Page 31 of Cursed Shadows 1

No smirks or smiles grace his swollen lips. He doesn’t let silly things like pride stir a reaction in him. He only watches me, waiting for my rejection of what’s to come.

I hope it’s me.

Gazes locked, he shifts his angle at my core, and the length of him soon rests along my wet slit and the bud that hums for his attention.

He hisses through clenched teeth but steadies his movements enough to keep me at ease.

Slowly, he rests his forearm on the grass, pushed up at the side of my shoulder; his fingertips brush over my cheek, then dip back to comb through my hair. The gesture is such lazy affection that I decide if he asked me to run away with him into the dark, tonight, I would.

He has me wrapped tight around those fingers.

The first grind is slight. His eyes don’t stray from mine. The second is longer, slower, yet restrained still, like he’s afraid to make one wrong move, scare me, hurt me, or see me change my mind beneath him.

A part of me wants to buck my hips, butdon’t move.

Gently, he nudges his nose against mine. A soft gesture of animalistic affection, something a light male would never do, but a gesture that makes me smile.

Instinct has my core clenching against him.

His answer comes in the form of a groan, his lips gliding to my temple.

The grind of his hips has his cock sliding smooth over me again and again, and he somehow clutches onto the scraps of patience he’s gathered.

Still, his mouth twists with a quiet snarl against my temple. Against my body, his chest hardens to marble wrapped in leather, the strain of it in him—the fight he has with himself to not plunge inside of me, to limit his pleasure to the cusp of my haven.

Now I realize why it was so important to not move, to not tease him or provoke him. The animalistic urges are too strong right now, maybe because it’s his first time touching me like this, and that side of him is burning with a need to claim me, maybe it’s that we courted too long and he’s used to having females too quickly.

Whatever it is, I obey his rules, and I let my lashes close—I let my trust in him thrive.

And his pace swiftens.

Each fluid thrust against me, up my slit and over my clit, has his cock slick with both our elixirs. My back arches off the grass, my legs still draped over his hips, and he finds his pace. Gone are the experimental movements at our angled bodies.

The harshness of our breaths tangle in the still air around us, kept here by the thick curtains of willow leaves.

His mouth crashes onto mine, tongue quick to find my own.

With a moan, I lean my head back and open up the kiss to him.

“You consume me, vicious one,” growled words spoken into my mouth. “Youunravelme.”

I swallow up his growl—and he devours me like a starving beast.

I melt to the sheer need in him. It flurries nerves from my tummy to my core, and not a moment after, he grinds against me.

Trapped between us, the thick length of his cock pulsates. Its tip glides so fucking perfectly over my clit that a whine catches in my throat.

It starts with a heavy sensation stirring in my belly. One I recognize from each time I’ve ever touched myself or let a male’s mouth latch onto my core. Like fireflies are trapped in my body, I feel the hum of pleasure nipping at my skin, and with each thrust against my tingling clit, the tremors in my legs increase.

Daxeel’s groan is gravelled and drawn-out against my smushed lips.

Guttural sounds crawl up my throat.

A thud beside me shudders the ground. Then the distinctripppppa moment before the leaves of the willow tree hiss around us.

And I know what’s happened, even through the cloud settled over me, I’m aware enough to know he’s punched that brutal energy right into the earth.

I don’t dare turn my cheek to him and look at his hand fisted into the dirt beside my head. That move is too much, he might see it as rejection—it’s a move I don’t risk. Yet, out the corner of my eye, I do see the strain of the fight in him. His hand is partially buried in the dirt, fisted around a chunk of tree roots, some torn.

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