Page 122 of The Bonds of Indigo

His chest, inked with tattoos, is as cut and defined as the sharp V of his hipbones. They draw the eyes down, begging to be followed. I may not be looking now, but I definitely peeked earlier.

I catch movement at the corner of my eye, and my gaze drifts downward just in time to watch him unhook the singular barrier keeping us from being fully bare to each other.

“You’re quite stuck with me,” he rumbles. “And… if you keep looking at me like that, Amarah, I’ll combust.”

The towel hits the floor with a soft thud, and I actually gasp.

For a man his stature, I wasn’t expecting small, but the shock that ripples through me has nothing to do with his size. It’s not the network of veins snaking along his cock, or the sharply defined, utterly delicious head. It’s not even the piercings. Though the vertical bar through the top and the horizontal one beneath it have my mouth watering.

No.

This motherfucker has a tattoo on his dick.

Alright—not the whole thing, but still.

The Medusa sprawled across his abdomen extends down onto his groin, one of the serpents winding its tail around the base of his cock like it owns that piece of him.

“It was a dare.” He sounds so proud of that.

“And you just had to prove you were capable, didn’t you?”

He chuckles. “You know it. Plus, people usually turn to stone when they see what’s coming.”

“Gods… you’re so full of yourself.” My voice comes out low, and embarrassingly needy.

“Fuck…” he groans, deep and pleased. “You’re going to beg so good for me, Amarah.”

And then he’s on his knees in front of me before I can even breathe.

“But first I’m going to worship your pussy and begin leaving my mark on what’s mine.”

His hands clamp around my thighs and in one rough pull he drags me to the very edge of the bed. My gasp immediately transforms into a moan as his face is buried into my pussy.

It’s not only my stomach that lights on fire, but my chest, right where the indigo thread of the bond is at its strongest. Pleasure vibrates right from my clit and wraps right around my hips, and I’m already seeing stars.

I’ve not experienced immediate bliss like this from stimulation other than from myself before the night of Emethye. His tongue flattens against my sensitive bud and applies just the perfect amount of pressure to make me twitch. Then he flicks it from left to right, and as though some magnetic pull takes over, my hips lift and the small of my back curves off the mattress.

He growls so viciously it’s like he’s the one receiving pleasure, not me. It’s followed by him lowering and shoving his thick tongue right into my center.

The surprise tears a gasp out of me and I immediately clench, my hands flying to his hair—to push him away? To pull him closer? I have no fucking clue.

The sensation is so overwhelming, but not bad, especially when he curls his tongue and drags it along my upper wall.

“Oh my God, please.”

“Do not call to Vendra while I tongue-fuck you, little slayer.”

He tightens his grip on my legs and drags me so hard against his face I worry for a heartbeat, that he’s going to suffocate.

But then I remember he doesn’t need to breathe.

That extra inch he pushes in, the way his tongue brushes that sensitive place inside me—it sends me writhing. I’m caught between whimpering and gasping.

His own groan vibrates my pussy.

“Kayn.” My voice is blissed out. A mere breath of his name.

He pulls back just enough for me to see his lips slick with my arousal. I barely have time to admire the shine coating his beard before he flips me onto my stomach.