Page 18 of Cursed Shadows 2

I hiss at the thud of it on my face.

His eyes are dark and aimed down at me. Drunk with a dangerous need to consume and devour me.

His inked hand comes around the base of his thick shaft. He could easily wrap another hand around the end. I almost let myself blanch.

But I don’t draw back from the challenge.

Not even as he guides it aside slightly, then releases. It hits my face again. A small smear of his early seed paints my cheek.

My mouth twists with a silent snarl I aim up at him. But the only growl to come is from deep in his chest, fuelled by lust and warning.

My lips part around words, grazing the edge of his cock, “Does this come with rules and warnings?” I speak of our first intimate moment beneath the willows.

In answer, he grabs his shaft and drags its tip along my cheekbone. He’s silent as he aligns it, pushes the head of his cock against my parted lips.

My teeth block it from entering and I just glower up at him.

“It doesn’t,” he says, and the roughness of his voice isn’t lost on me. “I no longer care to keep from frightening you.”

Now that’s a lie.

Even now, I watch the candlelight flicker warm hues over his honeyed chest, and it’s as clear to me as the cock in myface. How his muscles are bolted to his bones, how he fights to restrain himself.

“Now,” he drawls something husky that shudders up his chest, “open your fucking mouth.”

The bargain bolts through me.

And my mouth parts against the added pressure against my teeth. The salt of his early arousal smears my upper lip as he slowly pushes his way in.

All it takes is the warmth of my mouth around his cock, the slick touch of my tongue gliding along the underside—that’s all it takes for him to shatter.

Whatever scraps of patience he’s been holding onto, they have drained through his fingers like a fistful of sand. An urgent need courses through him, and with it, he’s shoving into me.

His hand fists into my hair at the back of my head, gripped tight, and with a step forward, he thrusts firm enough to guide me against the wardrobe.

I frown against him, feeling his length glide down my throat, but I only realize the reason for his move when, above me, his other hand smacks down on the wood door of the wardrobe—and he grunts something desperate.

He needs something to lean on, and I fight the smile aching to form around his cock. Without that wardrobe to lean on, to pierce his nails into, to shove my back against, then I suspect he might fall to his knees for me.

It spurs me on, it soaks me endlessly.

But I forget my own pleasure and help him chase his.

I need him to want me more than air, than food, than sleep—than anything he survives on.

Damp from all my gathered arousal, I lift my hand to the base of his shaft—where his hand is still fisted, as though he controls how much he’s choking me with.

Leaning my head back against the wardrobe, I blink up at him, snaring a naivety into my gaze. His lashes lower over gleaming eyes, his own personal glowjars in the shadows, and the battle he wages against his nearing climax is in the glisten of his brow, the twist of his mouth, the tension bolting hismuscles to his chest.

Still, I guide his fingers away from his cock, then let my own slide over the smooth skin—and feeling the wetness from my cunt slicking over his cock draws out a guttural moan from his chest.

A moan.

That’s my cue.

Firming my grip, I tilt my chin up and yank him closer.

He follows with a hard jolt that smacks my spine against the wardrobe. His cock plunges down my throat, and that moan of his weakens, like it’s whispering out of him now.

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