Pretty Perfect Toy - Angel Payne Page 0,56

pearl with his engorged crown. The heat of his pre-ejaculate blends with my aroused cream, swirling an aphrodisiac scent between our slick bodies. “I saw it on your face, favori…every time we saw each other again. In the way your eyes changed, turning from daylight to midnight…so goddamn beautiful…”

I grip into the flexed tension of his shoulders. Fit my face into the muscled column of his neck. “And I saw it on your face. The tension in your jaw. The way the very air changed around you…”

“Because it did. The way I wanted you…the intensity it reached…it was a fucking cosmic shift.” His chest churns with a harsh breath. “Christ, Ella. It still is.” He grips me harder. Dictates the rhythm of our bodies, making my slit ride his shaft at a torturously slow pace. But I do not fight him. The effort would get me nowhere. I concentrate instead on the power beneath his movements…the strength, like twisted steel, of his solid will, his corded body. I let it flow through me too, the physical high becoming a spiritual rush, rocketing my mind and soul as it twists into every fiber of my clenching, convulsing sex. “You change my atmosphere, sorceress. You are my atmosphere.”

His words pull tears to my eyes. Bring my face around so I can suck in breaths that are filled with his too. We gasp and hover and tease, the inches between our mouths like the anticipation between our bodies. I am heavy against him…around him. Mewling as he lifts me a little higher, working the edges of my entrance against his hot tip. Gasping as he teases back, shuttling through my wet folds instead. Dear powers that be, how can he keep doing this? Where is his self-control coming from? When the man is determined, even horse-strength painkillers cannot keep him down. Literally.

I angle back a little. Splay fingers through his stubble, bracing the elegant line of his cheek before rasping, “I love you so much, Cassian.”

His smile transforms into something different. An expression I cannot identify, nor remember ever seeing on his face before. It is…vehement. Almost violent. It terrifies me. Penetrates me.

Right before his body does.

I cry out, stretched and blazed and full of him. Every nerve of my intimate channel is turned into throbbing, thundering sensation—then dissolved into nothing, as he pierces more than just my sex. He permeates my being. Ravages every inhibition and fear, splitting me open, burned alive from the inside out.

“Faisi vive Créacu!”

“Ella. Fuck.”

“Yes.” It is all I can blurt in English now, unable to wrap my mind around the extra step of translation. I let the stream of Arcadian come, gasping words both flirty and filthy against his lips as he digs fingers into my waist, forcing my flesh to take more of his. He is so deep. So huge. So hot and perfect inside me. “Yes!”

“Maybe this is the secret I’ll spill to Chantal tomorrow.” His gaze is as sultry as his voice. “You think I should tell everyone how wet this cunt gets for me? How tight these walls grip my cock, milking the come straight up from my balls?”

I gasp and throw my head back, letting him trail the words down my neck, into the valley between my exposed, erect breasts. The cocksure bonsun. He does not mean a word of the threat, but knows just the idea of it makes me hotter and wetter for him by the minute. And Creator’s toes, how I love every word he uses to phrase it.

“Should I tell everyone in that studio how you like to whimper for me, Ella? How sweet your tits get when you do? How they harden exactly like your clit as you beg me more and more for completion?”

“Cassian.” His litany has turned me delirious and wanton. I readily obey the furious pace he sets now, pumping up and down his incredible shaft, rejoicing in the clench of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes, blatant betrayals of how he will not be able to hold on much longer either.

“Good girl.” He flashes his teeth, lending a new layer to my arousal. He looks hungry. Starving. “My sweet, good girl. Beg me for it, armeau. Beg me to give it to you.”

“Yes,” I gasp. “I—I need it, Cassian. Hard and deep and—” I whine, unable to find the English anymore. “Ardui,” I plead. “Faisi-bana-ardu. Joula-bana. Plait. Plait!”

His lips peel back with a full snarl. “Goddamn. Yeah.” Though unintentional, my native