Page 63 of Snag
Still teasing her clit, I raise my free hand, grinning in surrender. Because the only other option is to grab her hips and fucking impale her on my rigid fucking cock.
Zaya nods, perfectly serious.
Then she notches my waiting and willing cock into her entrance. With no other preamble. Bobbing her hips, she coats me with her wetness, takes me in inch by inch.
I would have happily eased into penetration. Teased her into coming on my fingers, then my tongue. But I’m also not saying no to anything Zaya wants, needs, from me.
I get that this isn’t just sex.
It’s primal, fundamental.
My soul-bound mate is claiming me. I’m already hers, but she needs to know it, feel it.
Zaya gets me fully seated within her, head lolling back to expose her neck as she pauses. Pauses and simply savors me buried deep inside her. I close my eyes for a moment, holding a groan and my climax at bay. Unable to watch herenjoying my cock without coming, without even a single full fucking stroke.
She slowly lifts herself up off me … slowly, slowly sliding me out of her with a quiet groan. I chance a glance at my mate. Her head is still fallen back, chest thrust forward — eager nipples practically begging for my mouth.
I oblige, not bothering with trying to get her sweater off. Just shoving it up and yanking the camisole down to expose her tight, dark nipples, palming one and sucking on the other.
Zaya wraps her arms around my head, groaning and twisting her fingers through my hair. Then she fucking slams down on my cock.
Fuck, fuck.
Zaya grinds down. I glance to where we’re joined, but happily — because the sight might actually do me in — her skirt covers us.
Zaya slides up me, quicker this time, then down. “Oh, fuck. Why … why does this feel so good?”
“Condom,” I gasp.
Angling her hips forward, she grinds against my base, bouncing on me shallowly.
Everything goes blurry around the edges.
I palm her face. “Zaya, love. Condom?”
“No,” she gasps, violet eyes blinking open. “I don’t … I can’t … the Conduit …” She blinks again, her expression clearing, forehead pinching.
But I get what she’s saying. That isn’t something we need to discuss right now. To keep her with me, because I’m already barreling toward the edge, I grasp her hips, find her clit with my thumb, and thrust up into her. Twice.
Zaya pins her hand around my neck again, shoving me back against the couch before she takes over, grinding intomy hand while also gripping my cock in her warm, tight pussy.
“Fuck,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’m going to come, my Marrow.”
“I’m here,” she gasps. “I’m here.”
Her rhythm becomes erratic. Her hold on my neck tightens, then loosens completely as her forehead falls to my shoulder. As if she’s lost control of her limbs, her body.
I vaguely hope I’m keeping pressure on her clit, because my balls tighten even further, pleasure prickles at the base of my spine, and then I’m fucking coming so hard my vision completely whites out.
Zaya buries her face and her shouted cry in my neck, shuddering and trembling, clenching tightly around my cock.
All her energy, all those twists of essence that have thickened around us, contract tightly. Chest to chest, that power from Zaya burrows through my skin, then expands.
I swear I feel all that essence fill the ever-present void, sealing over the mortal wound in my soul.
Zaya’s tight pussy flutters around my still-rock-hard cock as she shudders against my chest, either riding residual shocks from her orgasm or tipping over a second time.
And all I can do in the moment is accept everything pouring from her, greedily clutch her to me, as I ejaculate again. Long, almost painful spurts. Even though I, too, have already come.
