Page 54 of The Captive's Curse
My magic had started teasing its way down toward my aching hole, cleaning and slicking me without any conscious intent of mine, as if it craved his touch and the claiming of his thick cock as much as I did.
The curse chose that moment to stab me in the belly, and I lurched forward and landed on my hands, whimpering.
If he wanted me so much, why wasn’t he taking me?
“If you’re waiting for me to beg this time, I will,” I whispered. “You know I will. I waited too long to—I should’ve found someone. It—hurts.”
“If you hadn’t waited for me, I’d be committing a murder right now,” he said, and then I felt his warmth behind me as he knelt between my legs.
It wasn’t enough—my blood went as cold as the wind.
“What?” I rasped. “You wouldn’t—”
“What? No, not you,” he said, so dismissively that I almost laughed despite my momentary horror. “Him. I wouldn’t hurt you. I wouldn’t make you beg, either, and I already told you that before.”
Murder was a step up—down?—from hanging his men by their toes. Ought I to be equally horrified that he’d kill someone else for touching me? Probably. And yet I couldn’t stop the smile that made my cheeks ache.
He laid his hands on my other cheeks and spread me open.
“I would never, ever make you beg for something you need to live.” His voice had gone all low and gravelly, and I shivered in his grip, letting my head hang down, squeezingmy eyes shut. The wind rustled through the grove and raised goosebumps on my feverish skin. Gods, I was so wet for him. So ready. I clenched my muscles, and his grip on me tightened. “Fuck. Never. I should be the one—but do it for me anyway. Please. I’ve been sitting in a fucking tree in the rain for three days, and now I want to hear you.”
Well, since he’d asked so nicely, and clearly understood how lucky he was to be about to fuck me. I melted down onto my elbows, tilting my hips up at an angle that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a plea in and of itself.
Begging didn’t take any more effort than allowing it to spill out of my lips.
“Please, Enzo. Please fuck me. I need you so deep inside me that I can’t breathe, I—oh, gods,” because he’d buried three fingers in me without so much as a by your leave, and the pressure against my soft flesh was— “that’s too much, Enzo, it’s already too much, but it’s not enough—”
He jerked out his hand, and I broke off in a scream that I quickly muffled by biting down on my cloak.
Enzo’s cockhead pressed up against my hole. I opened my eyes, but everything had gone blurry. For an instant I held my breath, and so did the world around me; even the wind had died down, the trees still and silent.
And then he pushed into me, a long inexorable slide. I squirmed and wriggled around his girth, as if that would make it easier to take.
It didn’t. He opened me up until I couldn’t take any more, and gods, had I already forgotten how this felt? A little over a week, and I’d thought I’d imagined how perfectly he could stuff me full. He thrust harder and deeper, balls pressed up against mine, my hole stretched to its limit, fucking me in a ragged, powerful rhythm that suggested he wouldn’t last very long, that he was as desperate to lose himself in me as I was to be taken.
Magic surged through my veins, in blue and gold sparks and glowing the crimson of my blood. Tingles at my fingertips danced with power, as if I could do anything, perform any feat of magic, while I had him inside me.
“Enzo,” I gasped.
“Don’t,” he gasped back, his breath ruffling the hair at the nape of my neck. “When you say my name like that, I can’t—”
“Enzo!”
His hips stuttered to a halt and he ground against me, cock impossibly deep, and filled me, hot and thick and delicious. My dawn mage’s powers rose up in a joyous crescendo to meet that innate magic of his own he seemed to possess, the ability to make me his so perfectly.
My own orgasm almost felt like an afterthought, but it sent another twisting wave of ecstasy through my belly that made me moan.
We collapsed down onto the ground together in a heap. Mmm. I’d never been happier to have such a soft cloak, since my face was mashed into it. His chest shuddered against my back with the heavy breaths of his own aftershocks. Every nerve in my body chorused with an infinitely more cheerful tune than I’d been singing a few minutes ago.
At last, just as I’d begun to think that Enzo’s weight on top of me was a bit too much, he pulled up and off—leaving me perversely annoyed at the cold air. But I hardly had time to gather my wits for a complaint before he’d somehow shifted us around, turning me on my side and pressing against my front, folding part of my cloak around me like a blanket. Since I was also still lying on half of it, it didn’t reach to cover him too.
Gallantry compelled me to mumble, in a tone that I couldn’t make all that sincere no matter how hard I tried, “Won’t you be cold?”
He only laughed and drew me against his chest, my face snugged into the curve of his shoulder, his arm under my head.
The tangle of my trousers and drawers around my knees ought to have been horridly uncomfortable, and I was as wet between my legs as anyone could possibly be. But when Enzo nuzzled into my hair and let out what sounded suspiciously like a contented sigh, nothing else mattered.
I wanted to bask in this moment forever.
