Page 38 of Feral Gods
"You're beautiful," she whispers, the simple declaration striking me speechless. Beautiful is not a word I have ever associated with this form—powerful, yes; fearsome, certainly; but beautiful?
"As are you," I respond when I find my voice. "May I see you as well?"
She hesitates only briefly before nodding, reaching for the hem of her tunic. I catch her hands, stopping the motion.
"Allow me," I request, my voice gentler than I thought possible.
With exquisite care, I draw the garment upward, revealing her body inch by tantalizing inch. The soft curve of her hips, the gentle dip of her waist, the perfect swell of her breasts—each new discovery more precious than the last. When the tunic finally passes over her head, I let it fall forgotten to the floor.
"Perfection," I breathe, drinking in the sight of her. Her body bears the marks of her difficult life—a thin scar along her ribs, the brand-mark on her wrist, the fresh abrasion on her shoulder—yet remains the most beautiful thing I have ever beheld.
"I'm not—" she begins, self-consciousness creeping into her expression.
"You are," I insist, cutting off her denial with a kiss that leaves no room for argument.
My hands explore newly revealed territory, learning the texture of her skin, the places that make her gasp or sigh with pleasure. When I cup her breast directly, feeling its perfect weight in my palm, she arches into the touch with unconcealed desire.
"Ravik," she breathes as I lower my head to taste the rosy peak, her fingers clutching the back of my neck for support.
I lavish attention on first one breast then the other, savoring her increasingly urgent responses. Her thighs tighten around my hips, drawing me closer to her core, the heat of her evident even through the thin leggings she still wears.
"Tell me what you want," I urge, returning to capture her lips briefly. "Tell me how to please you."
The request clearly surprises her. "You... you're asking what I want?"
The implication—that her pleasure has never been a consideration for previous partners—ignites fresh anger within me. "Always."
Tentatively, as if unused to expressing her own desires, she guides my hand lower, past the gentle curve of her stomach to the junction of her thighs. Through the fabric of her leggings, I can feel her heat, her readiness.
"Here," she whispers, a becoming blush staining her cheeks. "Please."
I stroke her gently through the fabric, watching her reactions closely, learning what brings the greatest pleasure. When her breathing quickens and her hips begin to move against my touch, I intensify the pressure slightly, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with careful precision.
"Yes," she gasps, head falling back to expose the elegant column of her throat. "Like that."
The sight of her abandoned to pleasure is more intoxicating than the finest rirzed wine. I continue my ministrations, adding my mouth to her neck, her breasts, anywhere I can reach while maintaining the rhythm that seems to please her most.
"Ravik," she moans, the sound of my name on her lips during pleasure sending fresh heat coursing through me. "I need... I want..."
"Tell me," I encourage, increasing the pace slightly.
"You," she manages, eyes opening to meet mine with startling directness. "Inside me. Please."
The blunt request, delivered with such genuine desire, nearly brings me to my knees. I catch her face between my hands, kissing her deeply, pouring all my conflicted emotions into the connection.
"Are you certain?" I ask when we part, needing her absolute clarity despite my body's desperate demand for completion. "I am not... I am larger than what you may be accustomed to."
A smile curves her kiss-swollen lips. "I trust you."
Three simple words that impact me more profoundly than any vow or promise. Trust—fragile, precious, unearned yet freely given. I would die before betraying it.
With reverence bordering on worship, I remove the last barrier between us, sliding her leggings down her legs with careful attention to her comfort. When she sits before me completely bare, vulnerable yet unafraid, I am struck anew by her courage.
"You are magnificent," I tell her, meaning every syllable.
Her hands reach for me, drawing me between her parted thighs once more. I allow her exploration, groaning when her fingers wrap experimentally around my length. Her touch is tentative at first, then more confident as she learns what brings me pleasure.
"Like this?" she asks, stroking from base to tip with careful pressure.
