Page 117 of House of the Raven
I’m too busy watching him kiss his way to the tip of my right breast, where he stops to suck and tease with the tip of his tongue. My nipples harden to aching nubs. He cups my other breast, then pinches it between thumb and forefinger. Chills travel to my toes. My scalp tingles.
It feels as if I’ve gone to heaven, then he returns his attention further south, and I learn there’s a heaven within heaven.
Tenderly, he parts me with his finger, then slides his tongue from my center back to the apex where the entire universe seems to concentrate. The tip of his tongue concentrates there, tracing circles, causing me to moan with need.
Of their own accord, my hips lift off the bed. Head thrown back in ecstasy, I squeeze the sheets between trembling fists. Something builds inside of me, momentum that seems terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Bastien laps and sucks, sucks and laps. He’s breathing hard, his face buried between my legs as he devours me with uninhibited delight.
A wave of tremendous release washes over me and suddenly I’m screaming, tremors assaulting my body. I’m falling, falling, falling, and then Bastien is there, holding me tight to his chest, kissing my temple, whispering my name against my ear.
I bury my face in his neck and continue shuddering, pleasure rolling from my core in exquisite cycles and leaving me helpless in this man’s arms.
When the delicious assault passes, I start kissing his neck. He responds with a moan of his own. My hands reach for his trousers and despite the shaking of my finger, I undo the buttons.
He gets out of bed, stands, and removes his pants. They drop to the floor revealing the extent of his beauty. I’m embarrassed by the way his erect length consumes my attention. Here is something I’ve never seen, and I’m immediately fascinated. I want to know all there is to know about this part of him.
Eagerly, I push to the edge of the bed and sit in front of him. I’m careful as I wrap a hand around him, my thumb stroking the underside. His eyes close. He throbs in my hand, and I smile at the response. He is soft and hard all at the same time.
A small drop of liquid shines at the very tip. I lap it away with my tongue, and he nearly melts into me. It seems like an impossible task, but I take him into my mouth and revel in the feel of him inside my mouth. My hand pumps all the way down to the base, then back up.
With a sudden growl, he pulls away from me and returns us to the center of the bed, where he positions himself on top of me once more. His tip presses against my center, and I barely have time to bemoan the change in positions because I’m shocked by the anticipation of what he will do next.
“This,” he says. “Thisis what I want.”
“A bit selfish, don’t you think?” I manage in a breathless gasp.
“This is not about altruism, princess. I want to fuck you. This night, you are mine.”
Mine.Mine. Mine.
I like the sound of that word on his chiseled lips. “Be selfish then.”
His expression—no, his very features—seem to change. His eyes devour me, lust brimming from its dark depths. His nose and jaw are sharper, his eyes more luminous. He’s so beautiful that words aren’t enough to describe.
And when he thrusts his hips once, his shaft pressing against my core and causing the most delicious ache. Words cease to matter. There is only the pressure between my legs, the way he tears me one bit at a time, until I’m full to the brim with him, until he’s touching the most tender parts of me, his body flush against mine, his wall undone as he surrenders to this feeling of belonging to each other.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
He is also mine.
Bastien thrusts in and out.
I arch in pleasure as he fills me so deeply and so thoroughly that tears slide from the corners of my eyes. Once more, he drives me to that tense momentum, that space that feels full of possibilities even though there is only one outcome.
I sway at the very edge as he ebbs and flows. For a long moment, I teeter precariously, my fingernails digging into his back. Together, our bodies rock and we scream in utter delight. It feels like a release of self, that taste of the ever-elusive freedom I crave.
He shivers and collapses into my arms, our chest, our hearts, our souls, touching. He is utterly at my mercy.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
36
VALERIA
“The wound of words is worse than the wound of swords.”
Moro Proverb
My stomach twists itself into tight knots as I walk down the grand staircase that leads to my engagement ball.
