Page 147 of Bitten & Burned
“Don’t stop,” he whispered.
“I won’t.”
He reached up, pulled me down for another kiss—this one hungry, messy, his fangs grazing my lip. Like he wanted to swallow me whole. Like he already had.
“You feel so good,” I murmured into his mouth. “I could fuck you forever.”
His moan turned into a growl. “Then do it.”
A growl one second, begging the next.
“Oh gods, I can feel it, please… please, Rowena… It’s right… oh fuck, it’s right there…”
I grinned against his mouth, slow and wicked. “Oh no, no, no,” I whispered. “You don’t get to beg for forever and then ask me to rush.”
Anton’s groan was half-laugh, half-agony. His head dropped back against the floor as I slowed the rhythm again—luxurious, languid, grinding rather than thrusting. Letting him feel every inch. Letting him ache for more.
“Rowena,” he choked, hips twitching upward, restrained only by my hands on his chest. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“Not kill,” I said softly. “Keep you. Stretch it out. Make you feel everything.”
I braced my hands on his chest and rolled my hips just right. He cursed. His fingers dug into the floor.
“Gods,” he gasped, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re so—fuck—you’re somean.”
I leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “You like me when I’m mean.”
He whined.Whined.
“You like it when I use you like this. Like you’re mine.”
“I am yours,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ve always been yours.”
My breath caught. I sat up again, hair wild, back arched, and rode him just enough to draw another broken sound from his lips. Then I stopped altogether, holding him inside me, watching him writhe.
His fists curled against the floor.
“Do you want to come, Anton?” I asked, voice dark silk. “Do you want me to let you?”
He opened his eyes—barely—and nodded, eyes wide with need. “Yes. Please. Please, Rowena.”
“Not yet.”
I rolled my hips once. Twice. Just enough to keep him desperate.
“Gods above,” he panted. “You’re a menace.”
“You love it.”
“I love you.” His voice cracked. “Even like this. Especially like this.”
I stilled again. Leaned down. Kissed him soft and sweet, like a promise. “Then prove it. Be good. Wait for it.”
Anton’s hands, previously reverent and still, suddenly weren’t. They slid up my thighs with purpose, grasping my hips, grounding me.
Then higher.
His thumbs brushed over my nipples, already peaked and flushed, and I gasped, bracing my palms against his chest.
