When he tilted his h*ps forward, he threw his head back, the muscles of his neck bulging. “My Lanthe!” Then he faced her once more, to gaze at her—with awe.
He was still swelling inside her, much more than she’d expected. Apparently, he was a show-er and a grower. She did her best to stifle a wince. Brave little soldier, and all that.
Lanthe had always thought the term joined was hyperbole in a sexual sense. Now, so much of his body was within hers, she did feel joined to him. If she could just get herself accustomed . . . “Stir yourself in me.”
“Stir?” He circled his hips, grinding against her sensitive clitoris.
“Oh, yes.” Pleasure seared her with the intensity of flames.
A sharp exhalation escaped him. Puh. His expression was thunderstruck.
In the quiet of the night, his heart pounded like a drum. His wings were stretched wide, the pulselines glowing like shooting stars from the diadem above.
His starry eyes, gazing down at her, outshone them all.
He stirred himself again, stretching her, filling her thoroughly. Bliss suffused her, warmth coursing throughout every inch of her. She felt brimming with him, with emotions.
Replete.
But her emotions confused her. Amid the tenderness she felt for him, she also experienced gratitude, relief—and even joy.
With her hands meeting around his nape, she murmured, “Thronos . . .” I’m yours. You’re mine. You confuse me. This confuses me. She hadn’t even orgasmed, and it was the best sex she’d ever had. Never had sex felt like coming home to someone.
Like she was being showered with fate’s gold coins.
He laid his big palm on the side of her face. “I don’t recognize . . . what your expression’s telling me,” he admitted in a gravelly voice. “But I think I like it.”
“I’m trying to tell you a thousand things at once. I’m telling you I’m ready—to be taken by you.” Not only was she accustomed to him; his c*ck now felt so critical that she wondered how she’d survived without it. “I’ll give you anything you need.” Her hands moved to his ass, digging into the flexing muscles. “Do you need to thrust?”
“By all the gods, yes.” He drew his h*ps back, sinking himself more slowly.
Ecstasy surged inside her. Her lids fluttered as she moaned.
Another painstaking thrust. “Is it always like this, Lanthe?”
“Emphatically no.” She couldn’t stop writhing on his hardness, wanting ever more of it. “More, Thronos!”
“The way you move . . . maddening.” He clamped her restless hips, his body driving forward. Then again. Each time he hit the end of her sheath, her clitoris got a shot of delicious stimulation. Her orgasm mounted.
“You’re squeezing me so tight.” His pace quickened. “I can’t hold out!”
“No, don’t come,” she said, feeling her sorcery rising. “I won’t let you.” The air blurred near her lips.
Had she just used her power on him?
He thrust hard, groaning as if in pain. “Lanthe . . .” His skin sheened with sweat, his muscles corded. Just looking at him like this—her steady Vrekener in the throes, a massive warrior about to unleash centuries of need—brought her right to the edge.
She was going to come for this male, and she could almost fear the intensity of the escalating pleasure.
“Need to . . . thrust harder. Can’t go slow.”
“Don’t. Take me as you need to.”
With a groan, he shoved into her body. Again. And again, until he was railing between her legs, to her delight. His hands dipped beneath her, his remaining claws biting into the curves of her ass—a primal sign of possession that sent her spiraling.
So close, so close.
He gave a frustrated yell, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Lanthe, I can’t come.”