“Spenser?”
“Mmm?” he asks, nibbling at my neck.
“Take me upstairs and fuck me.”
He lifts his head, gaze meeting mine, and nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
Before I know it, we’re up the stairs and in his room. He moved so fast, he might have actually flown.
He sets me gently on the gray comforter that drapes across his king-size bed. “Tell me what you want.”
I shoot him a wicked grin. “I did. I want you to fuck me.”
A feral look washes over his face, and he yanks off his clothes. “Get naked and get on all fours,” he growls.
I scramble to obey. My clothes go flying and I drop to my hands and knees on the mattress, peeking over my shoulder for a glimpse of his full, naked glory.
He’s magnificent.
Gray skin and fur, muscles and wings stretched out behind him. His cock is thick and long, straining toward me, and at its base are two appendages that are covered in the same feathery texture as his antennae. They’re flexing lightly and getting longer as I watch.
“What are those?” I ask, breathless with anticipation.
“My graspers. Designed to hold a mate in place. Don’t worry, they won’t hurt.”
“Oh, I’m not worried,” I say. “I want to feel them on me.”
In the past, I’ve always loved foreplay. The anticipatory fun is its own kind of pleasure. But it feels as if the past few months have been endless foreplay, and now I just want him inside me. He must sense it, because he grabs my thighs and drags them further apart, then slides a finger through my wetness.
“Mmmm,” he grunts approvingly. “So hot and wet for me already.” He strokes my clit, slow and steady, and my eyes roll back.
“Yes. I’m ready. I can’t wait for you to fuck me,” I moan.
He makes a tsk with a click of his tongue. “You will wait,” he says. “Until I’m ready.”
The pad of his finger is still sliding against my clit, back and forth, up and down, in circles. I can feel my little bundle of nerves flexing against him, almost leaning in to his touch, begging for contact. My hips shift, straining formore: more pressure, more pleasure, more anything.
He continues the steady strokes, and god, they feel so good. Not hard enough to send me over the edge, but enough to build pleasure higher and higher.
Out of nowhere, he pinches my clit, harder than I would have expected, and a mewling sound spills from my lips as wetness gushes out of me. “Ungh,” I grunt.
He chuckles.
My heart is pounding, my breath is sawing out of my lungs, and I’m already starting to see stars.
“Fuuuuuuck,” I moan. “That’s so good.”
“I can’t decide,” he says conversationally, “if I want to let you come on my hand first, or if I want to make you wait and come on my cock.”
“I can do both,” I pant, desperate.
“Oh, I know you can. But your first orgasm with me is special. I have to prove you were right when you were shouting at Braeden. What to do, what to do…”
Even as he pretends to think, he slides a finger inside me, stroking gently, never letting up the pressure on my clit. I drop to my elbows, head resting on the bed, hips pumping against him, groaning.
“If you keep this up, it won’t be up to you,” I warn.
“None of that,” he says. “You will not come until I say you can.”
