Though he’d wanted to get his first release out of the way, now he realized that would be squandering the experience.
Thronos would endeavor to last—
She began licking back, with light laps of her tongue that made his head swim. Still, he kept the pace slow, lazily teasing her, as if he had all the time in the world. He was rewarded with her seductive moan.
When he grew more aggressive, she murmured against his lips, “Yes, yes.” She laid one palm on his chest, turning it until her fingers were pointed down. Inch by inch, she lowered her hand.
Between the kiss and her touch, he was awash in stimulation. Too much! His member jerked as if to meet her halfway. By the time she reached it, he would release in her palm.
Breaking from the kiss, he collected her wrists, pinning them above her head. Her eyes were glittering, her body trembling—because of him. Him.
In a breathy voice, she said, “Well. You certainly have the hang of it. But don’t you want us to touch each other?”
He bit out an anguished sound. “You have no idea.” He recalled how that Volar had used his wings to stroke the demoness. Gaze locked on Melanthe’s, Thronos began tracing his talon over her collarbone.
Her eyes went wide. “Oh! You’re touching me with your wings?”
“If I put my hands on you . . .”
She seemed to realize his quandary.
“Trust me not to hurt you, Melanthe.”
Gradually, he felt her body relaxing under his exploration.
As he trailed the talon between her br**sts, his need to cup them was overwhelming. He made fists, claws digging into the palms of his hands until blood dripped.
His talon smoothed along the undersides of her br**sts, those perfect, pale globes. They would be a heaven of softness beneath his rough palms.
As he finally skimmed toward one of her ni**les, she shook, arching to him.
Then he scented her arousal. Dear gods. The luscious scent of her sex readying for his length . . .
Nearly put him to his knees.
How much more could he withstand?
TWENTY-SEVEN
Oh, my gold. Just as she’d feared, Thronos had turned irresistible.
His kiss had made her toes curl. He was a natural, which made her wonder what else he’d be a natural at.
Even his exploration of her—weird as it was—was turning her on. The idea of that lethal talon caressing her so gently messed with her mind.
His wings had once been a symbol of her fear. How perverse was she if she got off on this? Maybe she liked perverse?
Her ni**les were pouting for attention—which he seemed determined not to give. Was he never going to put his hands on her? She understood his predicament; he feared coming too quickly. After such a long wait, who could blame him?
Eyes ablaze with lust—and intent—he lowered his wing, circling her navel.
Surely he wouldn’t go lower. “Thronos, wait.” He couldn’t. And, gods, she couldn’t desire him to. . . .
The smooth curve of his talon dipped between her legs.
She might’ve tried to get away, but he had her wrists trapped, her body boxed in.
He began stroking her sex, and it was . . . pleasurable. The talon was firm against her as he eased it back and forth over her needy clitoris.