Page 70 of Untethering Dark

“I dreamt about this,” she murmured, palming his shaft. “And I ached for you. That’s why the Plätzchen were so potent.”

He groaned, cupping her chin, claws deliciously framing her face. “Wicked words, witch. Tell me, how did you imagine we’d fuck?”

“I thought I’d give myself like an offering,” she whispered, lining him up with her entrance. “Bend over the tree stump, let you hike up my nightgown and rut.”

Pressing his forehead to hers, his breath hitched. As she spread her labia with her fingers, clearing the path forward, he rocked gently upward, earning every gained centimeter with a tender rolling of his knuckles against her clit. “I’d like that.”

But they didn’t rush this beginning, when the give of flesh wasn’t as forgiving, and the friction not yet exquisite. Each careful stroke brought them closer.

“Almost.” She furrowed her brow at a bit of resistance, the angle not quite right.

He lifted her up then, palms cupping, squeezing her bottom, and tilted her hips just so, easing that final slide to the hilt. “There, how’s that?”

“Mmm.” Lashes fluttering closed in satisfaction, she rolled her hips. An undulation so slow and sweet, meant to savor each decadent glide. The press of skin to skin, muscle to muscle.Though no stranger to fucking, there was more happening between them than need and a race toward an explosive end. Astrid wanted to take her time, relish every sensation.

“Beautiful witch,” he said, moving her hands to his antlers. “Give yourself some leverage.”

She stretched to reach a set of prongs, but stilled as she clasped her fingers around them, ridged and whorled. Could they bear weight? Pain could be nice, but there was a difference between exquisite ache and discomfort.

“They can take it.” He chuckled and nuzzled between her breasts. All her stretching had offered them up to him like a feast. A touch that was all cold bone and hard fangs, offset only by the puff of hot breath on skin.

Dread quivered deep in her stomach at this meeting of sharp points against vulnerable flesh, but just as powerful, if not more so, was the rush of pleasure that shot up her spine, arching her into him. Two opposing instincts that shouldn’t blend so well together, but like salt and sugar in dough, they did.

Spiked adrenaline, fear, and lust raced through her veins, increased by the pounding of her heart.

Gudariks inhaled deeply, chasing scent with taste by the wet slide of his tongue, lavishing each pliable hill and valley. A sound like rolling thunder rumbled from the back of his throat that should have been terrifying, but all she could hear in it was happiness.

“I have acquired such a taste for you,” he purred, hitching her up. “Take my antlers into your hands, hold them while you ride. Yank them when you want my tongue elsewhere, but whatever you do, don’t restrain yourself for fear of hurting me.”

She trusted him to know his own body, its capabilities and wants. After all, she’d demand the same from him, to trust her desire for pleasure equal parts gentle and rough.

Grip tightening, she pulled herself up.

The leverage was helpful. A welcome respite from a building burn in her thighs as she fell into a rhythmic rise and fall upon his lap, torturously slow and sweet.

“That’s it.” He tilted his head back, watching her with a heavy, hooded gaze. “There’s a good witch.”

His hands roamed up her back. It began with a careful skim along the spine, but trekked higher, cupping shoulders next, then her cheeks.

She rose high upon his length, almost extracting herself fully, then ground down to the hilt, eliciting a throaty groan rough as gravel from his mouth.

“Does that feel good, Gudariks?” She repeated the motion, each stroke more caress than thrust.

Raising his arms above his head, Gudariks dug his claws into the natural rock ledge behind him, holding on as he rotated his hips beneath hers, giving back as much as she did in their sensual, undulating dance.

Who knew slow could alight her nerves so perfectly from tingling tongue to clenching toes?

“I’m spellbound,” he breathed. “Utterly bewitched.”

Warmth flooded her chest, but she kept the fuzzy feelings to herself and cupped his chin, crooning, “Not enough if you can speak coherently.”

It was as good as a promise, and one by one, she let her fingers fall to his throat, very lightly squeezing the neck muscles from the sides to suggest restricting airflow. “Is this okay?”

His cock throbbed within her. “Yes,” he rasped. “More even.”

“I’ve been on the giving and receiving ends of breath play many times,” she explained, searching his eyes for any hint of reluctance or discomfort. Getting consent, establishing boundaries, and deciding on a way to end the play was absolutely necessary, immortal lover or not. “I won’t squeezemuch harder than this, but you can just say ‘stop’ or tap my leg if you want me to let go.”

Two fiery eyes stared back at her, blazing with challenge and excitement. “I agree to these terms.”

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