Page 28 of Burned Alive to Be His
He pulls back from my breast, his mouth wet, his eyes blazing. “You are sure?” he asks, his voice a raw, guttural rasp.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Now.”
He positions the tip of his cock at my entrance, and I gasp as he nudges against my slick, wet folds. I lift my hips, eager, desperate, and take him inside me.
He is so much bigger than I remember, so much hotter. He fills me completely, stretching me, a feeling of exquisite pain and pleasure that makes me cry out. He stays still for a moment, buried deep inside me, his hand gripping my hip, his eyes locked on mine.
“Mine,” he growls.
“Yours,” I whisper, and I begin to move.
I ride him, my body finding a rhythm that is all its own. He lets me set the pace at first, his eyes dark and hooded as he watches me, his hand on my hip a steadying anchor. The cavern is filled with the labored sound of our breathing, the soft slide of our bodies, the whisper of my moans.
“Faster,” he commands, his voice a rough growl.
I obey, my movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. He meets my rhythm, his hips beginning to thrust up, meeting my downward strokes with a powerful, driving force. The pleasure is immense, a tidal wave that is building and building, threatening to shatter me.
“Please…” I sob, my head falling back, my body slick with sweat. “Xvitar, I’m going to…”
“Yes,” he snarls, his own control gone. He grabs my hips, his grip bruising, and takes over, his thrusts deep, and hard, and savage. “Come for me, Judith. Let me feel you break.”
And I do. The pleasure crests, a blinding, white-hot explosion that rips a scream from my throat. My body convulses around him, my inner muscles clenching and milking him, and with a final, guttural roar that echoes the one he made in the Bone Yard, he shatters with me, his hot seed flooding me, a brand of fire and possession.
I collapse against him, my body boneless, my mind a blissful, empty void. He holds me, his good arm wrapped tight around me, his breathing a harsh, ragged sound against my ear. We stay like that for a long time, our bodies still joined, our hearts beating a frantic, synchronous rhythm.
The haze of pleasure slowly recedes, leaving in its wake a profound, terrifying intimacy. He shifts beneath me, his hand coming up to gently trace the line of the scars on my back. Itis not a gesture of pity. It is a gesture of acknowledgment. Of seeing.
I lift my head and look at him. The arrogance, the cruelty, the rage… it is all gone. In its place is a raw, unguarded vulnerability that takes my breath away.
He has claimed my body, yes. But in this cavern, surrounded by his treasures, in this act of mutual, desperate surrender, I have somehow, impossibly, claimed a piece of his soul. And I know, with a certainty that settles deep in my bones, that nothing between us will ever be the same again.
14
XVITAR
Iwake to the scent of her.
It is the first thing I become aware of, a soft, warm, earthy fragrance that has woven itself into the furs of my sleeping ledge, into the very air of my cavern. It is the scent of the human. Of Judith. And she is tangled with me, her small, soft body pressed against my side, her head resting on my shoulder. Her breathing is a slow, steady rhythm against my skin, a quiet counterpoint to the hungry rumble of the mountain.
My body is a landscape of pain. My broken arm, hastily set and bound by my own hand last night, throbs with a dull, insistent fire. The deep gashes in my side are a map of Grakar’s fury. But the pain is a distant thing, a familiar echo. The immediate, overwhelming reality is the woman in my arms.
The events of last night crash over me, a tidal wave of memory and sensation. The raw, desperate hunger. The shocking, absolute surrender. The feeling of her body coming apart around mine. The claiming. It was not the cold, calculated assertion of dominance I had planned. It was a conflagration, a mutual immolation that has left me feeling… scoured. Exposed.
A low growl rumbles in my chest, and she stirs, her eyelashes fluttering against my skin. She makes a soft, sleepy sound and snuggles closer, her hand resting on my chest. Her touch is a brand, a searing heat that has very little to do with the volcano.
This is a weakness. A fatal, unforgivable weakness. She is my possession, my tool. And yet, I held her through the night as she slept, my good arm wrapped around her, my body a shield against the cold. I watched the faint starlight from the cavern entrance play across her face, tracing the line of her scars, the curve of her lips. I listened to her breathe. And I felt a strange, terrifying peace settle in my blood for the very first time in my life.
She begins to wake fully now, her body tensing as the memories of where she is, and with whom, return. She lifts her head, her dark, sleep-softened eyes meeting mine. Fear flickers in their depths, a familiar shadow, but it is quickly replaced by something else. A quiet, watchful curiosity.
“You are still here,” she whispers, her voice a husky morning rasp.
“This is my cavern,” I grunt, my voice rougher than I intend. I need to re-establish the distance, the order of things. “Where else would I be?”
“I thought you would cast me back to my own cave,” she says, her gaze unwavering.
“And have you freeze to death?” I snarl, pushing myself into a sitting position, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through my side. I ignore it. “You are still of use to me. Do not mistake my proximity for affection.”
The lie tastes like ash in my mouth.
