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He grips his cock in his other hand, timing each pump with the curl of his fingers inside me. The contrast is dizzying—his control, my unraveling. Sweat pearls along my skin, and my hair clings to the back of my neck. My shoulders ache and my wrists burn as my hips rise to meet every thrust of his fingers.

I’m so close⁠—

And he knows it.

His mouth replaces his fingers. Tongue and teeth work in tandem to summon forth unspeakable pleasure. A slow lick, a brutal nip, tender sucking, one right after the other. Coaxing me closer and closer to the edge. I’m panting, gasping, writhing beneath him.

“Riven—”

“Ready to come on my cock, little witch?” His voice is a hungry growl, breath hot against my center. He leans back, shifting his weight and positioning himself between my legs. “Or do you want a little bit of pain first?”

He slaps my core with his cock. I jolt, the sound wet and crude.

Filthy.

Divine.

I feel it everywhere—between my legs, throughout my chest, in the heat pulsing beneath my skin.

“Please,” I beg, strung so tight I’m whimpering with need. “Please, Riven.”

He glides his tip through my slick, groaning, and leans over me, untying my wrists and tossing the ribbon away.

With my hands free, I touch him. His soft hair. The pointed arch of his ears. His perfectly angled jaw. The ink staining his chest and biceps. The plains of his abdomen, hard and solid. I take my time, slow in my exploration. My fingers summon forth gooseflesh. I touch that too.

“Gwyn,” he grits, holding still above me. “If you don’t guide me inside you right the fuck now, I might die.”

I reach between us, wrapping my hand around him. I pump him, keeping his cadence from earlier. He arches, baring his teeth. His breath saws out of him as I line him up, thick and hot at my entrance.

He thrusts inside me.

So big. So hard.

So much better than anything I ever imagined in this bed.

I’m drenched, a sweat-slick mess, trembling beneath him as he slams every inch into my tight warmth. He dips his head and captures my breast in his mouth, his bite a blissful shock of pain as I clench around him. His rhythm is savage, a pounding more brutal than war drums.

I meet him stroke for stroke.

His mouth moves up from my breast to my neck, and he drags his tongue along my scar, lavishing it, worshiping it like he’s grateful for it, for the proof that I’m alive, that I’m real.

Release barrels into me so fast that I forget everything—my name, why I was ever afraid to bare that part of my soul to him, how to fucking breathe.

“Look at you, little witch,” he coaxes, ramming into me, balls slapping against me with every thrust. “All mine.”

The next snap of his hips sends us both over the edge.

I clamp around him as he pulses, spilling every last drop inside me.

Wood cracks and collapses with a groan, the mattress crashing to the floor with an unforgiving thump.

Riven laughs, holding me close. “I can’t say that’s ever happened before.”

“I did warn you.”

“Fortunately,” he drawls, “I’m not one to heed warnings from the wicked.”

I groan, hiding my face with my hands. “I hate that wretched book.”