Page 78 of Song of the Dark Wood

Conor grinned and kissed her inner thigh before hooking his fingers around her undergarments and tugging them down. She lifted her legs, bringing them together to make it easier. He spread her legs wide again. His gaze raked over her in ravenous hunger.

Before she could second-guess her decision, he brought his mouth down on her. Her head fell back, and her eyes looked up at the glass ceiling. The sensation was like nothing she’d ever felt before. She felt hot all over, but her skin prickled in goosebumps, and she shuddered, her entire focus narrowing to the wet slide of his tongue. The feeling fulfilled the promise made by all his past kisses. The hint of pleasure in them was nothing compared to the staggering, explosive warmth that surged through her.

She moaned loudly, and he chuckled against her sensitive flesh.

“Fuck,” he murmured.

The vibration of his voice against her sent her arching into him. His hands came to her hips, and she wasn’t sure if it wasto help ground her or hold her still, and she honestly didn’t care which as long as he didn’t stop. Heated tension coiled in her body, her muscles tensing and relaxing as if trying to hold on or let go. With every ministration of his mouth, the pressure wound tighter until she thought she might break in half.

Her hands threaded through his hair, holding him in place. Conor groaned, moving more urgently. Her pleasure climbed higher and higher, the sensation more thrilling and exhilarating than anything she’d ever felt. He feasted on her like she was his last meal, and she’d never felt more vulnerable and free.

All the tension in her broke at once, like a wave on the shore. She arched off the ground and cried out. Her toes curled until her feet cramped painfully and her body felt suspended in contraction as he continued to work her. A rush of warmth and tingling satisfaction settled in her body and she relaxed onto the ground.

Conor sat up, looking stricken.

“Did I do something wrong?” Rowan asked.

“Quite the opposite. You were perfect—too perfect,” Conor murmured. He looked pained as he licked his lips. His gaze slowly traveled over every inch of her skin before meeting her eyes again.

“You can have me,” Rowan said. “I—” She felt suddenly shy and over-exposed. “I want you to.”

Pollen still sparkled in the air around them, and for the first time, she noticed how Conor was covered in her glittering handprints. It felt possessive. He’d just claimed part of her, and the handprints signaled how she claimed him back in some small way.

He hesitated a moment before pouncing on her. Suddenly, his hands deftly worked the buttons on the back of her dress as she fumbled with his belt.

Conor seemed unconcerned by her clumsiness as she reached for him. She stared for a moment, terrified of doing something wrong. She met his eyes as she wrapped her hand around his length and stroked him the way she’d been taught. He groaned and kissed her in a rabid, frenzied way that had her tearing at his shirt until he tossed it away and her hands could touch his skin.

He drew back and met her eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked, gritting his teeth as if pained.

She hesitated to answer. The brief pause sharpened her mind. Her dagger was hidden back in her bed. She couldn’t kill him without it, and her mind was still so clouded with lust she wasn’t sure she wanted to. How could someone truly evil bring out such intense joy and pleasure in her?

She stared up at him, unsure what to do. She desperately wanted to feel more of what he’d introduced her to. She’d never imagined feeling out of control could be so wonderful.

She wasn’t thinking clearly. She should slow down.

She sighed heavily. The words of Orla’s journal came screaming back to her.

He’s so handsome it’s easy to forget what he is. He doesn’t care the way humans do. His care is possessive. It’s ownership.

“I’m not ready,” she mumbled at the same time Conor said, “I can’t.”

Relief washed over her. “I’m sorry,” she stammered.

Conor shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you were ready, and I shouldn’t have even asked. I also know it’s a terrible idea. I don’t just mean I can’t now. I mean, I can’t ever.”

He rolled to the side, tugging her dress back into place as he fastened his pants. His face shuttered, morphing into something cold and indifferent. She cringed at how mercurial he could be.

“What just happened?” Rowan asked. “I’m fine. I loved what you did. I’ve never felt anything like that. It was incredible. Ididn’t even know anything could feel that good.” She swallowed around the disappointment tearing through her.

Rowan had felt so little good in her life—pathetically little. She was inexperienced and foolish. She must have done something wrong for him to not want to continue, but she was frustrated that he wouldn’t just tell her what. A lump formed in her throat and her eyes burned.

“Oh, Mother slay me, please don’t cry. I don’t know what to do when you cry.” Conor ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t, but not because I don’t want to. In fact, it’s almost all I can think about, especially with your taste still on my lips, Rowan.”

She blushed and looked away. “Then why can’t you?”

He brought his hand to her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were stormy and incandescent, his face tortured.

“I can’t take you because if I do, I’ll suck the life force right out of you, and you’ll die. That’s how it works. That is what it means to be devoured by the Wolf.”

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