She breaks.
The orgasm tears through her, and I feel it in my own blood—an echo of her pleasure, a phantom sensation that makes my cock throb with urgent need. She cries out, loud and raw, and I drink in every sound, every tremor, every drop of her release on my tongue.
When the aftershocks finally fade, I rise. Kiss her mouth, letting her taste herself on my lips. She whimpers into the kiss, boneless against the wall, but her hands still find the laces of my trousers.
“Now.” Her voice is wrecked. “I need you inside me now.”
I don’t argue.
It’s not gentle.
We crash into each other with the hunger of two people who’ve never been allowed to want anything. I shove my trousers down, free my cock, and hoist her up against the wall. Her legs wrap around my waist, and the head of my cock finds her entrance, slick and ready.
For one heartbeat, I pause. Meet her eyes. Make sure.
She answers by pulling me forward, impaling herself on my length in one smooth stroke.
We both groan. She’s tight—so tight—and hot and wet and everything I never knew I needed. I hold still, buried to the hilt, feeling her body adjust to my size. Her walls flutter around me, drawing me deeper, and it takes every scrap of control I have not to move.
“Okay?” The word comes out strangled.
“Move.” She digs her heels into my ass. “Damn you, move.”
I move.
The first thrust is slow. Controlled. I pull back until only the tip remains inside her, then slide home in one long stroke that makes us both shudder. The second is faster. The third faster still. By the fourth, I’ve abandoned any pretense of patience.
I fuck her against the wall with everything I have. Drive into her hard enough that her back scrapes the stone, hard enough that the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes through the ravine. She takes it—takes everything—and demands more, her nails raking down my back, her teeth finding my shoulder, her body arching to meet each punishing thrust.
“Fight me,” I growl against her throat. “Don’t just?—”
She doesn’t let me finish. Her legs wrap tighter, and she twists, using momentum to reverse our positions. I stumble backward, and she rides the motion, landing on top of me as my back hits the stone floor.
For a heartbeat, she’s on top, looking down at me with wild eyes and tangled hair. My cock still buried inside her, her knees braced on either side of my hips.
“I’m not your victim.” Her voice is fierce. “Don’t treat me like one.”
I grab her hips. Drag her down hard. “Never.”
She starts to ride.
TWENTY-SIX
KHARVEK
She rolls her hips with a rhythm that drives me insane, grinding down on every stroke, taking me deep enough that I feel her everywhere. I thrust up to meet her, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, watching her breasts bounce with each impact.
“Gods, you feel—” I can’t finish. Can barely think.
She plants her hands on my chest. Rides harder. Her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat, and I surge up to taste it—to bite, to mark, to claim. She moans when my teeth find her pulse point, grinds down harder, takes me impossibly deeper.
I flip us again. Need to be on top. Need to control the pace before I lose my mind completely.
She lets me. Spreads her legs wider, hooks her ankles behind my back, and I sink back into her with a groan. This angle is different—deeper somehow, hitting spots that make her gasp with every thrust. I brace myself on my forearms and set a brutal pace, driving into her like I’m trying to fuse our bodies into one.
“Yes.” Her voice is raw. Breaking. “Just like that. Don’t stop. Don’t ever?—”
Her walls clench around me. Her body bows off the stone floor. And she comes again, harder than before, screaming my name loud enough to wake the dead.
