Page 27 of The Bull's Beauty
A traitorous pulse beats between my legs. He’s right. I do. Every part of me is his, branded and claimed.
“You’re an idiot,” I hiss, but I’m already tilting my head, granting him access to my throat.
“And you’re mine.” His mouth finds my neck and he sucks gently. A bolt of pure, liquid pleasure shoots straight to my core, and I moan, my hands flying to his horns, holding on as my knees go weak.
His hands drop from the wall, one sliding down to grip my thigh, hiking my leg around his hip. The other hand fists in the fabric of my dress, yanking it up. The cool air hits my bareskin, and then his fingers are there, pressing against my damp underwear.
“Always so wet for me,” he growls against my skin, his voice thick with a hunger that mirrors my own. “Even when you’re pretending to be angry.”
“I’m not pretending,” I gasp as his fingers tear the flimsy fabric aside without a second thought. His hand finds me bare, slick and ready. A rough groan rumbles in his chest as he circles my clit, and my head falls back against the stone with a thud.
He fumbles with his leathers, then I feel him, the thick, heavy length of him pressing against my entrance. His eyes lock with mine, dark and burning with a love so fierce it still steals my breath.
“Tell me you’re mine, Beatrice.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe, the last of my fight dissolving into pure, aching need. “Always.”
He pushes into me in one slow, devastating thrust, filling me completely, stretching me in that perfect, familiar way that makes me see stars. I cry out, my nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders.
He sets a brutal, possessive rhythm right there in the corridor, his hips slamming against mine; the sound of our bodies meeting echoes off the ancient stones. It’s raw and frantic and everything I need. This is us. The fight and the fire and the fucking, all tangled together into something so beautiful it hurts.
“I love you,” I sob as my climax crashes over me, shattering me into a million pieces against him.
He follows me over the edge with a guttural roar, his own release pulsing deep inside me, his big body shuddering as he holds me tight, keeping me upright.
For a long moment, we just stay like that, pressed together in the dark hallway, our ragged breaths the only sound. His forehead rests against mine, his hands still gripping my hipslike he might never let go. When he finally pulls back, his touch gentles, his hands caressing my hips before he slowly, carefully, fixes my dress.
He brushes a sweaty strand of hair from my forehead, his thumb stroking my cheek. “You still hate me?”
I look up at him, at this silent, fierce, beautiful Bull who almost started a war for me, who offered a king’s ransom for me, who lets me be as furious and as wild as I need to be, and loves me more for it.
A slow, true smile spreads across my face. “Tremendously.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners, that rare, real smile that’s just for me. “Good.”
He takes my hand, his fingers lacing through mine, and leads me back toward the light, toward the sound of our friends laughing, toward our home. And for the first time in my life, every part of me is exactly where it’s supposed to be.
