Page 29 of His Bride

I shriek because it’s way too much. His assault is merciless, devastating, sucking the air right out of me as he devours my heat, the warm length of his tongue ravishing me so thoroughly, every flick drives inch-long nails of pleasure through my core.

Caelian releases my clit. “Don’t you fucking come,” he commands, then starts to tongue a path over my pussy, up between my folds and into me, never sticking to a rhythm, never doing more than building me into a frenzy that stops before the cliff.

“It’s your fault,” he snarls. “Your fault I’m here?—”

“Stop.” The word is ripped from my soul, my hands now in his hair, fingers weaving through the strands as the tension builds, my body starting to ache desperately for relief. “Caelian, please…”

“I’m not stopping, New York. That’s not how the game’s played.” His breath is warm on my wet pussy, my clit throbbing, my core tightening.

I cry out when he sucks my clit again, then releases, moving over me and capturing my mouth. And I kiss him back, licking my taste from his tongue that flirts and spins with so many promises. It’s sheer seduction, and I’m the idiot who falls into it, opening wider, kissing harder, falling deeper.

There’s a different kind of passion there, a sweetness I think might be the end of anger and the start of something new, good, healing, right until I feel him slide the head of his cock through my slit, and the kiss changes. It’s like the sampling of fucking, being so close to getting what he wants twists and corrupts him.

A sob rises because this is a dark and brutal kiss that’s angry, hard, yet it’s something I cling to and give back because it’s fucking hot.

It’s wrong. Powerful. Utterly consuming.

And I want him to fuck me. Jesus, I want him to. Every bone in my body is crying out for that sweet release only he can give.

It’s not just about the physical act of sex, but it’s the closeness of him, the rawness of our connection.

It's the way he owns me, body and soul, when he's buried deep inside me. But behind it, as he pulls my thighs up to his hips, thatthick, hard cock thrusting against me, I can taste the blame, the anger, the recriminations.

If I move just an inch, press down and roll my hips, he’ll be inside me—which I know he’s trying not to do, not yet. He’s building, taunting, punishing.

I want him so desperately I almost take it. But I know…I knowif I give in to this kind of twisted, angry sex, it could destroy this thing with us completely.

No matter how desperate I am for this, it’s wrong. Too wrong. In the wrong ways.

Wrong.

The word keeps beating with my damn heart.

I break the kiss and push. “Stop, Caelian.”

“God, I love the games you play.”

“I’m not playing.”

He reaches down and takes his cock, moving it up and down my pussy, and I quiver; I’m throbbing everywhere with need for him.

Wrong.

And he starts to line up.

Too wrong.

His cock nudges at my entrance.

“Stop,” I whisper. “I don’t want this.”

He begins to push, just a little, parting my lips.

Every single part of me zeroes in, vibrating, whispering,do it. But then something inside me screams louder. “Stop.”

“I need to feel you, New York. I’ve never wanted to be inside a woman so fucking badly. Jesus Christ.” He pulls back and pushes forward again, but I grab his shoulders, eyes blurring.

“I said stop, Caelian. So fucking stop.”

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