Page 22 of The Bull's Beauty
“You’re perfect exactly how you are.” His thumbs brush over my nipples again, and a broken moan tears from my lips. He lowers his head, his tongue laving over one peak, then the other, drawing a soft, helpless cry from me.
But he doesn’t stop there. His mouth blazes a path down my stomach, hands hooking into the waistband of my trousers and dragging them down my legs in one slow, deliberate motion, leaving me completely bare and exposed to him, to the night. This is it. There’s no hiding now.
I should feel shy. But, the look in his eyes as he kneels between my legs steals all my breath. He’s looking at me like I’m the answer to every question he’s been asking his whole life.
“Look at you,” he rasps in a low growl. He uses his thumbs to gently spread me open, exposing me completely. “So beautiful. So pink and wet…all for me.” He leans in, his hot breath ghosting over my most sensitive flesh, and I shudder violently. “This pretty little cunt is mine to taste. Mine to worship.”
Then his tongue is on me.
It’s a flat, slow, deliberate lick from my entrance all the way up to my clit, and my back arches off the ground, a cry ripping from my throat. It’s too much. It’s not enough. I need—
“Silas!” I gasp, my hands flying to his head, my fingers instinctively tangling in his hair, finding the solid, warm base of his horns. I hold on, anchoring myself as the world begins to spin.
He groans against me, the vibration shooting straight to my core. “That’s it, my fire. Hold on to me.”
He eats me like a starving man, his tongue delving deep inside me before flicking relentlessly against my clit. He laps at my arousal, drinking me down, his low, appreciative groans telling me more than words ever could. He loves this. He loves the taste of me, the feel of me.He loves me.
“So sweet,” he groans, his tongue circling my clit in tight, maddening circles.
I am mindless, lost in a storm of sensation. My hips buck off the ground, meeting every stroke of his tongue, grinding myself against his face. I’m fucking his tongue. I use the grip on his horns to guide his mouth exactly where I need it, chasing my release with a desperation I’ve never known. More, more, more.
“Right there,” I sob, my body tightening like a coiled spring. “Oh, Gods, don’t stop, please, Silas, please!”
He redoubles his efforts, sucking my clit into his mouth, his tongue fluttering over the hypersensitive bud while his finger presses firmly against my entrance, applying a perfect, delicious pressure as he pushes it inside me.
It’s that final, overwhelming sensation. My climax detonates, shattering me into a million brilliant pieces. I scream his name, my body convulsing, my thighs clamping around his head as I ride wave after wave of pure, blinding ecstasy, grinding against his relentless mouth until I am spent, boneless, and trembling. I am nothing. I am everything.
He gentles, licking softly through my aftershocks, kissing my inner thighs with a tenderness that makes my eyes sting. Finally, he lifts his head. His lips and chin are glistening with my release. He looks utterly debauched. And he is looking at me like I hung every star in the sky.
He crawles up my body, his weight a comforting anchor. He smooths away the tangled hair from my damp forehead and kisses me softly. When his tongue brushes mine, I taste myself. Our lips break apart as he shifts back just enough to shove his own leathers down his hips.
My breath catches, strangles in my throat.
Gods.
I knew Minotaurs were…proportioned. I’d heard all about it from a giggling Maeve. But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of him. His cock is enormous. A long, heavy length of rigid flesh that juts from his body, thick and veined, and glistening already at the tip. It’s intimidating. It should be terrifying. But the sight of it sends a fresh flood of heat between my legs. I feel myself clench around nothing, aching, empty, needing. I want it inside me. Now.
“Silas,” I moan, spreading my legs wider in invitation, and he doesn’t make me wait. He positions himself at my entrance, thebroad, swollen head of him pressing against my core. He’s so big. For a heart-stopping second, I wonder if it’s even possible.
“Relax for me, my fire,” he murmurs, his voice strained with the effort of his control. Then he pushes.
A sharp, stretching burn makes me gasp, my nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. He pauses, letting my body adjust to the overwhelming intrusion, his forehead pressed to mine, his breathing ragged.
“More,” I whisper, arching my hips. “Don’t stop.”
A low growl rumbles in his chest. He thrusts forward, a slow, inexorable slide that steals the air from my lungs. I feel myself stretching, yielding, accommodating his impossible girth until he’s fully sheathed, buried so deep I can feel him in my soul. There’s a fleeting, sharp pain, but it’s swallowed whole by the mind-numbing fullness. He fits. He fits me perfectly.
“Gods, Beatrice,” he groans, his body trembling. “You’re so tight. So perfect.”
Then he begins to move.
It starts as a slow, deep rhythm, each thrust a deliberate, soul-shattering possession. The slow burn quickly ignites into an inferno. He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back into me, hitting a spot deep inside that makes me see stars. I cry out, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him in deeper, harder.
“Yes! Right there! Gods, Silas, don’t stop!”
He fucks me like a man possessed, his rhythm becoming frantic, brutal, perfect. The sounds are obscene—the wet, slapping rhythm of our bodies, his ragged grunts in my ear, my own broken, pleading moans. I’m completely lost in him, in the sensation of being filled, claimed, worshipped by this powerful, beautiful man. My climax builds, a terrifying, wonderful pressure coiling low in my belly.
It shatters without warning. A raw, screaming orgasm tears through me, my inner walls clenching and spasming around his thick cock in violent, relentless waves. I sob his name, my body convulsing beneath him.
