Page 58 of Burning Her Beautiful
That cracks his control. Slowly, he begins to move. The first pull-out is torturously slow—just enough friction to light a fuse along my spine. Then he glides back in, hips rolling forward, deeper, deeper still. My mouth falls open around a moan.
Each thrust is a wave, a slow tide gathering in strength. He fucks me like he’s reading the runes of my body, like he knows what I need before I do. His cock strokes every nerve, every slick contour, hitting places I didn’t know craved touch. His lips graze my throat, then my collarbone, then lower, capturing a nipple between his teeth.
“Say it,” he rasps. “Tell me how this feels.”
“Full,” I pant, curling my fingers into his back. “So fucking full… You stretch me just right.”
He growls, hips snapping forward a little harder. The sound of our bodies meeting—wet, desperate, rhythmic—fills the room like its own kind of music.
“You take me so well,” he murmurs, voice raw. “So tight and wet for me. Gods, Iliana—your pussy grips like it never wants to let me go.”
I can barely answer. He shifts his angle, hips grinding down, and stars burst behind my eyes.
“There,” I gasp. “There—Varok?—”
He doesn’t relent. Over and over he drives into that spot, the head of his cock rubbing against the swollen center of my pleasure until I’m trembling. My legs lock around his hips. His hand slips between us, thumb circling my clit, coaxing more.
“I want you to come for me,” he whispers against my lips. “I want to feel it when you fall apart.”
I do. Gods, I do—my orgasm crashes over me like a wildfire, raw and unrelenting. My pussy clamps down around him, pulsing, wringing. I sob his name, tears prickling behind my eyes from the intensity. He kisses them away, murmuring praises as I ride out the wave.
But he doesn’t stop.
Before the tremors even fade, he lifts me with startling ease, rolling us so I straddle him now, his cock still buried inside. The shift stretches me in a new way, deeper, the angle sharper. I bite my lip to stifle another moan.
He watches me from below—horns haloed by moonlight, eyes molten silver. His hands rest lightly on my thighs, but he doesn’t guide me. He waits.
“Ride me,” he says softly. “Take what you want.”
I brace myself, palms on his chest, and lift my hips just enough to feel the drag of him leaving me. Then I drop back down, crying out as he fills me again.
He hisses, grip tightening. “That’s it. Fuck yourself on my cock.”
I do. Slowly at first, finding the rhythm, letting the stretch and slide stoke the fire in my core. Then faster. Harder. I bounceon him, breasts swaying with each slam of my hips. His cock slams up into me, hitting even deeper now, brushing something devastating inside.
“Varok—fuck—I’m gonna come again.”
“Good,” he snarls. “I want to feel you fall apart on top of me.”
He sits up suddenly, one arm wrapped around my back, the other braced behind him. I’m flush against him now, straddling him in his lap, riding his cock while his mouth finds mine again. Tongues tangle. His thrusts grow sharp and desperate beneath me, hips driving upward.
He groans into my mouth, the sound rough and broken. “Your pussy milks my cock like you were made to hold me.”
“I was,” I gasp. “I am.”
We fall together again, tangled and relentless. He lays me back onto the bed, legs pushed up and pinned wide. His body bows over me, cock pounding into my drenched, aching pussy. I cry out again, voice shaking, body breaking open all over.
“Mine,” he growls into my throat. “You’re mine.”
“Yes,” I sob, clinging to him. “Yours.”
One final thrust—and another—and another—until I feel him shudder, hips jerking. His cock twitches inside me, and then he’s spilling, hot and thick, pulsing into me with a ragged moan. I swear I can feel every jet, every ounce. I clench around him, holding him inside.
We collapse together, limbs tangled, sweat glistening. He stays buried inside me, his cock softening slowly, our bodies still locked. I can feel the sticky warmth of him dripping between my thighs, our mixed release slick between us.
He presses soft kisses to my temple, jaw, shoulder. Breath still ragged.
Minutes pass in the quiet hush of afterglow. His hand traces idle circles at the base of my spine. “You are a miracle,” he whispers.
