Page 87 of Rise of the Siren Queen
I lingered there, mouth hovering over it as I whispered., “I’m sorry for hurting you, princess. It won’t happen again.” The words rolled off my tongue sweet and easy, even as my breath ghosted over themark. I didn’t mean to hurt her then, sure.
But I’dhurt for her.Kill for her.Burn for her.
And gods help anyone who tried to touch her again, including me.
Her fingers grazed my shoulder, soft, like a balm to the darkness in me. “I know you didn’t mean to. It doesn’t hurt.” Her voice cracked just enough for me to hear the ghosts behind it.Someone else had. And badly. That thought alone nearly split me in two.
I looked up at her, a wolf in silk skin. “Let me make you forget.” My voice was a low rasp against her throat, and her pulse betrayed her, beating faster beneath my lips as I kissed along her collarbone. Her dress slipped easily beneath my fingers, the straps falling away like they wanted to expose her just for me.
She didn’t stop me.
Her breathing hitched as I slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders, baring her to me, and I reveled in the goosebumps that rose on her skin as I traced a line with my fingertips, following the curve of her cleavage. I moved slowly, savoring every inch, until my hand brushed the edge of her underwear, feeling the heat of her skin beneath.
I dragged my fingers down the line of her chest, following the curve of her cleavage, slowly and possessive. Her skin bloomed with goosebumps, and I felt her breath catch when I brushed the edge of her panties. My control frayed.
I leaned down and found the slit in her dress, sliding her underwear down inch by inch, torturing us both. She trembled beneath me,perfect,and the sound she made, soft and breathless, sent a jolt of need straight through me.
My hands skimmed back up her thighs, reverent and unrelenting, until I was touching more than skin. I was touchingneed.
“You are art,” I breathed against her hip, lips barely grazing. “Designed to destroy me.”
I gathered the folds of her dress at her waist, folding her legs open like a prayer and settled between them. Heat radiated off her skin, her pulse thundering beneath my fingertips. She was all soft contrasts, ivory skin and wicked curves, innocence laced with sin, and I wanted every inch etched into me.
She shivered as I pressed a line of kisses up her thigh, each one slower than the last, each one claiming, branding. She didn’t look away. Didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. She watched me as if I were the storm coming to drown her, and I was.
“There’s nothing else,” I murmured, voice ragged with restraint. “Just you. Me. And this need that doesn’t know how to stop.”
I kissed the inside of her thigh, just near where she wanted me most. I felt her body arc in silent plea and smiled against her skin, my fingers sliding higher with agonizing patience.
I’d take my time. Memorize the way she writhed, the way she whispered my name like it hurt not to say it. I wanted to ruin her for every other touch. Make sure she knew, felt, that no one else would ever touch her like this. Not without remembering me.
Not without missingme.
Tonight, I wouldn’t just have her. I’d possess her.
“Adrian, please… don’t make me wait.”
Those words shattered what little restraint I had left. They burned through me like wildfire, obliterating hesitation, morality, everything, until only one truth remained:
She was mine.
Spread out beneath me, flushed and trembling, her breath coming in short, desperate bursts. Gods, she was a vision. A living prayer to sin. My sin.
I took a slow breath, letting the sight of her burn into me, legs open, chest heaving, slick arousal glistening between her thighs like an invitation written in blood and silk. My mouth watered. Mycock ached painfully against the fabric of my pants. She didn’t even know what she had done to me. Or maybe she did. The wicked little siren, begging with those eyes, that voice, those trembling thighs.
“Fuck, princess…” I growled, my voice raw as I grabbed her thighs and spread her wider, possessive and greedy. “Look at you. Perfect. Dripping for me.”
And she was. Her pink lips were slick and swollen, her body arching subtly under my gaze, already caught in the tension between pleasure and need. I leaned in, slow and deliberately, letting the heat of my breath tease her before I even touched her. Her scent hit me like a drug, sweet and intoxicating. It wasn’t just arousal—it was her. And it made me snarl with hunger.
I traced her entrance with one finger, watching the way she shivered and gasped, then parted her gently and pressed my tongue to her, just the tip at first, circling her clit like a dark promise.
She cried out, back arching, fingers clutching the sheets. Perfect.
Her taste hit me like a curse I never wanted lifted. Sweet and sinful, slick and divine. I moaned against her, unable to help myself. It took everything in me not to rut against the mattress like some desperate fucking animal.
I wanted to consume her.
I licked her again, slower this time, savoring every reaction, every tremble of her thighs, every sharp gasp, every twitch of her hips as she chased the pressure. I flattened my tongue and dragged it along the length of her sex, then flicked her clit again with practiced cruelty. Her hands found my hair, nails digging into my scalp like she needed to anchor herself.
