Page 93 of The Beast King's Bride

“Why? Has something happened?” He mutters something under his breath and I put my hand on his arm.” Talen?”

“Maab’s cold tits, I just…” He turns toward me, abandoning his search, and takes my face in his hands. “I don’t want to think,” he breathes and kisses me, wrapping his arms around me.

His words alarm me a little but his kiss chases the thought away, his tongue stroking mine, sending heat into my core, his strong hands sliding back to squeeze my ass, and I melt against him, shuddering with desire.

“Ash,” he groans against my mouth, and he’s hardening fast against my belly, inside those thrice-damned leathers that are so tough to get out of. He walks me backward, toward the door. Lifting his hand, he sends an invisible wind to close it and then pushes me against the solid wood, his tongue delving deeper inside my mouth, his hands all over me.

This time when I start unlacing his shirt, he doesn’t stop me, only presses his forehead to mine, breathing heavily.

“Touch me,” he whispers. “Ash, touch me…”

Nothing I want more. Desire consumes me from the inside as I pull the laces open one by one, parting the shimmering black fabric, baring his chiseled chest. This invitation to run my hands over him shows that he trusts me, that he accepts I really want him.

The cold desolation I saw in his eyes last night is now replaced by smoldering heat. He’s still caging me with his muscular arms against the door, the guards on the other side of it, and all my focus is on stroking the dips and valleys of his chest, his trim waist, the sculpted ridges of his flat stomach—then lower, where his leather pants hang low on his narrow hips.

His breath brushes, warm, against my forehead when he lifts his head, gazing down where I’m unlacing his leathers, the laces tight over the prominent bulge there. “Ash,” he growls.

Those delicious, hard muscles in his stomach clench, forming ridges. The laces part and I shove his pants down, impatient to explore more, touch him where he’s so hard and hot.

“If you touch my cock,” he says, his voice strained, “there’s no going back. No more breakfast.”

“I think I’ll taste something else, instead,” I inform him and he huffs a deep chuckle. It turns into a groan when I finally manage to push his pants down enough to insert my hand inside and wrap my fingers around that thick length.

“Damn it, Ash…” His strong frame shakes. “Please…”

I like this side of him, open and vulnerable, his hips gently rolling, his cock pushing into my hand. I like that he seeks his pleasure, that he lets me take care of him.

Maybe it’s not a big thing but I have a feeling he hasn’t let anyone get so close in a very long time. It makes me smile.

But when I slide down to my knees, sudden doubt grips me. “I’ve never done this before,” I whisper.

“You want to try, though?” His deep voice holds a hint of a grin, and he keeps himself still, leaning against the door.

“Yes. Very much.”

“Good, then…” He slowly shoves his leather pants further down and hisses when his cock springs free, so long and thick and so hard it takes my breath away. “Then do what you like. There are no rules in this, my heart. Touch and taste and rub and squeeze. Anything you do to me is guaranteed to make me explode. I have never…” He swallows hard, his throat clicking, his eyes shiny. “Never wanted any woman as much as you.”

My throat tight, I trail my fingers up his leather-clad, strong leg, higher and higher, until I reach his cock. He hasn’t touched himself, placing his hands back on the door, giving all control over to me—and though last night I loved that he overpowered me and forced pleasure into me again and again, I love him for surrendering the power to me, letting me play with him.

I walk my fingers over his impressive length, hear his breath stutter. His cock jumps a little. Emboldened, I curl my fingers around the base, over his heavy balls, liking the way it looks, the way it juts out like this, the heavy weight of it in my hand, the way his entire body jolts as if pierced by lightning.

He’s breathing faster now, and the head of his cock is wet, the small slit dripping. He smells so good, and as I lift myself up on my knees, I find the musk from his balls and cock mingling with his wild scent, making me salivate. I never thought I’d want to taste a male, to touch him and put my mouth on him, but may the Gods help me, with this one I’m dying for a taste.

I flick my tongue over the tip, tasting bitterness and a hint of sweetness, and he swears loudly, thumping a fist on the door.

My smile widens.

I flick my tongue there again, loving his instant reaction—more swearing, and his cock swelling bigger until my fingers can barely contain its girth.

Yes, bitter and sweet with a hint of salt, a hint of tears and pain. I open my mouth and slide my lips over the broad head of his cock, sucking on him.

This time he gives a strangled shout. The realization that he’s getting lost in pleasure, losing grip over his reactions, is heady. He really is enjoying this a lot. It’s the pleasure that has him shaking like this, holding on to the door as if his knees might buckle. Pleasure, not pain, and he’s clearly not used to it. He went through all the wounds inflicted on him by so many monsters without a word or whimper, always standing tall, but pleasure… is his undoing.

And my mouth on him is obviously very pleasurable. I remember how it was when he put his mouth on me last night and I think I understand how he feels. I slide my lips over as much of his cock as I can manage, and suck hard.

“Ash!” He gives a deep and guttural groan, his hips finally moving, rocking. “Ah!”

Bolder still, I use my hand now, too, wrapping it firmly around his cock, where my lips don’t reach, and moving it in time with my mouth as he shakes and groans over me, powerful muscles shifting in his legs, his chest, as his restless movements tell me that he is slowly but surely losing control.

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