Page 23 of Cursed Shadows 2

My scent.

The tip of his nose grazes along my temple before slipping into the mess of my unbrushed hair, hair he had his hand fisted in as he fucked my mouth. I wonder if that’s what he’s inspecting, how much of his scent he got on me.

Apparently enough, because a satisfied sound rumbles in his throat like a curt hum, and he shoves away from me.

From hooded eyes, I watch as he kneels between my legs. His head is bowed, he doesn’t so much as glance up at me as he snatches the meat of my thighs and yanks me closer to him.

The back of my head is tugged away from the pillow, and Iscowl. Too sleepy for this, too moody for this.

But the bargain keeps me in place, and he gives me no orders, so I don’t move. I just lay here, tired and limp, and watch as drapes my legs over his hips.

The length of his cock pushes along my core, and I frown at the sudden surge of pleasure wetting me. I hate that he knows this about me, that he knows how easily and quickly I’m ready for him.

It’s starting to feel like a losing battle—but I throw that grim thought from my mind, chalk it up to the moodiness I’m always consumed by when I’m freshly awoken. I’m the fae you don’t talk to until she’s had two coffees come morning.

But I keep limp for Daxeel, I let him run his hand over my stomach, feel his thumb graze a dark freckle there near my bellybutton—a human feature I despise.

For a while, that’s all he does.

Caresses me, feels me, touches me.

Scentsme.

It’s his nature, his instinct. It’s even stronger with me as his evate.

But of course, I don’t let on that I know that. Not yet.

So I’m tight lipped as he pushes his cock between my thighs, its weight pressing down on my pelvic bone.

Then his eyes flick up—and I feel the punch of their intensity, like he’s reaching through my own eyes, into my fucking soul.

My chest tightens, his jaw hardens.

In a blink, he’s snatching my thigh and shoving it to the side, not spreading my legs, but closing them—closing them on his cock.

Disappointment frowns my mouth.

With both my legs draped over one of his hips, his cock snug between my thighs, I know he’s not meaning to fuck me.

He’ll find his pleasure in other parts of my body. Not the part I need him to enter, the part that will secure our bond, forge it, and protect me.

I need it, as much as I need air to breathe.

Daxeel doesn’t give it. His hips start to move, lazy and tired, as he fucks his cock leisurely between my thighs. His eyes burn into every part of my body, like he needs to inspect me all over again.

I don’t feel the graze of his shaft over my core. It doesn’t come. He keeps his cock just a touch above my humming clit, close enough for the occasional rub if he angles right, but not close enough to soothe the ache.

But still, I need him inside of me. I have half a mind to hook my legs around him, lift my ass up from the bed and—

No.

No, I can’t do that.

So instead, I just simmer.

I lay here, feeling every bit his doll, and I play that act well. His nature calls for my pleasure, he fights it to show me this, show me that he can take from me without giving, but I know it’s killing him a little inside that I’m not whimpering for him, calling for him, coming for him.

I want that pain to assault him, to fucking cripple him.

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