Page 38 of Vicious Is My Throne

“We’re not thinking about that tonight, Anaria,” he murmured sternly. “Tonight, we’re not going to worry about anything except me making you feel good. Would you like that?”

“Yes.” I writhed between the cool sheets, needing the friction, needing to feel something against my heated skin. “I would like that, Tristan.” Get in this bed before I combust, please.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. I…We don’t deserve you.” His voice turned ragged as he flipped the last button open and slid his pants off, kicking them to the side before prowling closer to the bed, the breath hissing out of my lungs.

I’d seen Tristan naked plenty of times.

I’d cradled this male against me in a dusty chamber, with not a shred of clothing on. Flown on his back across an entire realm. But this…I swallowed, running my eyes over all that powerful, hard muscle, his cock standing at full attention, face tight with need.

“Decide, Anaria,” he said through sharp, gritted teeth. “Because if you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be able to hold myself back. I want this too fucking much.”

Internally, I purred at the demanding growl in his voice, was already wet between my thighs and he hadn’t even touched me yet. “Yes. A hundred times, yes. I want you, Tristan DeVayne. I want everything from you.” I tossed the covers back, nothing between us now except a towel.

He leaned forward, running his finger between the top edge of the towel and my skin, his fingertip brushing my nipple. My entire body jerked in response, and he lunged, taking my mouth in a fierce, claiming kiss, his tongue sweeping in and erasing every thought in my head.

He tasted like fire. He was fire.

Kissing Tristan DeVayne was like being inside a volcano, pure, burning power flaring through me every time our tongues met.

Then the towel vanished and Tristan rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his weight settling between my thighs. His other hand cupped the back of my head, fingernails digging into my scalp, giving me no quarter, kissing me deeper, his free hand skimming down my side, sliding beneath me to cup my arse and move me further onto the bed.

Tristan broke away, something feral in his expression as he looked down at me. “Fuck, Anaria. I can’t…stop.” Neck straining, he arched back, pressing his cock against me, all that delicious pressure right where I needed him to be.

“I don’t want you to stop.” I put enough challenge into the words his hips swiveled against mine, pressure turning to demand as he shifted his weight, pinning me beneath him. “I want this…”

I reached between us, wrapped my hand around his cock, and pumped his impressive length while he dropped his head into the hollow of my shoulder with a groan.

“I want you inside me.” I dragged my lips up the side of his corded throat but never stopped working him, drinking in every husky, needy groan that came out of his mouth. “I want you fucking me, Tristan. I want to feel every inch of you inside me. Because I’ve been waiting too. Just as long as you have.” He angled his hips, dragging the blunt head of his cock through my drenched folds.

I moaned to the sound of that dark, carnal chuckle before he thrust inside.

In one deep, sure stroke, he slid home until the pressure was too much, too overwhelming for me to take, but he didn’t stop, pushing deeper and deeper until our hips were flush, his hand cradling my head so I stared directly into his eyes.

“Anaria,” he breathed, our chests heaving as one, hearts pounding, hands tangled together.

“I always thought love was too fragile to survive in this world.” Tristan didn’t break our stare as he pulled out, the head of his cock dragging and dragging against me with deliberate, maddening slowness.

“That the world was cruel, and if I ever dared love anyone again, darkness would come and claim them.”

He drove back into me, hard and claiming, his hand squeezing mine. “But now I know that’s a lie I told myself to convince myself I didn’t need to feel ever again. That I didn’t need to trust anyone ever again.”

I skimmed my lips over the scars on his cheek and down his throat, his tendons straining. “You can trust me, Tristan. You can always trust me.”

Tristan’s hips moved against mine, his thrusts slow and deep, head lowered as he looked down the length of my body to where we were joined. I arched up, wanting more. His lips traced my jaw, trailing down my throat in that slow, calculated way.

I realized then Tristan wasn’t taking his time.

He was holding back.

I dug my heels into his arse. Rocked my hips against his but he just pinned me down and kept up that slow, languorous rhythm.

“Our love has survived an eternity.” He lifted his pleasure-blown eyes to mine, the golden rim around his irises glowing like the sun. “We have lost each other and found each other countless times. Our love transcends realms and worlds and even time itself. We are forever, Anaria.”

“Forever,” I repeated before he claimed my mouth again and I lost myself in that wave of wild want, mindless with tumbling need and sensation. I gripped Tristan’s shoulder with my free hand, digging my heels deeper into those tight, flexing muscles.

“Stop holding back. I want you, Tristan. All of you. Wyvern and Fae male and High Lord and whatever else you are. Give me every last piece. Give me everything.”

“Fucking finally,” he growled, and then he unleashed himself on me, plunging in and out, his lips nibbling, teeth scraping and nipping, pinches of sensation and clenching muscles and delicious friction igniting that coiling pressure.

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