Page 88 of The Beast King's Bride

He grabs my hands, stilling them, a slight smirk curling one side of his mouth. “You want me?”

“Gods, yes. I want you, I—”

He leans over me to crush his mouth to mine, his hands cupping my face, spearing into my hair, tilting my face up to deepen the kiss. I moan when his tongue brushes against mine, strokes the roof of my mouth. Pleasure shoots down my spine, right to the core of me. My toes curl inside my shoes. My breasts feel heavy and tight.

I clutch at the front of his half-undone shirt, whimpering with need, aching between my legs. I want him to touch me there, touch me everywhere, to soothe that ache he’s caused.

He draws back, breaking the kiss, just enough to grab the front of my bodice and rip it apart. I yelp as my undergarments seem to follow the same fate, my breasts spilling out, my nipples taut and hard.

He grins, then, his canines sharp, the grin unexpectedly boyish with delight. The darkness in his eyes only deepens, though, as he nudges my legs apart and steps between them, then pushes me back on the desk and bends over me to feast on my breasts, pulling each nipple into his mouth and sucking.

My back arches on the desk as sharp pleasure runs straight through me, more heat pooling between my legs—where the fabric-clad hard length of his arousal is pressing, right where I ache for him. Instinctively, I lift my knees, pressing them on either side of his hips, and he groans, lifting his head to gaze down at me, lying exposed underneath him.

But his expression is one of awe and wild joy.

“Talen—”

He rips my skirts, rips them to shreds, and I don’t know if he is just that strong or if it’s magic, but the fabric flutters around me in actual ribbons, skirts and underskirts alike, baring me completely, leaving only scraps of satin on my waist and on my arms.

“Beautiful,” he whispers. “Most beautiful girl in any world. Brighter than starlight and prettier by far.”

His hand drags over my breasts, making me shiver, over my belly, circling my navel, and lower, his gaze following the path of his fingers as he grazes the top of my thigh and lingers. The pressure between my legs is too much. It feels hot and I think… I think I’m wet down there.

I hold my breath as he licks his lips, then reaches down with his other hand to push on the tent in his leather britches, letting out a soft growl.

Then he bends over me again until his mouth is aligned with mine, his eyes half-lidded. “You haven’t been with a male before.”

I start to shake my head but he fastens his mouth on mine again and at the same time as he kisses me, his hand presses between my legs, a finger stroking me, flicking in my wetness.

He groans against my lips. “You really want me,” he breathes, and I realize he hadn’t fully believed it until then.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes.”

His finger pushes into me, curls, pressing into a part of me that’s been coiled tight since I first met him and ached at the beauty of him. Just that knowing touch, that press, and I cry out into his mouth, shattering into a thousand pieces, losing track of time, of where I am, my body exploding into stardust.

“Skies above,” he breathes, pulling back, brows drawn together and eyes full of writhing darkness. “You’re so tight, so wet. I want to make you come a million times but I don’t know how long I can wait to make you mine.”

“Please,” I whisper because dizzy and sated as I am, I still want him. I still haven’t had him. I can’t bear not feeling him against me. “More.”

Pulling out his finger from inside of me, he sticks it in his mouth and licks it thoroughly, making me feel too hot all over again. “So sweet.” He grins widely, wickedly. “Your wish, my lady, is my command.”

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