Page 55 of Untethering Dark

But this time, there was no doubt about what he meant.

She lifted her chin, fiercely meeting his crimson gaze, as she placed her hand in his. “Yes.”

Her knees sank into the snow as he bent her over the offering stump and flipped up her nightgown, icy wind kissing her bared skin. Bracing herself across its top, thighs brushing worn and weathered bark, she briefly thought about how well her dalliances with satyrs had prepared her for this moment.

With a sharp tug, the forest god yanked on her nightgown, snapping the straps so her breasts tumbled freely, then crouched down from behind. With one claw, he carefully traced the length of her spine from neck to the cleft of her ass, sending delicious shivers down her body.

“Such a decadent treat,” he purred.

Yes, his treat, all his. Whatever he wanted of her, she wanted him to take it.

“Devour me,” she begged, raising her hips. “Please.”

She was nothing if not a wanting and willing sacrifice.

Long, smooth tongue met cold, exposed flesh, lapping and licking between her thighs and cheeks like she was the sweetest candy. And what a diligent, industrious tongue it was, swirling and plumbing depths, leaving no bit of her untouched and blurring the lines between who was supplicant and who was deity demanding worship.

Pleasurable sensation consumed her, rearranged her insides, chewed her up, and spat her out a panting mess, clinging to the tree stump for dear life. Her nails bit crescent moons into the wood.

Just when she thought she’d explode, stars dotting her vision and mouth numb and salivating from all the lovely stimulation, he withdrew.

A sharp, needy cry escaped her lips. She hadn’t meant to make her displeasure known, but the absence of his cunning tongue was so jarring she could weep.

“Shhh. Patience, meine Hexechen. More is coming to you.”

“Please—I’m ready.”

“We shall see.”

He tested and teased her folds with a knuckle, making sure she was amply slick, and of course she was. After all the care he’d taken with his tongue, her pleasure trickled down her inner thighs. It was a slow, lazy exploration, driving her wild with need, but she bit back her protestations. Every now and again Astrid liked to play the part of a good girl.

“Get ready to take me, witch. All of me.”

She pleaded once more.

It all happened so fast.

He mounted raw and hard like a stag in rut, chasing a quick, carnal end. It cleared her mind of all else. Just that steady, unforgiving rhythm. The indulgent collide of flesh, nerve endings ripe and ablaze.

She spread her thighs wider to take him deeper, the remains of her nightgown bunching around her waist. Her moans echoed out into the night.

“There’s a good witch,” he rasped, pleased.

“Mark me. Make me yours.”

A few simple words and he unraveled completely.

A choked groan erupted from him as his grip on her hips tightened and, tilting his great antlered head back, he finished, dappled haunches flexing.

Astrid jolted awake, drenched in sweat.

Her bed was empty, the night quiet. It hadn’t been real—just a quick, dirty dream—and this furious ache wasn’t one of fulfillment. Thrusting a hand between her thighs, she replayed the dream over and over, until she came with a gasp.But the relief was only temporary, her arousal coming back with a raging vengeance.

Try and try and try again, but sleep was elusive after that, sunrise still hours away.

With a frustrated growl, she threw off her covers and padded to the kitchen, yanking out all the ingredients to make the jam-filled Kirsch Marzipan Plätzchen. But not because she needed yet another batch of cookies.

A distraction. Something, anything, to busy her hands and keep her from running outside and shouting into the mountains for Gudariks like a predigital age booty call. Maybe he’d like that, or maybe he’d think that was rather rude.

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