Page 68 of Tempt

Wonder shouts, her body vaulting upward. Malice growls something against her mouth.

Oh, Fates, he’s inside her. So deep inside her.

She cannot help but rock her hips, demanding more. Without preamble, he obliges, setting a primal, whipping tempo. He churns against her without calculation.

And he moves like a virgin, proving that he’s never done this before—but also giving the impression that he has. Because what Malice lacks in synchronicity, he makes up for in stamina, eagerness, and intuition. He measures the signs rolling across her face and listens to her reactions. Glancing between their flushed bodies, he watches himself disappearing within her, then checks Wonder’s countenance yet again.

She aides him, signaling the depth and angle and cadence that make her whimpers crest. And crest, they do. And because they do, Malice swells even more.

He catches on. His ministrations grow bolder, forging ahead and locating the carnal spots. His backside pumps, whisking his pelvis into her, infusing them both with adrenaline and a flurry of sensation.

Lost in the rapid juts of his body, her mind dissolves.

And that’s when they really get loud.

His groans express awe and artlessness, which fizz in her blood, lacing it like a drug. Wonder shuts her eyes as iridescent lights whirl behind the lids. At this intense rate, she’s going to burst like a star and detonate the galaxy.

Or they’re going to wreck the poor bookcase.

A string of encouraging sounds tumbles from her, though she cannot identify them. All she knows is that Malice likes what he hears.

He grates, “That’s right, Wildflower. Take it from me.”

“Malice,” she mewls. “Keep doing that.”

“What? This?”

When he jabs at a particular spot, she pleads, “Yes. More.”

“How much more? What would you like?”

She cannot answer, not on the brink of a spasm. Constantly, he rushes at that spot, a button that has them chanting. With each punch of his hips, their cries amplify.

It’s hectic, the way he charges into her. And it’s wanton, how she floods him.

Every time she calls his name, in tune to his thrusts, Malice increases the pace. He goes rampant, gets stiffer. It’s as though hearing her like this fuels him.

Wonder seizes his mouth and kisses him, tasting his moans. The thrust of her tongue accentuates the thrust of his waist, working in tandem as they ride each other.

Oh, but he’d better not stop. She’ll pummel him if he does.

It’s not until Malice chuckles huskily that Wonder realizes she has spoken aloud. Glancing at his wicked face, she laughs with him. To find anything funny at a time like this, while on the precipice of climax, stuns her. Their shared humor is winded, partly labored, partly diverted. Only with this misfit can she fathom such a transition.

Just like that, the mirth stutters into restless whimpers as they gyrate across the shelves. Because exertion rather than implausible heat causes deities to sweat, condensation beads across their skin, turning into mist.

At some point, their digits lace overhead. Whereas he’d pegged her to the shelves before, she takes the lead and squeezes his hands, fastening them to her.

Wonder loves the intimate sensation of her breasts pressed into him. She loves discovering a beauty mark on his elbow, the way a single curl flops across his forehead when he moves a certain way, and how exhilarating it is to feel the fine plumes of hair trailing from his abdomen to his pelvis.

She loves knowing that she’s the only one who has ever heard him like this, drained of intellect and malevolence. She loves that he doesn’t care whether she dominates him, or whether he dominates her. She loves her thighs flanking his waist as it revolves into her. She loves how they fit together.

She loves that it’s taking forever to getthere. She loves his impatience.

Malice sucks in a breath. “Come on, Wonder.”

The demon speeds up, pushing them to a cliff’s edge, or to the edge of a planet. Venting in pleasure, Wonder splays her fingers. She lets him go, allowing him to grip her backside and hold her in place, the better to enter her.

Pinioned like this heightens the experience, enabling her to concentrate thoroughly on his thrusts. Blindly, Wonder grapples overhead, her nails embedding into leather anthologies. Once secure, she begins to shout.

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