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Rowan knelt in front of Azaiel and took him into her mouth. She smiled at the strangled sound he made, and when his fisted hands loosened and crept into her hair she was exhilarated by the power she felt.
She was swollen with need, her sex throbbing with an ache only Azaiel could assuage, but first, she wanted to pleasure her man. To give him something to remember her by.
She licked and suckled and massaged until his hips jerked in tandem with her motions, and when he swore, when he lifted her away she smiled wickedly, knowing how close to the edge she’d taken him.
His eyes had turned fully black, and he looked like the fierce warrior he was. His dark blond hair was plastered to his skull, and the feral look in his eyes touched something inside her. He pulled her upward and claimed her mouth once more, his hands on her breasts, kneading, tugging, and teasing until whimpers fell from her, one after the other. His tongue probed deeply as did his fingers, and when he found her hot, wet, center and plunged two long digits deep inside his kiss swallowed a scream.
He stretched and fingered, and her hips jerked, hard, as he touched that spot so deep inside—the one that controlled her pleasure. He smiled against her, cajoling an orgasm and murmuring words she didn’t understand.
Azaiel tore his mouth away and whispered hoarsely, “Come for me, Rowan. Only for me.”
How could she not? Rowan clutched at him as her stomach contracted, and the ache inside her womb
expanded, stretched to the limit by his insanely talented fingers. She then shuddered. Once. Twice. And still he held her gaze.
The glow of her orgasm had barely registered when he began to pleasure her in earnest. His hands were all over her body. Long, soapy fingers swooped over her waist, her hips, and down her thighs. He massaged every inch of her flesh, lingering near her butt, and she blushed when she thought of what he’d done to her in the clearing. Of how wonderful he’d made her feel.
When he shampooed her hair, massaged her scalp, every single nerve and cell in her body was on fire. Trembling. Aching with desire.
Her chest was tight, and for some silly reason she felt like crying again. She took a moment, but when she glanced back her soul was reflected in his eyes, and their connection solidified in a way she’d not felt before.
He was hers. And she was his.
Azaiel lifted her—he kissed her again, a tender, lingering kiss that made her dizzy. He moved until she rested against the warm tiles of the shower, and his eyes held her as he adjusted her in his embrace and slowly sank his long length deep inside her.
“Oh Azaiel,” she whispered, biting her lip as he pulled out, then slowly entered her again. He filled her completely, stretching her walls and hitting that spot—that special fucking spot—as he did so.
She strained against him, the ache so fierce that her body was flush with the heat of it.
“No,” he said softly. “Let me love you slowly.” He kissed her nose, thrust again, and was rewarded with a sob. “And thoroughly.” He kissed the sensitive area under her ear, thrust again, and growled as she cried out. “But keep your eyes on me,” he warned.
Rowan gazed at him, helpless to do anything else as he held her hips in place and rocked into her with a motion that left her breathless. This was to be a slow, seductive loving, and she’d have it no other way.
“Watch me, Rowan.” His voice was hoarse, and he increased the rhythm slightly, his white teeth flashing as he growled fiercely. “I want to see you come. Understand?”
She nodded. Oh God. How could she look anywhere else? In that moment he was everything to her. He filled her completely—her mind, her body . . . her soul.
Her arms trailed down his back, and she cupped his hard ass as he slowly, methodically filled her with each controlled thrust. Yet his muscles bulged, and she knew what it cost him to prolong their pleasure. He was riding as close to the edge as she.
When he captured a turgid nipple in his mouth and suckled, tugged, and teased, she thought she was going to lose it. Rowan wriggled her hips and dug her fingers into his shoulders, urging him on, but he licked her nipple and gazed into her eyes once more, a wicked grin on his face as he continued to screw her slowly and thoroughly.
“I want it faster,” she begged.
Her shoulders dug into the tiles as he pushed into her. “Manners, Rowan.”
“What?” He was inside her, the long length of him settled against the tight walls of her vagina. Azaiel rolled his hips, and she gasped at the riot of sensation that ran through her.
The veins on the side of his neck bulged, the lines smooth and glistening beneath the relentless hot spray of water. Azaiel rocked into her again, and again, with slow, controlled precision, his handsome face fierce as he gazed into her eyes. “Ask. Me. Nicely,” he managed to say before claiming her other nipple.
Rowan let him ease out of her for the last time, and when he slid inside she anchored her right leg against his while her left hugged his hip. She leaned backward so that she could see where they were joined, and looked up at him, her mind filled with the erotic images of their bodies intertwined.
“Faster, please,” she gasped.
Their gazes locked, and Azaiel obliged, with harder thrusts that electrified with every deep stroke. The ball of energy inside, the one filled with sensation and passion, unfurled and spread liquid heat throughout her body. And as they rushed toward the pinnacle of their joining, as their bodies strained and rocked together, she knew she’d found the place she wanted to be for the rest of her life.
With him. With this man. Warrior. Angel.
But did he want her?
