Page 35 of Ravished By the Revenant

“I have waited centuries.” He’s already carrying me through the doorway, his stride devouring the distance to the bed, his one dark eye and one burning shard both fixed on me hungrily. “The bedding will survive. I make no such promises about you.”

He drops me onto the mattress, wet and gasping, and follows me down.

The mattress dips under his weight, and then he’s over me, a wall of scarred muscle and blue light.

“Look at me.” His hand cradles my jaw. “I want your eyes when I take you apart.”

“Bold words from a man who lasted four minutes in my mouth.”

“Insolent.” His mouth crashes into mine, swallowing my laugh, and his hand slides down my body—over my cum-slicked breast, across my stomach—and cups me between my thighs. “Let us see how long you last.”

One thick finger drags through my folds, and my hips buck off the bed.

“Soaked.” He sounds drunk. “The bath does not make a woman slick like this, Clara. This is for me.”

“Don’t let it go to your—oh god.”

His finger sinks into me. Just one, and I already feel stretched, because his hands are enormous, warlord hands, hands built for broadswords, and now one of them is curling inside me and finding a spot that makes me boneless.

“There she is,” he murmurs against my throat. “There is my little intruder.”

A second finger joins the first, and I whine, actually whine, clawing at his shoulders while he works me open with a patience that feels a bit cruel. His thumb circles my clit. His teeth graze my collarbone. His fingers scissor and stretch and stroke that spot again, again, again⁠—

“Aldric—”

“I know.” His voice is a low, satisfied rumble. “Give it to me.”

I shatter. My whole body seizes, clenching around his fingers in waves so hard he hisses through his teeth like I’ve burned him.

“By the saints.” His forehead drops to mine, and his fingers stay buried in me, riding out every pulse. “Do you feel that? How you grip me? I cannot wait to feel that on my cock.” He kisses me, filthy and slow. “And I will. Several times. As many times as this beautiful body can produce before you lose consciousness.”

“That’s not—” I’m still shaking. “That’s not a real goal.”

“It is now.”

He withdraws his fingers, settles between my thighs, and notches the broad head of his cock against me. The first barbell is cool at my entrance, and my breath goes thin.

“Aldric.” I bite my lip. “Real talk. That’s not going to fit.”

“Most of it will.” He says it like a promise and a threat at the same time. “Breathe for me.”

He pushes in.

There’s no word for the stretch. My mouth opens on a soundless moan as he sinks into me inch by relentless inch, splitting me open around his girth, the piercings dragging along my inner walls one cold rung at a time. My nails sink into his forearms. He watches my face the entire time, jaw clenched, the shard in his eye socket flaring.

He stops. There’s still a fist’s worth of him outside me, glistening, pressed against my mound. He doesn’t seem remotely bothered.

“Look at you.” He sounds like he’s hardly able to hold himself back. “Stuffed full and still hungry. I can feel your heartbeat around my cock, Clara. Warm. Alive. It’s been so—” Aldric breaks off, breathing hard, and presses his lips to my temple with a tenderness that doesn’t match anything else happening to my body. “Tell me when.”

I flex around him experimentally, and we both groan.

“When,” I gasp. “When, now, when⁠—”

He pulls back and drives home.

The piercings rake over my walls on every stroke, a ladder of sensation my nervous system was never designed to survive, and the part of him that doesn’t fit grinds against my clit each time he pushes in as far as he can. It’s a rigged game. It’s an unwinnable, rigged, magnificent game.

“Centuries,” he growls into my neck, thrusting deep and slow, savoring. “Centuries of stone and silence, and now this. This tight, perfect, dripping—” He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips. “You were made to take me. Say it.”