Page 57 of Bound By Song

My head falls back, eyes fluttering shut as his teeth graze just beneath my jaw, and I let out a noise I’ve never made before.Wrecked. Ruined.

One hand moves up, slipping under my clothes, his palm cupping my bare breast, and when his thumb flicks over my nipple, my hips jolt against him with a soft, broken cry.

“You like that?” he murmurs, voice husky and reverent. “So fucking responsive, little one. So good for me.”

I nod helplessly, throat too tight to speak. Xar’s hum of approval deepens, vibrating through me. My breath comes in shallow gasps, my body writhing against him, and I can feeleverything. I can feel his strength, his power, his arousal pressing into my belly. The thick press of him between my legs, the rumble of his chest under my palm, the delicious stretch of pleasure curling through my limbs. And it should terrify me. Itshould. But instead, it makes me feel alive. Wanted. Claimed.

“Please, alpha?—”

I feel the change in him instantly – his pupils blow wide, his grip tightens, a deep sound escaping his throat that’s nothing but alpha.

His lips crash into mine again, harder this time, like he’s trying to devour me whole.

And Ilet him.

I lose myself in it. In him. My omega practically purrs in delight, basking in the attention, the touch, the claiming.

He rocks his hips into me, and I swear I see stars. Pressure builds in my core, slick gathering between my thighs, my whole body begging for more. Just a little more.Please.

His hands sweep down my back, over the curve of my waist, and then lower – finding the edge of my skirt and gathering it in his fists. I gasp as the fabric bunches around my hips, baring my thighs to the cold air and the heat of his palms.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along my jaw, down my throat.

Iam. But not from fear.

His hand finds the back of my thigh, then moves forward – slow, firm – trailing higher, until his fingers graze the heat between my legs burning through the thin scrap of cotton I’m wearing.

He stops. Still. Breath caught.

“You’re soaked,” he groans, pressing his forehead to mine, voice ragged. “Fuck, Evie…you’re dripping. Is this all for me?”

I whimper and nod, hips rocking into his hand on instinct. I can’t stop it. I don’twantto.

He slips his fingers under the material and between my lips, unhurried and reverent. His touch is warm and assured andperfect. He strokes through my slick, one finger circling, teasing, coaxing. My limbs turn to jelly. His other arm wraps around the back of my thighs, anchoring me as his thumb finds that perfect spot, rubbing it just right, slow and steady.

I cry out, biting his shoulder, clinging to him like I’ll die if he stops. My scent floods the air – thick, sweet,needy. It wraps around us like a blanket, like a spell.

“That’s it,” he breathes, kissing me again, slower this time, deeper. “Let go for me, omega. Let me feel you fall apart. Come for me.”

It’s not a command.

It’s a gift.

I break.

Pleasure hits like a wave, sharp and all-consuming. I moan – loud and unfiltered – as my body clenches and pulses around nothing, desperate to be filled, claimed,knotted. My scent and my slick pour out in a fresh rush, thick and heady.

My legs shake. I might have collapsed if he weren’t holding me.

I comehard, thighs trembling, stomach tightening in rhythmic waves as I ride it out with whimpers and panting breaths and the knowledge that I’ve never felt anything like this in my life.

When it’s over, when he finally pulls back, I sag against the wall, completely undone, chest heaving, slick coating my thighs. I’m gasping for air, my lips tingling and my heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

I don’t even realise I’m crying until he pulls back, cupping my cheek with his clean hand, brushing a tear away with his thumb.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers, brushing his lips against my cheek, then my temple. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

But then – reality crashes down on me.It hits. Hard.

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