Page 87 of Untethering Dark

That lovely sound.

Heat suffused his limbs, bringing his already too hot body to near eruption. Nothing, not this frozen winterland nor the refreshingly cold touch of his witch, could ease the fires immolating him from within.

But he wouldn’t rush.

No, this feast was meant to be savored. He licked into her slowly and rolled his tongue, every motion languid. His winter witch tasted like holly and sweet ice, but there too were the remnants of adrenaline in every pulse. The fear, the lust, but also the comfort and confidence with which she entrusted him to ravish and ravage her body in equal measure. He would not take that trust for granted.

Ripping the rest of her pants away, and earning a cry of surprise, he hovered over her, one hand planted near her head and the silvery, snow-white braid that tumbled over her shoulder. While his fingers doled out pleasure, he murmured a reminder against the back of her neck. “You’ve a spell to cast, don’t you, Leibe?”

Gasping a curse, Astrid clawed at the snow, nails digging into the hard, cold earth, scratching soil loose. She melted snow in the palm of her hand and mixed it, creating a little paste.

He pushed himself backward to hold her fast by the hips, busying himself with tonguing his favorite confection. Waiting for her to paint her belly and utter the words for her contraceptive spell.

More tearing of cloth, then icy wind stinging the backs of her thighs, her ass, and needy, sopping seam. Astrid had gone from thinking she was the wrong kind of snack to the best kind of delicacy in the span of minutes. It should’ve been whiplash,but she craved this ravenous claiming for days, ever since she caught him pleasuring himself in the woods.

When he finally positioned himself to mount her, a hand squeezing her hip, she expected him to slam home, too overcome to wait another second. But no. He reached between her thighs. With every press and rolling touch, he earned his way into her slickened channel, so diligent and maddeningly thorough about these ministrations her body screamed permission, desperate to be filled.

“Please,” she begged, squirming beneath him. Only half impaled.

“Please what?” he rasped, rocking, gliding, but withholding his full length. Refusing to take her to the root. Evil creature.

Well, if he was going to be difficult...

She crawled out of his grasp, pushing off the ground to make a run for it, but only made it two steps before he grabbed her ankles and yanked. She landed hard on her front, but the snow cushioned the worst of the fall.

He dragged her back.

“Trying to escape me, little witch?” he growled into her ear, his wet, hot length pressed to her backside and lower back. “Did I not catch you fair and square?”

“Stop playing with your food,” she shot back, wriggling her backside in teasing circles against his groin. “If you’re to have me, take me. I grow impatient.”

Grasping the back of her neck, he pressed down lightly. “As you wish.” With one hard thrust he sheathed himself fully, meeting not even a hint of resistance. She appreciated his earlier patience and care, but after all that fine foreplay, she no longer needed so much gentleness.

Heated skin warmed her, took the cold sting away. She clenched all around him, walls already latching with merciless suction, trying to milk him.

“So desperate and needy for me,” he rumbled. “I promise every drop will be yours, in time. But I mean to savor you long and hard.”

Shivering, she widened her legs. With her chest pressed to the earth she arched her back so she could have it deeper and feel the rhythmic slap of him.

Prey in the hunter’s clutches, Astrid craved evisceration.

Head tipped back, Gudariks moved behind her, with her, at a frenzied pace. So far gone in the feel of it, the blissful, silken glide of flesh through flesh, every single nerve ending alight, she relinquished herself to pleasure’s merciless onslaught. She’d never stop craving him, the touch, the taste, the feel, or the soul-deep mark he left in her marrow.

Coherent thought melted away. Reduced to desperate need, their bodies collided again and again, chasing friction, tearing each other apart and reassembling the pieces and finding they were more one whole than not.

“Gudariks, I want to see you,” she rasped, her voice as thick as the feeling in her chest, her heart a racing drumbeat against her ribs.

This was wonderful. Everything she hoped for she’d gotten tenfold, but now she wanted to be held, to feel the heavy weight and warmth of him upon her. She wanted to stare into his eyes as they strained with need and unraveled together upon the snow.

The next thing she knew, he pulled her up to his chest, hugging her, caressing her. Bone to fleshy cheek. “You feel so good,” he groaned.

Roving hands trailed up her torso, clasped around the collar of her sweater, then ripped it down the center. Exposed to the cold, winter air, her nipples tightened almost painfully. His cock pulsed within, but his hips stayed still, and while she could see him if she turned her head, it wasn’t enough.

“Please, Gudariks.”

He withdrew then, sweeping an arm under her legs to pick her up like a bride. Eyes locking with hers, two burning crimson portals, he laid her gently in the snow, her sweater open but spread out beneath her.

When she reached for him, he laced their fingers together and pinned her hands above her head, pushing himself in until they were flush. They rolled their hips together round and round in delicious circles. They built up to release engaged in this sensual dance. Swirling, climbing, reaching for mutual dizzying destruction.

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