Page 52 of How Not to Date a Demon

The rough fabric of his pants irritated her skin, but that just made it feel better to move. And she tried, but he only parted his knees more, his tail pulling her legs wider and taking away any power she had.

Galen always suffered so nicely for her. And in those moments, Maeve swore that the next time Galen was in charge she was going to be just as perfect for him.

Well, here was her fucking chance. So she took a deep breath, stilled herself, and waited for Galen like she was supposed to. And finally, finally, Galen brushed the pad of a finger between her wet folds. He hummed, the sound rumbling at her back, an affirmation of sorts, and it fed her need.

He stroked all the way to her core only to spread her arousal around, dragging the sensation back up to her clit. Maeve jerked as he centered all of his attention on that bundle of nerves, teasing her with the crest of pleasure, waiting just until it was within sight, just when her breath was hitching and her eyes were drifting closed, to stop.

Again.

And again.

Until Maeve lost count and was covered in a sheen of sweat and dripping down his fingers and writhing on his lap.

There was something so intimate about trusting someone else with her wants and needs, her pleasure. And something even more intimate in finally letting go, finally submitting to the ease of it all. She could let go with Galen, be as needy or demanding as she wanted, and he was always so good for her in return. Letting Galen see her come apart—really come apart—was what he deserved. Hell, it was the reward he earned for making her feel so fucking good. And dammit, Maeve needed it too, and Galen was the one she trusted to give it to her.

“Please,” Maeve whined. “Hasn’t it been long enough?”

“For what?” he asked.

A shiver danced up her spine as the cold air skated across her skin, and she was still quivering from the almost there and—

“Galen, let me come,” she pleaded, lifting her hands up to loop them around his neck. She brushed her fingers through the short hairs at the back of his neck.

“You do sound pretty sweet when you beg so nicely,” he murmured, voice rocky.

“I can be so much sweeter if you just… Oh…” She trailed off as his hand drifted across her thigh, practically holding her breath.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he promised before laying his hand between her thighs and stroking her clit.

She looped her own fingers to keep from clawing up Galen’s neck and parted her lips, letting out every moan and whine that he drew from her mouth.

It took seconds, if that, for him to center on where she needed him and stroke his middle finger in a repetitive motion. It was constant and perfect, and lightning was gathering across her skin and her lips parted on a cry, silenced by Galen’s hand over her mouth as she came.

It struck, stilling her for a half second as she split apart on the inside, cunt quivering as Galen worked her through it.

Galen removed his hand from her mouth, framing her jaw and tilting her up to him. His lips crashed down on hers as he drank the pleasure straight from her mouth.

He only gave her a breath to recover before he sought to pull another from her.

A finger pressed at her core before he pushed inside. She clenched around him as he surged deeper, pressing down on her stomach with the palm of his other hand while crooking his digit within her. Maeve hadn’t even caught her breath from the first before the second hit. It sizzled across her senses, made her bear down on Galen and shake in his arms.

A sheen of sweat began to chill on her skin, and Galen lifted her up, guiding her to straddle his knee so they were face to face. The threaded material of his jeans was coarse against her sensitive flesh, but the pressure was the loveliest friction.

“Ride me,” he demanded.

Or not.

Maeve wasn’t in the headspace to question him, so she palmed his shoulders, and he steadied her around the waist.

And Maeve chased her own goddamn orgasm on Galen’s thigh, rocking back and forth until the overstimulation became exactly what she needed. Just as her well-earned orgasm was cresting over the horizon, Galen lifted her away from his thigh, from the friction she needed.

“Wait—fuck you,” she growled, grabbing at his shoulders and clawing because using words to say she needed was too difficult.

“I know,” Galen purred sweetly. But she didn’t want sweet.

She was desperate and she needed—

“Yes!” she shouted as Galen finally got it right and slid first one, and with her desperate moan, two fingers inside her. She rocked her hips on him, rutted against his hand because he’d said, “Ride me,” in that irresistible voice, and her thighs were already shaky, and she silently begged him not to pull away again.