Page 79 of Cursed Shadows 1

I slip it from his fingers—and the moment our skin touches, a flurried sensation runs up my chest.

For a beat, I do nothing but watch him—and his eyes burn into mine.

He reaches for my calves. The stockings that cover them are damp, too damp, and I might get a cold, but I hardly feel anything. I felt nothing at all when I first came to the tower. Then he found me, stirred a sense in me, but I was still numb.

Now, I feel.

I feel everything.

I’m trained to his touch. No other male can satisfy me as he can—and the tickling sensation at my core is calling to him.

His hands are firm on my calves as he lifts them from the ground and spreads them wide. He makes space for himself to kneel between my legs.

I don’t smoke the rolled stalk, I just let my arms fall limp at my sides.

His gaze finally unhooks from mine. He looks down at the hem of my skirt, the one that shields my heat from him. And then he moves for it, draping my legs over his shoulders.

A gasp escapes me.

The fullness of his mouth grazes the thin strip of cotton that shields my core from him. He presses a kiss there, one firm enough that I feel it through the fabric, I feel it push against the wetness of my slit.

Slowly, I loosen a relaxed breath and my mind turns to mush.

Teeth baring against me, he drags a gentle bite over my mound. My gasp hitches into a breathy moan, one that’s sound is sure to be carried away by the noise of the raindrops hitting the tower, smacking off cushions and disturbing the strewn about empty bottles.

Without drawing away, Daxeel reaches his hand to my underwear. He slips a finger around the strip and tugs it to the side.

The cool touch of his finger has my toes flexing.

Faintly, I’m aware of the valerian slipping out of my damp fingers and falling to the stone. It’s doused as it falls, the rain now pelting down on us, forming little puddles all around us.

The rain doesn’t exist to Daxeel in this moment.

It’smehe’s interested in.

He considers that spot between my thighs for a second, two seconds, three—then, with a throaty sound—his tongue flicks out against my warmth. That one, desperate flick, and he steals away the flavour of my wetness, gathered at my slit.

It’s more than the sensations that melt me. It’s that they are fromhim. My one, my dark male, my beloved and all. The one who hates me so much that I sometimes let myself doubt if he would ever touch me like this again,kissme like this.

Kiss me, he does.

His hands find the meat of my hips and hold, firm. His mouth is hot on my cunt, focused only on the slit. His tongue is soft as it glides along my wetness, curls just beneath the hum of my clit, then flicks back down again.

Deep inside, I’m aching for him. A true ache, one that comes with an edge of pain, like if he doesn’t shove his way into me now, I might just force my way onto him.

But the thrill in my clit rings just as loud throughout me, and his lazy ministrations at my opening are driving me mad.

I want it all.

I want everything.

A grunt jolts me as I make to squirm against his face, angle his mouth to my clit, where I ache for him to take me in his lips.

He growls something of a warning against my core, his hands snatching up at my waist. He clutches my waist, hard enough to spring fingerprint bruises on my flesh, and holds me in place.

It’s not just his dark male nature that demands my submission, but the fragments of his anger at me. I know he feels it still, but it’s buried beneath desire, need, affection—and the control I understand he must be clutching onto as tightly as he holds me.

So I stay still.

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