Page 89 of Black Castle

“Vivienne,” he murmurs against her lips, his voice hoarse with need. “I need—I want to be inside you, but with switched positions.”

She raises a teasing brow. “You want me to ride you?”

He bobs his head. “C-can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” She presses her lips to his.

He flips them around, and suddenly, she is on top, straddling him, his cock heavy and hot in her palms.

His jaw works as she strokes his length, eyes dark with mischief. “Hands over your head, soldier.”

His lips twitch, but he obeys, lacing his fingers behind his head as he leans into the pillow against the headboard. He watches her through heavy lids, his lips parted as she positions him at her entrance.

“Good boy.”

She strokes him once, twice, and a muscle in his jaw ticks.

Then tortuously slowly, she sinks down onto his cock.

“Fuck.” His voice is guttural as he drags the word, his head falling back.

Her nails rake down his chest, her hip rolling, taking him deeper, setting a slow, agonizing rhythm.

“Eyes on me,” she commands when he snaps his eyes shut, her voice low, edged with desire. She rolls her hips, savoring the way his breath hitches, the way his jaw clenches, the way his muscle coils like a man barely holding onto the edge of restraint.

A sound escapes him, a desperate, broken whisper that sends a shiver racing down her spine. His cock twitches inside her, and his hands fly from behind his head, gripping the sheet so hard his knuckles turned white.

“V-Vivienne,” he groans, his body trembling beneath her, the veins in his muscle taut with the effort of holding himself back. “I’m—” His golden eyes burn with need. “I’m gonna come.”

“Not yet, soldier.” She leans down, cradling his face in her palms, her lips teasing their way down his jaw, his throat, her breath hot against his sweat-licked skin.

Not yet. She isn’t there yet, and she needs them to unravel together, to drown in each other at the same time.

But his eyes, blown wide and dark with need, begs for mercy. He is close. So close, he is shaking with the effort to hold back.

She presses her forehead to his, whispering, “Just a little longer.”

He trembles beneath her, his body a bowstring drawn too tight. Then with a ragged moan, he snaps.

“Please,” he whimpers, his voice wrecked, his control slipping through his fingers like sand. “I can’t hold it, please.”

One hand plants against the bed, the other clamping onto her hip, as he bucks upward, driving into her with force that steals the breath from her lungs.

“I said, not yet,” she gasps, trying to pry his fingers from her hip, but it doesn’t work. He refuses to let go.

A growl rumbles in his chest as he thrusts, his movement rough, relentless, desperate. His lips part on a groan, his head tipping back against the pillow, exposing the strong column of his throat as he loses himself in her.

“Oh, god, Lucan!” Her thighs quake as he pounds into her, his grip bruising, his rhythm punishing. Every snap of his hip pushes her closer to the edge, shoving her straight into oblivion. Her nails rake down his chest, over the taut muscle of his abdomen, and he shudders beneath her touch.

Then his body tenses, his arm locking around her, his face buries between her neck, and his breath shatters against her skin.

Heat floods her.

His broken moans vibrate against her throat, his body quaking as he spills his cum inside her, holding her too tight like he is afraid she will disappear.

“I told you, not yet,” she whispers against his lips, but there’s no bite in her words, only the intoxicating rush of power, the pleasure of knowing how deeply she undoes him.

He is wrecked. Ruined. Shattered in the best way.

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