Page 39 of Brotan

"I've dreamed of this," he confesses, his lips trailing from my mouth to my ear. "Dreamed of exploring every inch of you. Mapping your body with my hands, my mouth."

"Yes," I breathe, arching against him in silent invitation. "Touch me, Crow."

He obliges with startling reverence, his hands skimming over my curves with breathtaking thoroughness. He discovers every sensitive spot—the hollow of my throat, the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips. Each caress stokes the ache building between my thighs.

His mouth follows where his fingers have been, placing open-mouthed kisses along my neck, my ribs, the ticklish spot above my waist, before returning to my breast. A rumbling moan escapes him as his tongue circles my nipple, then his mouth sucks until the sweet edge of pain sends sparks along my nerve endings.

I arch into his touch, silently begging for more—more contact, more pressure, more of him in every way.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, pulling back to look at me. "Tell me to stop, Maya. Tell me before it's too late to end this."

I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back to mine. "Don't you dare."

The weight of his body pins me to the mattress as his mouth moves to the sensitive spot above my hip. The barrier of my remaining clothes feels too restrictive as desire builds beneath my skin.

Impatient for skin-to-skin contact, I move restlessly beneath him. My nails rake down his back, leaving crescent marks in their wake. He groans, the sound sending a surge of electricity straight to my core.

His palms grip my waistband, and I lift my hips as he tugs my pants and underwear down in one swift motion. Being suddenly exposed while he remains partially clothed should make me self-conscious, but there's no room for embarrassment here—not with the naked hunger transforming his features.

His gaze moves over me, taking in every curve and hollow. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he fights for control. "Do you have any idea how many nights I've dreamed about you like this?" His voice catches, vulnerability threading through the desire. "How many times I’ve thought about tasting you? Making you come apart under my tongue?"

The combination of honesty and vulnerability sends fresh heat rushing through me. Power surges as I realize my effect on him—this battle-hardened warrior trembling at the sight of me.

He settles between my thighs, his strong hands gently spreading them wider. "Been dying to know if you taste as good as you smell," he murmurs, his breath teasing against my center. "If you're as sweet as I've imagined."

The first touch of his tongue along my seam draws a cry from my throat, my back arching off the bed. His hands grip my hips firmly, holding me in place as he devours me with single-minded focus.

The contrast of soft lips and rigid tusks creates a sensation I've never experienced—dangerous and thrilling, the cool hardness on sensitive flesh. He reads my responses with devastating accuracy, finding every spot that makes me gasp, as if he's studied a map of my pleasure.

I clutch at his hair as tension coils tight at the base of my spine. His eyes lock with mine, something vulnerable in their depths—as if he's seeking redemption in my pleasure, absolution for sins I cannot name.

"Crow," I gasp, my body drawing taut. "Please... I need..."

He slides a thick finger inside me while his tongue maintains its rhythm. I moan deeply as he fills me, my body yielding as he claims me inch by inch. The dual sensations send me flying over the edge, vision blurring as pleasure crashes through me in relentless waves.

I float back to myself, trembling and breathless, muscles liquified. He works me through every aftershock until I pull gently at his hair, suddenly oversensitive.

He rises, satisfaction burning in his expression as he tastes me on his lips. The sight of him—this powerful creature looking at me like I'm something precious—sends another pulse of desire through my already sensitive body.

"Sweet," he growls, voice thick with need. "Better than I imagined."

He draws me into a kiss that tastes of me—tangy and musky on his tongue. There's something primal and claiming about it that makes me moan, my hand sliding between us to cup the impressive bulge straining against his boxers.

"My turn," I whisper when we break apart, my hands exploring the bare expanse of his chest, tracing the contours of muscle beneath olive skin.

My fingers trail lower, following the defined ridges of his abdomen that tense beneath my touch. I pause at his waistband, meeting his eyes. "Can I touch you?"

He gives a sharp nod, jaw clenched tight. I slip my hand inside his boxers, wrapping my fingers around him. The heat scorches my palm, and I gasp at his size and hardness. He's thicker than any human I've been with, with distinctive ridges I can feel beneath my exploring fingers.

Crow inhales sharply, eyes falling closed as he leans into my touch. A rumble builds in his chest as I stroke him, learning what makes his breath catch, what draws those sounds from deep in his throat.

"Maya," he groans, my name both prayer and curse on his lips.

Emboldened, I tug his boxers down his powerful thighs. He springs free, impressive and intimidating.

"Is this an orc thing?" I ask, running my thumb over the ridges, fascinated by how his entire body tenses. "These ridges?"

"Yeah," he manages, breathing ragged. "Helps with... God, don't stop..."

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