Page 96 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
My fingers clench her shirt, wanting to touch her.
Her hands lift, slowly, hesitantly, and this time, she kisses me. Soft, unsure, clumsy, but the heat is unmistakable, the desire scalding.
I lift her easily and return to her room. I set her down gently on the closest thing, her dresser. My mouth moves against hers as I taste her, lick her. Her legs instinctively wrap around my waist, anchoring me to her.
I want to fall to my knees in front of her. Instead, I kiss her like I’ve wanted to from the moment she collapsed into my arms in the forest.
She moans softly, her fingers knotting in my shirt as I deepen the kiss. My hands run along her sides, reverent, cautious, careful. When I lift the hem of her shirt, I move slowly. She lets me. She raises her arms, and the shirt comes off.
Her body is a landscape of survival. Faded marks across her stomach, thin pink lines over her shoulder, a raw one near her side that the healer didn’t fully erase.
I meet her eyes. She’s holding her breath.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper with every fiber of truth I have left in me.
Her lips tremble, but she doesn’t look away.
I press kisses to her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. My hands stroke her spine, memorizing every inch. She arches into me, breath hitching when my mouth closes over a tight, aching peak.
She gasps my name. The sound scrapes every nerve raw.
I drop to my knees, hands sliding down her thighs. She shivers as I peel down her shorts, lifting her hips to help me. I kiss my way down her belly, tasting her heat, her strength. Then I rise again, cupping her face.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur.
“So are you,” she points out coyly.
I smile. “You make me forget how to breathe.”
My fingers slide between her thighs, testing, teasing, and I curse softly when I feel the heat there—wet, ready. Her head falls back with a soft cry, her hips moving toward me.
“More,” she whispers, the broken moans spilling from her mouth, driving me crazy.
My fingers are coated with her juices, but her pussy is tight. I manage to squeeze in one finger, and then another, slowly fucking her, loosening her for my cock. Her hips move in tandem with my fingers.
Her bedroom is quiet, dimly lit by the single lamp on the dresser behind her, its glow soft and golden against her skin. She is perched right at the edge, knees parted, her breath hitching every time I move.
She’s gripping the edge of the dresser like it’s the only thing keeping her safe, her knuckles pale, thighs trembling slightly on either side of my hips. I can feel how hard she’s trying not to close them—to let herself stay open. Exposed.
Fiona’s head is tipped forward, cheeks flushed, her lips parted as if she’s trying to catch her breath—or find the courage to ask for more.
“Too much?” I murmur, pausing my fingers inside her, my voice barely above a whisper.
She shakes her head, but her eyes are wide—shy, uncertain, burning with something deeper than lust. It’s want and fear braided together, knotted in her chest. I see it all.
“No,” she breathes. “Don’t stop. Please.”
My thumb brushes gently over her clit as my fingers curl inside her, and her body jolts—delicate and so responsive I could come undone just from watching her. Her breath comes faster, lashes fluttering as she clutches the dresser behind her.
“You’re doing so good, Fiona,” I murmur, bending to press a kiss to her jaw, then another just beneath her ear. “So fucking perfect like this.”
She gasps softly, and I feel her pulse flutter around my fingers.
I move again—slowly, deeply, curling just right until she shivers. She grips my forearm now, her small hand trembling, holding on as her hips begin to rock in time with my hand.
Her voice is almost too quiet to hear. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”
I freeze for a second, my chest pulling tight.
