Page 74 of Cursed Shadows 3

Crushing, his mouth presses down on mine. The kiss is staggered, uncertain, like he’s desperate to hold onto it, to hold onto the control he’s losing his grip on. And I know, in that, he fights off his climax, he fights offmyvictory inhisbody.

The back of my head screams from the pressure of the wall.

My lashes flutter shut. White spots dance and glitter in my sight, and whether they come from the pain or the climbing pleasure, I don’t know.

The chill of a shadow unravels over my cheek. The tip of the tendril falls over the corner of my parted lips, then dips into my mouth.

A shuddering breath runs through me.

The shadow lashes at my tongue, it curls and curves over it, explores my mouth—and that sends me flying over the edge.

I bite down, hard.

I bite down on the flesh of his lips, the shadow, the sensations battering me.

The inky taste of his blood spills onto my tongue. I hardly taste it over the rageful flavour of his savage snarl.

And he’s pumping into me, fast, frantic, his hands flexing on my waist, his legs struck with bone-deep trembles beneath our weight.

I tug my head back.

My mouth leaves his before I spit his own blood back onto him. Black dots spatter his face.

His eyes tense, shut on me as his body jerks, once, twice—

“Show me how you worship me,” I spit at him. “Show me how much you love me, Daxeel.”

A growl rips through him.

It vibrates against my chest, but the weakness doesn’t go unnoticed.

A cruel, victorious smile slides onto my face.

Because I heard themoan.

The faintest failing of his snarl.

I heard his weakness.

My walls flutter with my own climax and with the pulses that wrack his cock within me.

He shoves into me further, deeper, all the way until he can’t possibly fit anymore inside of me.

The warmth spills deep.

It spreads through me.

Warm puffs of breath tickle the bone under my eye. He slumps, harsh breaths scraping through him in rasps.

His mouth tightens, and he kisses me.

A whisper of a touch, but a kiss all the same.

I turn my cheek, lift my chin. I bring my mouth to his.

I part my lips, just as he does, and the taste of his tongue isn’t bitter, it isn’t fuelled by ink and shadows and hatred.

It’s sweet. It is honey.

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