Page 51 of Gifted Destiny

His finger slides out of me before pushing in again and brushing against the sensitive inner spot I’ve only read about in stories. My response is entirely involuntary as I thrash andmoan. My body is in danger of fracturing. Garrett’s labored breaths in my ear suggest he’s similarly affected. My taut, aching nipples brush his hard chest with every inhalation.

“Garrett …, please.” I’m not ashamed to beg – not when he has me so tightly wound. His name is nothing more than a breathy moan, but he understands the words.

“Yes. Say my name again, Zosia.”

I do. I say his name each time he gently twists and thrusts his finger into my needy tightness. His name turns into a keening cry after only a few repetitions as I fall apart underneath him. I lose all sense of time and place in the few minutes afterward, and he takes advantage of my euphoria by stripping me naked. The cool air brings me back to my senses, dunking me into a sea of sensation. My lungs continue to fight for each breath and my legs shake as the aftershocks of my orgasm crash over me.

My brain stutters to comprehend Garrett’s actions when he sits next to me on the bed. I expected him to thrust inside me while I was still coming down to minimize the pain of his size. Instead, his eyes meet mine as he lifts me up and positions my body with my butt on his powerful thighs and his monster cock poised at my entrance. I can’t believe my brain just put those two words together … monster cock. Still swooning from the amazing orgasm, I almost start to laugh. The serious expression on the shifter’s face and the very real threat of his size prevent me from dissolving into immature giggles.

“Tell me if you start to feel any discomfort or pain,” Garrett manages between breaths, and it’s apparent that he’s channeling his last shreds of control to speak. “I’ll do most of the work, but you’ll have some control in this position.”

I nod because I don’t know what to say. The position is just like sitting, I tell myself. My legs bracket his waist. I’d be concerned about their relative uselessness if my partner didn’t possess the strength of a supernatural bodybuilder. The shifter’shuge hands maneuver my weight without any noticeable effort as he pulls me closer. The tip of his cock glistens with pre-cum and my wetness; the sight is unbearably erotic. Garrett must agree because he swallows hard when he looks down, and his fingers tighten their grip on my hips.

He groans another curse and closes his eyes before speaking. “I’m barely holding it together, kitten. Are you all right?” Despite the raw need in his rasping tone, he manages to voice his concern for my comfort. The endearment I hated a day ago makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside for some unknown reason.

“I’m good,” I manage to say as I grip his shoulders and bring our bodies closer. We watch with our foreheads pressed together as the tip of his cock slides inside me almost effortlessly. Maybe I shouldn’t have been worried ….

The thought fades when he bumps up against what I assume is my cervix, and there’s still a couple inches remaining. He’s not just long; he’s thick as well. My inner walls stretch, but this is a delicious feeling and more pleasurable because my legs are already splayed.

My lover rocks his hips – just a little – and the motion slides him further inside. Watching this happen is unbelievably erotic, and I’m grateful that the position allows me the view if I look over my breasts. My desire spirals higher as Garrett rocks again. His muscles shake as he maintains his tightly held control, but it only adds to the experience. His hands slide from my hips to under my ass, and he kneads my muscles. The attention relaxes my hips just enough for him to slide his considerable length all the way in.

The powerful muscles in his arms flex as he utilizes his strength to pull back out and thrust inside again. He was right. I don’t have to do anything, but I can wiggle my hips to seat him inside me and clamp my muscles around him when he pulls out.My pleasure builds with a swiftness and power that surprises me considering my multiple orgasms.

When I lift my head, I see the vulnerability Garrett usually hides behind his immense strength and the compassion he buries beneath a hard exterior. I kiss him hard and don’t close my eyes because I want to see the passion burning in his eyes.

I feel connected to him in this moment; it feels like we’re one being as we move and breathe together. Strangely, his eyes don’t darken with passion. They lighten instead, glowing with amber light, and I wonder whether I see his beast staring out at me. His skin shivers as if his wings really are just under his skin. The sensation tempts my sphinx, and I have to push her down before she emerges.

Garrett’s groans are a strange combination of the warble of a huge predatory bird, the growl of a massive lion, and the guttural passion of a man. His eyes appear to glow in the dim morning light as we rock together, and his cock pushes deeper inside me with every movement. My body seemed made for him, and I had nothing to fear after all. Although sex hadn’t seemed as intense with the others, it felt as natural as now. They are all made for me, as I am for them, in different ways. Garrett and I bond on a more primal level because our animals connect.

Sweat beads on his forehead, and I’m fascinated with the flex of muscle in his shoulders and arms as he moves our bodies in tandem. His control doesn’t waver, but I want to see him lose his restraint. I wiggle my hips. My breasts bounce and my nipples score his chest every time he pushes deep inside me. As my fingertips dig into him, I worry that my talons are emerging. My sphinx half is close to the surface and forging a link with Garrett’s griffin.

When the massive body in front of me shudders and Garrett’s grip on my ass tightens to the point of almost bruising, I know he’s close. His pace quickens and I clench tightly around his cockas he thrusts in and out. Leaning forward, I lick the taut muscle in his neck before biting – not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to mark him. This seems to break him because his thrusts become a pounding frenzy that draws a scream from my throat.

“Garrett.” I moan his name, but my mind is absent as I whimper, scream, and make many embarrassing sounds that I’m so glad no one else can hear.

“Zosia, come for me. Come all over me,” Garrett growls.

My body convulses and shakes through my orgasm, and the involuntary spasms of my inner muscles provoke his climax. He shoves so deep inside me that it’s almost painful, his cock seeming to swell even more inside me. Then, he explodes. He roars to the skies and growls like the animal he is. His raw, uninhibited response draws another orgasm from me. It’s milder but no less pleasurable.

Our bodies tremble and shake together, our skin slick with sweat. I’ll need to shower again, I think, but the thought is gone before I even have time to register it.

“Mine,” my sphinx growls with surprising and possessive need. My canines grow at the same time, and I’m sure my eyes shine with a golden light.

Garrett’s head moves against my shoulder in a nod. “Yes. I’m yours and you’re mine. Always.” His words are muffled and barely coherent. He holds me so tight that it makes me question whether he’s scared to release me. When his skin begins to shiver under my fingers, I worry that he’s shifting in my arms.

I open my eyes, half-concerned I’ll see a griffin instead of a man. My other mates received their mate marks while I slept, but Garrett’s appears while I watch. It blooms on his neck, the same place I bit him in my lust-filled haze.

“Does it hurt?” I whisper. The ink scrolling across his flesh fascinates me.

“I could ask you the same.” His fingers graze the back of my left shoulder. I hadn’t felt anything but a tickle, like the presence of a rogue hair.

“Is mine the same as yours? What does it mean?”

I search through the library in my mind, seeking the hieroglyph of a stylized feather. “The design is exactly the same, but yours is black instead of gold. The symbol is associated with the Egyptian Goddess Ma’at. There’s some confusion over the concepts she represented, but the universal understanding is order, truth, and justice.”

“Order, truth, and justice,” the shifter repeats in a pleased whisper, his gaze riveted to my mark as he tries to envision it on himself. I hope he likes it. The tattoo isn’t as massive as my other mate’s marks, but the lines are thick and dark. They follow the natural curve of his shoulder and neck, nearly blending into shadow when he turns a certain way. The artful elegance is mesmerizing.

“I was worried I wouldn’t like it,” he admits as the design settles into permanence without the irritation of a standard tattoo. “I should have realized it would be perfect. Order, truth, and justice,” he repeats.

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