“Yes! Oh, yes,” she moaned, squeezing her breasts. “But I want harder. Faster.”
“Don’t want to hurt you.”
“Harder!”
So commanding. Unable to deny her, he gave her harder. The sounds she made after that... Purrs straight from the back of her throat, as if she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. More gasps. Crude noises that electrified the air.
“Going to give you even more. Take it...I know you can.” He fed her a third finger, and that’s all it took. She climaxed instantly, crying his name, drawing a moan from him. He continued thrusting his fingers inside her as she quivered, until she could stand it no more and slumped to the floor, spent.
Driven past all sense, he tore at the waist of his pants and used her desire to lubricate his shaft. He pumped up and down with a violence that shouldn’t have surprised him. She made to sit up—to do what to him, he didn’t know. Couldn’t dare risk finding out. He would have let her do it, whatever it was, no matter how dangerous. He pushed her down and rose above her, more and more mindless with every second that passed. He braced a hand at her temple, the other one stroking...stroking.
“One day, I want you in my mouth,” she said, and ran her bottom lip through her teeth. “I want to take you all the way to the back of my throat and swallow you. You remember how I like to swallow, right?”
What she described...he could never give it to her, but oh, he could imagine it. Those red lips around him, riding him. Hot, wet suction. An intense burn began at the base of his length. He tightened his grip.
Yes...yes...about to shatter. The burn rose all the way to the tip, and he roared so loud the sound echoed off the wall. His seed jetted onto her belly. The pleasure...something so sublime it might just—
On her belly.
The words struck him. As did realization. As did horror. He reared back. It wasn’t skin-to-skin contact, but it was contact. Possibly even more dangerous.
He returned to her and hurriedly tried to clean her up before he pushed to shaky legs, adjusted his clothing. Any vestiges of pleasure vanished.
“Torin?” she said, unsure. How perfect she looked. Hair mussed, skin flushed with satisfaction. Any other man would have gathered her close and held her for hours, simply basking in all that delicious femininity.
But while he’d satisfied her in a way he’d never satisfied another, and she’d liked it, maybe even loved it, he might have infected her. Again.
“When I get back,” he croaked, “you will be dressed. You will stay on one side of the cave, and I will stay on the other. We won’t talk to each other. We won’t even look at each other. If you get sick, we’ll deal with it. Until then...” He strode from the cave.
* * *
KEELEY WASN’T SURE...couldn’t process...too much.
The pleasure had been—was!—overwhelming. An hour later, she had yet to calm. Might not ever calm. And Torin, her sweet Torin turned snarling beast, had yet to return.
Avoiding me?
Where was he?
And where had he learned that? Using only his fingers, he’d gotten her off and then some, sating her utterly.
Now he expects me to avoid looking at him? Avoid talking to him? Ripping the moon from the sky would have been easier. She craved him more than ever.
She should have been able to logically decide how to proceed. How to deal with her growing feelings for a man who would leave her the moment he learned of her bond with him—a bond that had grown stronger with his every decadent touch. Instead, she waffled.
I have to tell him.
I don’t want to tell him.
Omission is as bad as a lie.
Omission is a kindness.
For the rest of his life, she would be invested in him. In his future. Unless he committed a betrayal so fierce the bond withered, like Hades had done, she would want what was best for him, even at the cost of her own life. Her emotions would always respond to his, his welfare far more important than her own.
She laughed without humor. He will never be so invested in me. He feared the effects of his demon far too much.
She had to find the Morning Star. And fast.
In the meantime, she would have to be proactive. She would do everything in her power to change Torin’s mind about the bond. She would win his heart. Then she would tell him.
Flawless plan—if she didn’t dig too far below its surface. But if anyone could succeed, it was her. She was a fighter. And that’s what fighters did. They engaged in battles, and they won. She would make him want her—all of her—with the same intensity she wanted him. Easy.
