Page 44 of Twisted Ties
“Come here.”
“Just because I’m your mate–”
“Come here, Rhianna.”
I want to tell him to go to hell. That if he wants to touch me, he can freaking well move himself. But that hook in my stomach listens to him and not me and carries me across the room until I’m right in front of him, the heat of his body tangible.
He slides his hand roughly into my hair and tilts my face up to his.
“I don’t like being apart from you. I don’t like not being by your side, protecting you from danger. I don’t like being able to sense your feelings through the bond with no idea what’s causing them. I don’t like the fact all I can think about is kissing you and making you moan my name into my mouth.”
I swallow, my lips parting. “What’s stopping you?”
His eyes dance with fire and then his mouth is on mine, consuming everyone of those moans he’d promised as his other hand slides into my panties.
His fingertips spark with magic as he touches me, softly nudging open my folds and pressing against my clit. I moansome more as his magic vibrates against me, building in intensity and power.
“Azlan,” I gasp, my legs shaking violently so that it’s only his strong arm keeping me upright. I grip at his shirt, my own fingertips sparking with magic too.
“I love it when you come,” he says against my mouth. He presses harder and I come easily on his fingers. Then he backs me towards the wall, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.
I press my hand against his chest and shake my head. A frown brushes across his features and something that looks like hurt, but then I’m dropping to my knees and a flicker of excitement resides in his eyes instead.
We’ve done plenty over the last few days, but it’s mostly involved his fingers, his mouth and his tongue on me. Or else he’s had me in every position I could have imagined. I haven’t done this, though. I’veneverdone this. I’m a little nervous. I don’t know what I’m doing but he’s made me feel good innumerable times and I want to make him feel good too.
“Are you sure?” he asks me, sensing my hesitation through the bond. “You don’t have to–”
I cut off his words with a determined scowl and pull down the zipper of his fly, reaching inside for him. I curl my fist around his girth. He’s hot and hard in my hand. I hook his cock out of his pants and shuffle forward on my knees.
He groans a little, his eyes wide as he watches to see what I’ll do next. For a moment I just stare at him. I may be pretty unfamiliar with male anatomy, but I’ve seen enough cocks now in the locker room to know he’s big. No wonder I feel so damn full when he’s inside me.
He’s also beautiful in a way I’d never considered theobject hanging between a man’s legs could be. Curved, girthy, solid.
Is it strange that I’m growing attached to his cock? It’s not just the way it makes me feel. It’s the way it looks too: big and solid like him, framed by a tuft of dark curls, a long protruding vein running his length, clear liquid dribbling from his head.
I lick my lips, thinking about how full he makes me feel.
“Rhianna,” he says firmly, “I’m dying here.”
A giggle that’s half nerves, half incredulous at this entire situation, spills from my throat, and then I lean forward to kiss the tip of his cock. The skin there is as soft as velvet and I taste the tinge of salt on my lips. I kiss him again, then swirl my tongue around his head.
I wish I’d spent as much time reading about this as I had about fated mates. I wish I’d watched a video or something. I’m going purely on instinct here.
The man in black, reaches down to cradle my head in his hands, stroking the underside of my jaw.
“Little mate,” he says, softly, “put it in your mouth.”
My cheeks burn furiously, but I do as he requests, taking as much of him as I can between my lips. That taste of salt floods my senses and I feel him jerk against my tongue.
“Now suck,” he says, his fingers moving to twist in my hair.
I hollow my cheeks and suck around his stiff cock.
He groans and I feel the intensity of it through the bond. I suck some more, moving my mouth up and down his cock so he’s pumping in and out.
He grunts, his fingers stiffening in my hair, a stream of nonsense flowing from his mouth.
A sense of power cascades through my veins. It isn’t magic, a fated bond or anything else like that. No, it’sknowing I’m reducing him to this, the way he’s reduced me so many times. And it maybe me on my knees, but I’m in control here. I’m the one driving these sensations of ecstasy from his body.
