Page 13 of Burned Alive to Be His
“Say it,” I whisper, my lips brushing her ear.
“Say what?” she breathes, her voice barely audible.
“Say you want me,” I command. “Say you want this.”
She shakes her head, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. “I can’t…”
“You can,” I insist, and I begin to move.
I start slowly, my thrusts shallow, deliberate. With each movement, I watch her face. I watch the battle in her eyes, the war between her mind and her body. Her breath hitches. Her hips begin to move with mine, a small, hesitant rhythm that grows bolder with each thrust.
“You feel that, don’t you?” I growl, my pace quickening. “How good it feels. How right.”
I drive deeper, my hips slapping against hers, the sound a raw, primal beat in the silent cave. Her moans are coming faster now, no longer hesitant, but open, desperate. She is losingherself to the pleasure, to the overwhelming sensation of being filled, of being claimed.
“Please…” she gasps again, her nails digging into my back. “Xvitar… please…”
She said my name. A savage wave of triumph crashes over me. She said my name.
“Please what, human? Judith? I heard you call yourself Judith!” I demand, my voice rough. “Tell me what you want. Tell me what your body is begging for.”
“More,” she cries out, her voice breaking. “I want… more.”
That is all I need. I lose myself to the rhythm, my thrusts becoming a savage, frantic pounding. The cave fills with the wet slap of our bodies colliding, the sound of her broken moans and my own guttural groans. I am not a warrior, no longer a leader. I am a male claiming his female, a dragon branding his treasure.
“Yes,” I hiss, driving into her again and again. “Take it. Take all of it. This is what you wanted. This is what you begged for.” I grab her hips, holding her in place, my thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as I hammer into her. “You fit like velvet. So wet.”
I feel her climax building, her inner muscles tightening around me like a molten fist. Her breath comes in ragged, desperate sobs. “I’m going to… I can’t…”
“You can,” I snarl, my own release a roaring fire in my veins. “Come for me, Judith. Shatter for me. Now!”
I drive into her one last, deep, soul-stealing time, and she breaks. Her body convulses around mine, a scream of pure, ecstatic release tearing from her throat, a sound of absolute surrender. Her name is a roar in the enclosed space. “JUDITH!”
Her release triggers my own. With a final, guttural roar that shakes the very stones of the cave, I empty myself into her, my seed hot and heavy, my body shuddering with the force of my own climax. It is a release so powerful, so absolute, it feels asif my very soul is being poured into her, branding her as mine forever.
I collapse on top of her, my weight pinning her to the soft fur, my breath coming in ragged gasps. For a long moment, there is only the rapid sound of our breathing, the frantic beat of our hearts.
The haze of lust slowly begins to clear, and the reality of what I have done settles in. I have taken her. I have marked her. I have proven my dominance.
But as I lie there, her small, warm body pliant beneath mine, her scent filling my senses, it does not feel like a victory. It feels… different. More complicated. More dangerous.
I pull out of her and roll to the side, putting distance between us. She curls into a ball on the pelt, her back to me, her body shaking with silent sobs.
A strange, unfamiliar emotion twists in my gut. It feels like shame. It tastes like regret.
I stand up, my body still humming with the aftershocks of our joining. I look at her, a broken, beautiful thing on the floor of my world.
I should say something. I should do something. But I do not know what. The words, the actions, are foreign to me.
So I do the only thing I can.
I turn, and I leave her alone in the cold, dark cave, with nothing but a dead animal’s skin for comfort.
7
JUDITH
Iwake to a world of aches. Every muscle, every joint, screams in protest as I shift on the impossibly soft fur of the ursain pelt. My body is a map of his possession, marked by the ghost of his weight, the phantom pressure of his hands. The inside of my thighs are tender, a deep, bruised soreness that is a stark, physical reminder of what he did. What he took.
