Page 64 of Her Manticore Master
“You are not being left behind,” he repeats, his voice softer now, but no less intense. He leans in, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my lips. He is going to kiss me. I know it. And I want it more than I have ever wanted anything.
His gentle kiss, a silent question, holds a profound intimacy. It's a terrifying promise of connection and hope, a vulnerability more frightening than any battle. This uncharted devotion is more unnerving than any blade.
29
RONAN
In a cold cell, Corrina's defiant eyes burn, her torn silks a testament to our clash. The guards' taunts fuel my protective fury. Though I should strategize for the coming melee, for my brothers, for survival, all I see is her unyielding flame.
“Stop pacing, Corrina,”I say, voice low, rough from the effort of keeping my temper leashed. “You’re wearing a hole in the floor.”
She whirls, her dark hair a wild cascade in the dim torchlight filtering through the bars. “And you’re just sitting there, brooding like some damned statue. What’s your plan, Ronan? To glare our way out of this hell?”
I lean forward on the cot, elbows on my knees. “My plan is to keep us alive. You want to help, stop snapping at me and listen.”
“Listen?” She laughs, sharp and bitter. “To what? Your grand warrior wisdom? I’m not your soldier, beast.”
Her fiery gaze pulls me under. I cross the cell, pulling her into my lap. “Enough,” I murmur, hands on her hips. “No more fighting. Not tonight.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. “You don’t get to decide that,” she says, her voice softer, trembling with something deeper than anger.
Cupping her face, I kiss her with deep hunger, a need to claim her. She responds fiercely, matching my desperation.
“Ronan,” she whispers against my mouth, her voice a mix of longing and defiance, “this doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything,” I say, my lips grazing her jaw, her throat, tasting the pulse hammering under her skin. I lift her, laying her back on the cot, the straw rustling beneath us.
Our movements are deliberate, unhurried, as I peel away her torn silks, baring her to the dim light. She’s breathtaking, all curves and fire, her skin flushed with need, and I pause to drink her in, my chest tight with a longing I can’t name.
“Don’t stare,” she murmurs, a flush creeping up her neck, but her eyes hold mine, bold and burning.
“Can’t help it,” I say, my voice rough with want. “You’re… everything.”
I shed my tunic, then my reinforced leathers, each piece hitting the stone floor with a soft thud that reverberates in the confined space. The cell’s chill fades, burned away by the heat of her gaze, her body calling to mine.
I move over her, settling between her thighs, and enter her slowly, deliberately, savoring the tight, wet heat of her pussy as it grips me inch by inch. Her moans are low and throaty, a symphony of need that fills the silence, each sound a spark that sets my blood ablaze.
“Gods, Corrina,” I groan, my voice breaking as I thrust deeper, her walls clenching around me, slick and perfect.
Her pussy feels like it was made for me, hot and pulsing, drawing me in with every slow, deliberate stroke. Her moans grow louder, desperate, a keening edge to them as she arches beneath me, her nails digging into my shoulders, urging me on.
“Ronan,” she gasps, her voice raw, her hips rising to meet mine. “Don’t stop… please.”
There’s no rush, no frantic urgency—just an intense, aching passion that binds us. Each thrust is a vow, deep and steady, my cock filling her completely, her pussy responding with a hungry clench that drives me wild.
Her moans are a melody of surrender and strength, rising and falling with each movement, a sound that’s both plea and command. I angle my hips, hitting that spot inside her that makes her cry out, her body trembling as she claws at my back, leaving trails of fire.
“You feel so good,” I murmur, my lips against her ear, my thrusts slow but forceful, each one a claim on her heart. “So perfect… like you’re mine.”
She stiffens, her body tensing beneath me, and I feel the shift before she speaks. “I don’t belong to anyone,” she spits, her voice sharp, temper flaring as she pushes against my chest. “Not you, not Valdris, not anyone. I never will.”
I pause, still buried deep inside her, my heart pounding. “That’s not what I meant,” I say, voice low, trying to reach her through the fire in her eyes. “I mean I’m yours too. We’re in this together.”
She glares, her breath ragged, but the fight in her softens, just a fraction. “You don’t own me, Ronan,” she says, quieter now, almost a plea.
“I know,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “But I want you. All of you. And I’ll fight for that, if you let me.”
She doesn’t answer, but her hands slide up my back, pulling me closer, and we move again, slower, deeper, our bodies locked in a rhythm that’s all heat and heart.
