Page 76 of Veil of Dust

Her fingers tangle in my hair and yank.

I grunt. “Fuck—”

She bites my bottom lip and pulls. “Shut up.”

She kisses down my neck, grinding against me through clothes that are already half undone. Her nails slide under my shirt again, dig into my ribs like she’s searching for weakness.

And she finds it.

I groan, arching up into her. She grabs my belt.

“Off.”

I don’t argue.

I undo it fast, fingers fumbling, heart hammering.

She shoves my jeans down. My boxers. Everything.

Then hers.

No pause.

No pretense.

We’re naked in seconds, mud slick between us, heat thick on our skin.

She straddles me, one hand braced on my chest, the other guiding me against her entrance.

I reach up, touch her cheek. “Look at me.”

She does, her gray eyes sharp.

“I need this,” I say.

“I know.”

She sinks down onto me.

My whole body locks.

“Fuck—”

She gasps, too, teeth clenching, hips shifting until we’re flush—tight—full.

Her breath stutters.

“Don’t move,” she whispers.

I freeze.

Her fingers curl around my bicep, anchoring.

She leans down, mouth at my ear.

“I want to feel every inch before you ruin me.”

I growl. My hands slide up her back, fingers splayed.

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