Page 117 of Bound to the Dreadlord

Her lips press together, but she does not falter. “Are you afraid of me now?”

The words dig beneath my skin, sink deep into my chest where nothing should reach. No one should reach.

I do not answer.

Her expression hardens. She steps closer, slow, deliberate. The crackling fire casts her in molten light, and I should move—I should step back, push her away. But I don’t.

Her hand grazes my chest, and even though it’s just a whisper of contact, it feels like a brand. A spark of heat that ignites something primal deep within me.

My cock twitches in response, already hardening at the mere suggestion of her touch. The dagger slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor, forgotten.

Her lips part, a sly smile playing at the edges, her eyes dark and smoldering with a challenge that sets my blood on fire. There’s defiance there, yes, but also something wilder, something that makes my pulse race.

“Prove it,” she whispers, her voice low and dripping with temptation.

It’s not magic, not this time. But it doesn’t need to be. Her words alone are enough to unravel me.

I close the distance between us in a heartbeat, my hands gripping her waist, pressing her back against the wooden table. She gasps—not in fear, never fear—but in a way that makes my cock ache with need.

Her pussy is already a furnace, and I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric separating us.

She doesn’t yield. She pushes back, her hands sliding up my chest, fingers gripping, nails digging into my skin. It’s not submission.

It’s a battle, a dance, and she’s every bit as dangerous as I am.

Her breath is hot against my lips, her voice a taunt. “You always take what you want.”

I growl, my voice rough and raw. “You think this is me taking? No, little siren. This is you begging.”

Her eyes flash, and she tilts her chin up, daring me. “Then take it.”

That’s all the permission I need.

I crush my mouth to hers, and she meets me with equal ferocity. There’s nothing soft about this, nothing gentle. Her teeth sink into my lower lip, and I groan, my hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer.

She moans into my mouth, her hips grinding against mine, and I can feel how wet she is, how ready.

The table creaks beneath us as I press her harder against it, my cock straining against the confines of my pants. I need her. Now.

I fumble with the buttons of her pants, my fingers trembling with urgency. She helps me, her hands just as desperate, just as hungry. Her pants fall to the floor, and I slide my hand between her thighs, finding her pussy slick and throbbing.

She gasps, her head falling back as I stroke her, my fingers sliding through her wetness, teasing her clit.

“So wet, so ready for me, little siren,” I groan, almost going crazy. I press on the clit and she shivers, her fingers pulling on my hair.

“Fuck,” she breathes, and her boady arches even more. “Yes!”

I don’t wait. I can’t.

I push her panties aside and guide my cock to her entrance, the tip pressing against her soaked folds. She’s tight, so fucking tight, and when I push inside her, she lets out a cry that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to my core.

She’s mine. All mine.

I thrust into her, hard and deep, and she meets me with equal force, her hips rocking against mine. Her pussy clenches around me, and I see stars exploding. She’s everywhere—her scent, her taste, the sound of her moans filling the room.

I grip her hips, slamming into her again and again, each thrust driving us both closer to the edge. Her nails rake down my back, and I growl, my pace quickening.

I turn her around, her back facing me so I can move faster. Rawer. Harder. Deeper.

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