Her lips coursed over his shoulder. Her tongue licked over his collarbone, her taste buds going wild at the heady flavor of him. Perspiration and male excitement. It was rich, spicy, earthy. And she was addicted.
She licked at the flat, hard male ni**les and felt him arch to her, felt his hands grip the thick strands of her hair, heard his snarl of impatience and let a smile curl her lips as she lifted her eyes and licked her way down his stomach.
“Coya,” he groaned. “My coya.”
“Your coya.” It was a promise, a vow.
His teeth clenched, the sight of the savage, curved canines at the side of his mouth only intensifying the visual pleasure.
She licked, lowered herself, sprawled between his thighs and let a hungry moan pass her lips. His c**k stretched from between his thighs to his lower abdomen, thick and powerful, engorged and iron-hard.
The heavy crown was flushed, beaded and damp with pr**cum, awaiting her tongue. She licked over it, and approved his taste with heavy sounds of delicious pleasure. She licked down the shaft, ignoring the hands in her hair, urging her to return to the sensitive crest. She licked down to the tight, throbbing sac below the shaft, where she played.
Running her tongue over the smooth, hairless flesh she dampened it, then parted her lips and sucked delicately at first one side, then the other. His groans, the low, graveled growls, filled the room.
“My alpha,” she whispered as she moved back up the wide shaft. “My mate.”
And she accepted. There was no escape, because in her heart, she had no desire to escape. In her heart, where she had hid the dreams, the memories, the wants and the pain of loss, he had always been hers.
“Yours,” he snarled. “Now f**k me. Lose your control, Anya, because God help us if I lose mine.”
She smiled, licked over his c**k head, then drew it into her mouth.
Yes, that was what she wanted. No control. Not his, not hers. Just them, together, flying out of control and loving every minute of it.
“Anya, don’t tempt this,” he ordered, commanded. He was so good with that commanding tone that she shivered at the promise of the retribution his gaze held.
She sucked him into her mouth, flattened her tongue and rubbed, sucked, milked the sensitive crest with her mouth. She lifted her lips slowly, let him watch as her tongue swirled over the head and she watched his eyes. She watched the wildness fill them, felt it fill her.
She had been born for this. Born to touch this man, to steal his control, to lose hers. Born to be his mate.
“No, Anya.” His hands pulled harder at her hair. When that didn’t work, they pressed under her arms, lifting her until she let her teeth bear down on the tight flesh.
He paused, stared down at her, his expression agonized.
“It will be like the first time,” he snarled. “Do you hear me? Like the animal I am.”
No, like the man he was, the glorious male creature that filled her fantasies and sent a rush of need through her, no matter the circumstances.
She let her lips grip him tighter, not in pain, but in warning, until his hands moved from her and gripped the sheets beneath him instead. His eyes glowed with acceptance, and with concern. His expression was savage, honed, flushed with lust.
She sucked him deeper, though the width of his c**k made it impossible to accept much more than the brutally flared crest into her mouth.
He was delicious. A small spurt of pr**cum filled her mouth, and she relished it. Minutes later another. Del-Rey’s neck was arched, the veins standing out clearly on it, just as they did on his cock.
Another spurt, and she had only seconds to enjoy that taste before he moved. There was no chance to react before he was dragging her up his body, beginning to turn.
Her thighs clamped on his, her hips lowered, the slick, wet folds of her sex rubbing against the hardened shaft as he suddenly stilled.
The warning growl that filled the air had her smiling as she pressed her palms flat against his chest, slid her hips up until the tip of his c**k was poised at the entrance to the desperate, hungry depths of her body.
“I take you,” she whispered. “For my mate.”
She pressed down, a whimper of ecstasy leaving her throat as the head pressed inside her, stretched her, opened her.
“My coya!” It was a snarl, a demand. His hands gripped her hips, his thighs bunched, and Anya screamed with the pleasure as he thrust inside her. Heavy, hard undulations of his hips had him buried inside her in three hard strokes, and he didn’t stop.
This was supposed to be her ride, she thought hazily. And she was riding, tossing, writhing above him as he lost the control she had felt chaining him before and gave her all of himself. Not just every hard inch of his cock, but his control, his sense of self, and the power of his hunger.