Page 55 of Wings of Shadow
By the time we reach my office, we’re both breathing hard, her lipstick smeared, my shirt half-unbuttoned by her eager fingers.
Her body arches under my touch, and I press her harder against the wall, one arm locking around her waist like a vice.
My grip tightens on her hips, dragging her flush against me, and she gasps—a sound so sweet, so desperate, it goes straight to my cock.
“Touch me,” I growl, voice low and lethal, each word scraping across the air like claws. “Feel what you do to me.”
Her fingers fumble, trembling as they drag down my chest, over the ridges of muscle, down to the brutal truth of my desire. She exhales sharply, pupils blown wide. Heat blooms in her cheeks.
“You feel that?” I whisper darkly, leaning in until my mouth brushes her ear. “That ache—that hunger? It’s all yours, Clarissa.”
My fingers find the hem of her dress, jerking it up without finesse, without permission. She gasps, and it thrills me. My touch slips beneath the silk and finds heat—wet, wild, waiting for me.
“Fuck…” I snarl, eyes flashing. “You’re already soaked. So needy for me you’re shaking.”
She nods, barely able to breathe.
“Say it,” I demand, gaze burning into hers. “Say who you’re wet for.”
“You,” she whimpers. “Only you.”
A savage grin splits across my face.
“Good girl.”
I lift her with a growl, her thighs wrapping around my waist, and slam her back against the wall. She moans, nails raking down my spine as I drag my mouth over her throat, tasting the pulse that races just for me.
“You said you wanted everything,” I murmur darkly. “You’re about to find out what that really means.”
I carry her to the desk—don’t clear it, don’t ask. I take. Papers scatter. Something shatters. I don’t care. She gasps as I lift her onto the edge, spreading her legs with practiced ease, laying her out like a sacrifice. My hands grip her thighs like I own them. Like I own her.
“Eyes on me, baby girl,” I command, sinking to my knees. “I want to watch the moment you come undone.”
Her breath hitches, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
My gaze rises to meet hers, lips brushing the inside of her trembling thigh.
“That’s it,” I murmur, voice low, reverent, wicked. “Tonight isn’t about me. Tonight’s about you falling apart on my mouth—again and again—until the only name you remember is mine.”
I nudge her thighs wider, pressing heated kisses up the inside, slow and possessive. She moans, hands shaking as they reach for me. I slap one gently away.
“No touching. Not yet. Be good, and I’ll give you everything.”
Then I bury my face between her legs like a man starved for centuries. When my tongue finally meets her, she cries out—sharp, raw, perfect. I lap her up like I’ve been starved for years. And maybe I have.
I smile against her as I savor her—filthy, reverent, insatiable. “Fuck, you taste like sin,” I growl into her heat.
She bucks, fingers tangling in my hair, but I grab her wrists and pin them at her sides, holding her still.
“You don’t come,” I say, my voice velvet dragged across a blade, “until I fucking say.”
She whimpers, begs, pleads. And I devour. Again. And again. And again.
Her taste is sin and surrender, delightful and intoxicating.
“So fucking sweet,” I rasp between strokes.
She writhes, pleading now, body strung tight with need—but I don’t let her fall over the edge. Not yet. I draw it out, build her up, tear her down, and build her back again. Over and over.
