Pure Destiny (PureDark Ones #12) - Aja James Page 0,9

it too, the thick brand of him beneath her, growing incredibly harder by the second.

Pulsing. Throbbing. Seeking. Needing.

Need her. Need her. Need her.

A primal, animalistic urge pounded through him, charging his veins, making them raise like tree roots against his skin.

He tried to move, instinctively reaching for her.

And that was when he realized that he couldn’t.

He was completely immobilized. Though he felt all of his limbs, and he could wiggle his toes and clench and unclench his fists, nothing else obeyed him. He was strapped down on a padded, flat surface, his arms pulled away from his sides, though not uncomfortably. His legs also spread apart, though not too wide.

He raised his head as far off the table as he could and looked down at himself.

He was naked but for the small towel over his groin. Bound by fine, silvery silk that tightened mercilessly when he tried to move.

He pulled against the intricate shackles to test them. There was no give. Like unforgiving, sinuous, smooth steel, completely conforming to his skin.

Weak. Injured. Trapped.

His body in agony, though his mind compartmentalized the sensation efficiently to avoid being distracted by the pain.

He was useless like this.

He could not carry out his orders.

He had to heal and get stronger first.

All of these deductions he arrived at in rapid succession. Objective. Unfeeling. Matter-of-fact.

He lay his head back down and looked up into the female’s face again.

Sophia.

The name meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him. Just a body that his body reacted to. Something he physically needed.

She was his key to getting stronger.

She still looked concerned, but the pulse fluttering on the side of her neck had calmed a bit.

He didn’t like that she was so far away from him. He missed the heat of her nearness. He wanted to feel the satin of her naked skin upon his naked skin.

Need her. Need her. Need her.

“Cold,” he rasped low, his voice gravelly from lack of use.

Immediately, she lowered her torso down to his, her soft breasts grazing his chest, as she braced her upper body on forearms on either side of his head.

“Better?” she murmured, still speaking in little more than a whisper, as if she was coaxing a wild beast.

He did feel better. The moment more of her body touched his, he felt stronger. Even the pain of his wounds felt somewhat diffused.

The most insistent ache was now in his groin, where her core continued to warm and wet him through the thin towel.

He needed her there.

Instinctively, he shifted his hips a bit, as much as the restraints across his thighs allowed.

She huffed a gasp against his face as she continued to stare down at him. He could see her pupils dilate.

It was arousal he saw in those ever-expanding black pools. Not fear. He could distinguish the difference. And arousal meant that she wouldn’t run away. She’d want to get closer.

He could work with that.

He shifted his hips again, this time raising them as much as he could on an upward undulation, rubbing his turgid length along her core, bunching the towel askew.

She moaned against his mouth as her lower body ground down upon him, whether on reflex, a simple reaction to his action, or to keep him still, he didn’t know. Didn’t care.

It felt good.

Despite the agony everywhere else, there, in the root of him, where he was male, he felt unutterably good.

“More,” he growled, his voice guttural like an animal stripped down to its most basic instincts, the word almost incomprehensible to his own ears.

But she must have understood him, because she ground down upon him once more, shifting the towel further, until her weeping wet core blanketed his most sensitive flesh.

His eyelids lowered of their own volition, and his jaw clenched until the bones creaked in protest.

Gods, that feeling. It made him ravenous.

The slippery, silky heat upon his cock, making his member jump and pulse. Making him leak fluids of his own through the swollen head, adding to her wetness, melding their skin together.

If he were an animal in truth, he would overpower this female, bite her neck and hold her down beneath him, rutting into her with one long thrust. He’d pump his hips until he found release. He’d fill her with seed, and start all over again. Because once wouldn’t satisfy the beast within.

He’d rut until he was drained of every drop. Until his cream overflowed her channel, and his scent infused into every inch of her skin. It would probably take hours, because he felt like