Page 105 of Haunted Spurs

"You're shaking," he notes, a fucking lethal, lopsided smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Because of you," I pant, balling my fists in the sheets.

Slowly, Ron glides the glowing brand downward. He brings the red plate, pulsing with heat, to a miserable half-inch from my bare skin. He doesn't touch me. But the thermal wave radiating from that glowing circle is thick, physical, heavy. It's an invisible wall of fire that caresses my skin, making me flush.

He slowly hovers the heat source mid-air, following the line of my stomach, then dragging it lower, lingering cruelly on the crease of my groin and grazing my inner thigh, a breath away from my already soaked core.

I moan shamelessly, arching my back in search of a contact that he denies me.

The extreme heat pulls all my blood to the surface; I feel my skin quiver, tingle, and my slickness flows heavier in response to that burning wave driving me insane.

His gaze never leaves the spot where the red light illuminates my spread legs. He is admiring me with the dark devotion of a fanatic.

"You're gorgeous when you burn for me," he whispers. His voice has dropped another octave. He trails the heat up my side, stopping to let the boiling air pulse right over the high curve of my hip. "And when I'm done, everyone will know who you belong to. Even if this fake brand washes off with water... in your head, it'll stay forever. You will be branded by me, Selene."

His words, so filthy, so damn perfect for my fantasies, make me even wetter. I slide on the mattress, instinctively thrusting my hips upward toward that heat source, silently begging him to stop playing and just take me.

"Brand me, Ron," the plea tears from me in a desperate gasp. "Do it."

The blue of his eyes catches fire.

He adjusts his grip on the handle of the iron, the muscles in his forearm flexing. He leans in closer, his hot breath mixing with the scorching air surrounding my skin.

And then, he does it.

He presses the hot red plate directly against me.

Hiss.

I let out a sharp cry, throwing my head back. The temperature of the plate shocks my senses, an intense, sharp, localized jolt of heat that sets my nerve endings on fire, melting the luminescent red paint against me, marking me.

The pressure of his hand is firm, decisive, possessive.

"Mine," he growls, pressing down one last time before lifting the iron.

I open my eyes, panting, my chest rising and falling in sharp jerks.

On my pale hip glows a blood-red brand. The area still tingles, radiating heat.

Ron looks at it. His breathing grows heavy, ragged. He sees his mark on me and a visceral sound—a mix of primal triumph and pure lust—rips through his throat. He tosses the branding iron aside, sheds whatever is left separating him from me, and lunges onto my body like a starving predator.

His hands grab my thighs, pulling them even wider, opening me up completely beneath him.

"Look at it," he orders, his voice cracking with urgency. "Look at my mark on you, Selly, while I go in."

I look down, obeying, my heart exploding in my ears. I look at the bright redness on my hip. And then I look at his erection, rock-hard, veiny, slick with pre-come, pressing against my wet slit.

With a single, inexorable, endless thrust, Ron penetrates me.

A scream is torn from my throat, but he catches it, leaning forward and crashing his mouth onto mine. The kiss is brutal; it tastes of thirst and dominance. He fills me completely, stretching me, spreading me, erasing every single empty space inside me in a perfect, seamless fit.

It's a dark need. His hips slam against mine, and the wet sound of skin crashing against skin fills the shadows of the room.

His massive, sweat-drenched chest repeatedly collides with my bare breasts, while his hips dictate a ruthless rhythm.

He plants his thumbs right over the red brand he just pressed into me. His fingers grip my flesh, the rough pressure fusing with the lingering heat of the burn.

"Ron... ah... God!" I moan without restraint, my nails digging into his sculpted back, scratching him mercilessly in search of an anchor.