Page 94 of When Death Whispers

“That’s it. Let me hear you.”

My tongue—long, rough—laps across her other breast. Her cry is broken, her hands flying to my horns. She grips tightly, grounding herself. The jolt that sends through me is maddening.

“You taste of sin and sweetness,” I breathe against her skin. “A delicacy I’ve been denied too long.”

My other hand slides under her, pulling her into my lap. She straddles my thighs perfectly, like she’s meant for this. Meant for me.

“Do you feel that?” I murmur, breath hot against her neck. “The way your body fits mine. You were made for this.”

My tongue flicks her skin, tasting salt and rapid pulse. She tilts her head, offering herself. Instinct. Need. It makes my blood roar.

Her hips grind against me, searching. Her panties soaked. My cock aches to be buried inside her.

“Such a needy little thing,” I growl, claws digging into the soft flesh of her ass. “Tell me what you want.”

She buries her face in my chest, fingers tangled in my fur. Shame. Desire. Fear. All of it pulses through her.

“I… I shouldn’t…”

I grip her chin, forcing her gaze to mine. Her eyes—glazed, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

“You shouldn’t what?” I taunt. “Crave a monster? Ache for my touch?”

My claws trail down her spine. She shudders.

“Tell me,” I rasp. “Tell me what you need.”

“I… I need…” she whispers.

“Yes?” I coax, claws pressing into her hips. “Say it.”

“You,” she gasps. “I need you, Rad. Please…”

A thrill shoots through me, the excitement of making her admit outloud what she has denied in her internal musings as potent as the lust scenting the air.

“Tell me what you need from me, my little snow fox. In detail.”

And that’s all it takes.

Her hands are everywhere—gripping my fur, tracing my horns, greedy and frantic. Her mouth finds mine, desperate and demanding. I let her take, just for a moment.

Then I flip her onto her back.

Her silver hair fans across the pillow, skin flushed and glowing. I hover over her, drinking her in.

“Is this what you want?” I growl. “To be pinned beneath your monster?”

“You’re not a monster,” she breathes. “You’re mine.”

The words break something loose inside me.

I tear her panties away, baring her. My claws trace down her hip, across her thigh, and back up to where she’s wet and aching. I retract my claws and slide two fingers through her folds—soaked.

“So eager. So perfect.”

I lean down, tongue flicking out to taste her. She cries out, hands flying to my horns again. Her taste—fuck—it’s addictive. I devour her, holding her hips steady as she writhes, begging without words.

Just as she’s about to fall apart, I pull back. Her moan is frustration incarnate.

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