Page 56 of Wings of Shadow
And when she finally begs—really begs—voice broken, form shattered, I let her have it. I pull her to the edge and keep her there, tongue relentless, fingers cruel and tender at once, until she shatters on my tongue like a prayer.
Her thighs quake. Her moans echo off the walls of my office. She collapses back onto the desk, dazed and ruined.
I rise slowly, mouth glistening, pupils dark with satisfaction as I watch her chest rise and fall in the aftermath. She’s beautiful like this—wrecked, trembling, completely undone by my touch.
“Kaisner,” she breathes, voice broken and raw. Her eyes flutter open, finding mine, and what I see there steals my breath. Vulnerability. Need. Something that threatens to destroy us both.
“I need you more than I should,” she whispers, the words tumbling out like a confession torn from her very soul. “More than is safe, more than is smart. But… I can’t help it.”
Her admission scorches through me—no spell, no daemon pact, no blood rite has ever had this kind of power. It cracks through the armor I’ve spent a lifetime forging, and I welcome the ruin.
I lift her, effortlessly, one hand still tangled in her hair, the other gripping her thigh as I carry her across the room. She clings to me, breathless, her nails scraping my shoulders like she wants to carve her name into me.
Good. Let her.
I set her down on the nearest surface—a marble-topped table, cool against her skin. She gasps at the contact, but I don’t give her a second to adjust. I push her thighs apart with my knee and step between them, my hands possessive on her hips.
“Look at you,” I rasp, gaze devouring every inch of her. “Spread open for me like you were made for this. Made for me.”
She moans, low and trembling, and it lights something feral in me.
I dip my head, kissing down her collarbone, biting the delicate skin where her pulse pounds the hardest. I want to mark her there—want the world to see who she belongs to. My tongue soothes the sting before I sink lower, dragging my mouth across her chest, her ribs, the sensitive skin just above her hipbones.
“Kaisner…” she pleads, breath hitching, hips lifting in silent demand.
“No, no, baby girl,” I purr against her stomach. “You don’t beg for release until I say you can.” My tone turns to velvet and steel. “Tonight, I decide when you fall apart.”
She writhes beneath my mouth as I trail my tongue down her inner thigh, then up again, deliberately avoiding where she aches for me most.
Cruel? Maybe.
Necessary? Absolutely.
I look up at her, eyes locked on mine, voice a wicked promise.
“I’m going to ruin you, Liebes… slow enough to ache for it, deep enough to crave it, and hard enough that you’ll never belong to anyone else.”
She’s trembling now—body, breath, soul. Perfect.
And when I finally give her what she craves—when my mouth finds her, hot and relentless—her cry is shattered, sacred, and mine.
She arches off the table as my tongue finally meets the place she needs me most. She cries out, head tipping back, fingers weaving through my hair like she’ll lose herself if she doesn’t hold on.
Good. Let her lose herself.
My grasp strengthens on her thighs, keeping her pinned open for me as I lap at her with slow, devastating precision. Each stroke is measured, intentional, like I’m learning her by heart—mapping every gasp, every twitch, every broken plea.
“Gods—Kai?—”
The sound of my name torn from her lips in that wrecked, reverent tone is better than blood and shadow and power combined. I growl against her, the vibration making her tremble, and I sense the tremor start in her legs.
She’s close.
I pull back, lips slick, eyes dark with hunger.
“Not yet, baby girl,” I whisper, voice thick with command. “You don’t come until I say, remember?”
Her whimper is a desperate, delicious thing. “Kaisner, please…”
