Page 72 of Wings of Shadow
A cry tears from her throat, her back bowing in offering, her body seizing around my fingers as pleasure consumes her. The sight of her—flushed, undone, trembling in my arms—is nearly enough to wreck me.
I draw it out, coaxing her through the aftershocks, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her thighs as the tension in her muscles slowly eases. She exhales a shuddering breath, the sound half a purr, her hands threading lazily through my hair.
“That was…” she whispers, her voice thick with pleasure. “Divine.”
A slow, satisfied grin spreads across my lips.
But I’m far from done with her.
Withdrawing my fingers from her slick heat, I bring them to my mouth, tasting her, savoring her essence. Sweet and decadent, warm and intoxicating. My blood sings with the primal need to claim her, to bury myself deep and make her mine in every way.
I position myself between her parted thighs, and drag the tip of my aching length through her slick folds, teasing her, tormenting us both.
She gasps, her body jerking in response, her hips tilting ever so slightly, inviting me in.
I hover at her entrance, my restraint hanging by a thread.
“Are you ready for me, baby?” I murmur, my voice thick with need.
Her eyes meet mine, pupils blown wide.
“Yes,” she breathes, and that single word is my undoing.
I push inside her, slow and deliberate, savoring the exquisite stretch as her body yields to me. A sharp gasp parts her lips, her fingers tightening against my shoulders. She’s fire incarnate—hotter than sin, tighter than restraint. I sink deeper, her heat clenching around me, the sensation so raw, so consuming, it borders on agony.
“Hold still,” I pant out, rough as my grip on her hips tightens. “I’m going to make you feel every inch of me.”
Her nails rake down my back, drawing a guttural sound from my throat. She rises into me, wild and untamed, chasing more, urging me past restraint.
“Faster,” she breathes, a demand, not a plea. I answer with action, driving into her with a primal rhythm that speaks of possession, of dominance.
Clarissa is everywhere—her scent, her heat, how she moans my name like a benediction. I give her what she craves, our bodies moving together in a violent, perfect synchrony, the push and pull of our pleasure an unrelenting force.
A frustrated whimper escapes her as I withdraw, but I silence her with a firm grip on her waist. Before she can protest, I flip her onto her stomach, dragging her hips up until she’s aligned with me, her spine arching in invitation.
I sheath myself inside her once more, this time deeper, harder. A strangled cry tears from her lips as she braces against the table, her knuckles whitening against the green baize.
Her moans melt into the crackling warmth of the hearth, the scent of sex mingling with woodsmoke and something else—dark and unyielding.
She pushes back against me, seeking, demanding. I grip her hips with bruising force, holding her exactly where I want her.
“Look at you,” I rasp, leaning over her, my lips tracing the curve of her shoulder, my breath scorching her ear. “Taking me so damn well.”
She keens, her back bowing as I drag my hand up her spine, relishing the delicious tremor beneath my touch. She hisses through gritted teeth as I thrust into her, deep and merciless. Her body tightens around me, her voice breaking on a gasp.
“Oh yes… Right there!” she pants, guiding my rhythm with desperate need.
“You’re mine,” I snarl, punctuating each punishing thrust. “Every breath, every moan—mine.”
“Kaisner—!”
A growl rumbles through me, low and primal. I fist her hair, tilting her head back until her neck is bared to me, a silent offering.
“Say it,” I demand, my lips grazing her pulse, sensing the wild flutter beneath my tongue.
Tears jewel her lashes, her breath catching in a fractured sob of pleasure.
“Yours.”
