Page 103 of Shadows of Stardust

Before I can think better of it, I slide the dress down. With how low it’s cut in the front, it falls easily away and drops to pool at my feet. Breath leaves my lungs in a rushed, shaky exhale as Zan gets a look at me. A bra wasn’t exactly practical given the cut of the dress, and I’m left in nothing more than a pair of black, lacy underwear.

A deep rumble of approval breaks in his chest as he lunges for me. Our lips crash together again and I tug at his shirt, silently demanding he take it off.

With another growl of approval, he complies before swinging me into his arms and carrying me to bed.

He takes care not to touch my scars, and while I appreciate the consideration, I also wonder what it might be like if he did. I wonder how it would feel to have his hands on them, his lips, to have another person know their shape and texture for the first time.

But it’s not something I feel brave enough to ask for. I don’t have the faintest idea how Iwouldask for it, so I push the thought aside and concentrate on the sensation of those hands, those lips, everywhere else.

Because as soon as he sets me down on the sheets, he’s… everywhere. Heavy and wonderful on top of me, he presses me into the mattress and kisses me deep, hands mapping a path over my breasts, my stomach, my hips, like he can’t decide what he wants to touch first. Like there’s not enough time to touch me as much as he wants to.

Zan’s lips follow the path his hands made, trailing over my throat, my collarbone, to worship at my aching nipples as he pulls one into his mouth, then the other. He swirls his tongue over the sensitive peaks, cups and plumps both of them together so he can switch from one to the other and then back again until I’m arching up off the mattress and my hands are clutched tight around his horns in a silent plea for more.

His armor is the most delicious rasp against my skin—firm and rough and thrilling as he presses even closer.

And even though I’m writhing, desperate for him, he takes just as much time exploring the planes of my stomach, the dip of my navel, the curve of my hips as he works his way down between my thighs.

Zan slides off the bed to kneel on the floor. With a firm grip on the backs of my knees, he tugs me right to the edge, sliding off my underwear and spreading me wide, taking a moment to pause and admire.

We didn’t bother with turning on a lamp, but the moonlight streaming in does just as well. It paints us both with silver, highlighting all the dramatic angles of his rough-hewn features, his armor, the graceful curves of his horns.

The sight of it steals my breath, and all I can do is stare at him, committing the otherworldly sight to memory.

“No snark for me tonight?” he asks, pressing a kiss to my knee, the inside of my thigh.

A tight gasp is the best I can do for a reply. Especially when those lips of his travel higher, breath breaking over skin that feels too sensitive, too warm, too impatient for him.

“Hmmm,” Zan murmurs. “I think I like you like this. Agreeable, for once.”

A strangled, indignant sound breaks from my lips, but when I prop myself up on an elbow, there’s nothing but warm teasing in his gaze, nothing but satisfaction as he lowers himself to my pussy and presses a long, lingering kiss there. Head lolling back, I take hold of his horn with my other hand and tug him closer.

“Agreeable, and demanding.” He swipes his tongue up the center of me, and I cry out. “Yes, I definitely like you like this.”

Lips wrapped around my clit, his two clawless fingers sinking into me, I’ve got no snark for him. I haven’t got a single damn word as I cry out my pleasure. Zan rumbles his approval as he works me, the sound vibrating against my clit.

The tips of the claws on his other hand are still deliciously sharp little pinpricks where he grips my thigh hard, keeping me in place. I buck up into him and he grips me tighter. Tight enough that I hope it leaves a mark.

He crooks his two fingers forward inside of me, draws hard on my clit, and pleasure curls low and tight in my belly. He doesn’t give me a single moment of mercy, no teasing, no slow build as he works me toward my peak.

“Just like that, Ros,” he murmurs into me. “You taste so fucking good.”

A strangled cry breaks from my lips as I fall, body curling into him, hands so tight around his horns that I’m sure all those textured ridges are going to leave a permanent imprint on my palms.

Zan soothes me through every wave and spasm. He keeps me held tight until the last of the tremors break over me in small, desperate, wrung-out gasps, and I relax into the mattress. Only then does he relent, crawling up the length of my body and making sure that no inch of me goes untended.

When he reaches my mouth, he takes my lips in a deep kiss. I moan at the taste of him—the taste of me—the two of us together so damn delicious that I’m brought immediately back to life. Arching into him, pressing my hips up to meet the ridges covering his slit, tugging him closer so I can—

“Still so demanding?” Zan teases. “I haven’t satisfied you yet?”

“Not even close.”

With a hand on the center of his chest, I press firmly. Zan complies with the silent order, easing down onto the bed and tugging me over him as he settles on his back.

It’s a power trip, straddling him like this. Having a fierce, deadly warrior pinned beneath me like this.

The power of him between my thighs, the claw-tipped grip he places on my hips, the low rumble of satisfaction in his chest when I lean down over him to get another taste, it all coils deep in my core.

I take just as much time as he did working my way down his body.

---