Page 146 of Cursed Shadows 5

My feet are kicking in the air, a failing attempt to toe off my boots. One slips free, then hits the floorboards with a clatter, but the other is still firm on, my breeches catching around it.

I yank a leg free.

Daxeel reaches down between us—

And the weight of his cock strikes my exposed core a mere heartbeat before he’s fisting the shaft and pushing against my slick opening.

There is no hesitation in either of us.

My thighs part, one leg hiking over his hip, the other trapped as his weight pins down the bunched breeches.

He shoves into me in one fluid thrust—and I grunt at the sudden intrusion.

The moan that draws through him twists his mouth against mine.

Daxeel withstands the chase, he fights the urge to find instant gratification in me.

I feel him, inside, tensing.

I feel him on me, muscles tightly wound to his bones.

The strain of it is in his drawn-out moan as, slowly, he finds an agonising pace.

His mouth doesn’t leave mine.

Our kiss has ended, lips now pressed together, skin tugging between our joined moans.

The tremble of my fingers rests on his arms; I glide my hands along the length of his muscles, feeling them clamp beneath my touch, all the way around to his back.

There, my anger reveals.

My teeth bare against his soft lips—

And I dig my nails into him.

Daxeel shudders against me.

Beads of blood spill beneath my fingertips. It doesn’t still me, doesn’t rob me of my anger.

I climb with him, his fluid thrusts filling me, stoking that ache in me—but my nails dig deeper, and I drag them down his back.

There is a viciousness rising in me with the pleasure; the better the sensations at my core, the higher I climb with him, the more pain I need to punish him with.

I arch into him, his kiss—and before he can deliver it, soft, to my lips, my teeth clamp down on him.

His lip spills blood onto my tongue.

The grunt of pain jolts him… but he doesn’t draw back from me. He doesn’t turn away from the assault. He doesn’t fight it.

Leg hiked over his hip, I clench my thighs, then fling my weight into him.

I flip him onto his back, and he grunts on landing.

Straddling him, I don’t swirl my hips or lovingly run my hands down his chest.

I chase my own, violent pleasure—and I jut, my hand smacking down on his jaw, as if to pin him in place.

Daxeel’s hands are gentle on my hips, unmoving ghosts of touch. His mouth opens under the force of my grip, enough to part his lips.

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