Page 32 of Taste of Thorns
I tip my head back, elongating my throat, inviting him in for the bite.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But something in my blood wants to feel the cold enamel of his bite. Something wants his cock buried inside my cunt and his teeth in my throat.
I feel a little unhinged myself as I cry out, the sensations he’s driving from my body as wild as his eyes.
“I … want … to …” he growls.
“Yes,” I plead, “please!”
“My … mate,” he pants.
“Pl-please,” I say again.
He pulls his right hand from mine and for a moment I think he’ll grip my neck and bite me.
Instead, he reaches between our bodies and presses a cold thumb to my clit.
I cry out and then his magic is caressing me there and the feelings are so good I lose all reasonable thought.
I buck and writhe. I don’t hold back. I succumb to the feelings, telling him over and over again how good he makes me feel.
“Good girl,” he growls, “come for me now.”
I come, squeezing in waves around his cock, and then I hook my hand around his neck and drag him down, kissing him with all the passion I feel. He groans into my mouth. His thrusts become erratic and then with a grunt, he comes too, all the tension in his face releasing for just a flicker of a moment, and reminding me so much of the Fox Tudor he used to be, the one I knew back in Slate Quarter. The one that dazzled me even back then, even though I was nothing but a kid.
And I know he’s right. I am his mate and he is mine.
Afterwards we lie in his bed, his right arm wrapped around me, my head resting on his chest, his left hand linked with mine
“You have a heartbeat,” I mumble sleepily, my body buzzing with what just happened.
“Not always. Sometimes it just does. Muscle memory, I guess.” He kisses the top of my head. “It always starts when you’re close by.”
I giggle. “Professor, that is the cheesiest–”
“It’s true. I guess the stupid thing can’t help it.”
He lifts our clasped hands and kisses my palm and the ring he wears on his pinkie finger twinkles in the light and catches my attention.
I lift his hand closer to my eyes and examine the ring, spinning it around his finger. It’s made from a crude metal – cheap compared to the jewelry the shadow weavers wear – although there’s a twine pattern carved into the material.
I’m sure they pay the professor a salary here at the academy that far surpasses anything anyone is making back in Slate. I’ve seen the pretty books on his shelves as well as the limited-edition bottle of whisky and his well-cut suit. If he wanted, the professor could buy a more expensive ring. This one obviously has meaning.
“This is pretty,” I say.
“You think so?”
“Yes.” I trace my fingertip over the pattern.
Fox shifts on the bed, and slides the ring off his finger, taking my right hand in his and sliding the ring onto my ring finger. It’s far too big. In fact, it’s too big for my middle finger and my thumb as well.
“I can probably find a spell to adjust it to fit.”
I shake my head, taking the ring from him and sliding it back onto his finger.
“You keep it. It’s obviously special to you.”
“What makes you think that?”
