Page 58 of King Among the Dead

She couldfeelhim now, hard and hot against her thigh. He shifted, and she could feel him against her sex; his cock slid against her wetness and it sent a crack of electricity through her; left her grabbing his shoulders and holding tight, gaze seeking his.

When she found it, his was impossible: impossible to think that he was looking at her this way, finally, that he wanted her so badly he trembled.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her again. Touched her again, fingers spreading her, teasing. And then she felt the head of his cock against her entrance, so much larger than his fingers had been. Blunt, steady pressure, and she stretched, and it burned – but it was a welcome pain. Cherished things didn’t come easy, if at all, in her experience. She wanted him inside her more than she wanted to avoid discomfort.

He pulled back from the kiss a fraction, his lips still brushing hers. “Breathe,” he murmured. “Just breathe, sweetheart.” His voice sounded strange, but sweet, too. He was holding back for her, going so carefully. Gentle nudges, pressing in slow, slow, slow. “It’s alright.” He touched her face, feather-light, and his gaze shifted over her features, a notch between his brows. Worrying. “It’s alright. Tell me to stop.”

Never. In answer, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and her bodyopenedto him. A sudden give. He slid in deeper with a grunt, eyes closing as he tried to keep still. But she smoothed her hands down his arms, encouraging, marveling at the sensation of him going deeper inside her, and his hips gave little involuntary twitches. Deeper, deeper – and then he was there. Fully seated, and it was somuch. But it didn’t hurt.

Rose let out a breath that felt punched out of her. She was all filled up, and there was no room – not anywhere inside her – for anything but him.

She reached up to fist his hair, not caring if the wonder and adoration showed naked on her face. Let him see. Let him know how much she wanted this.

His eyes were still screwed shut, lips pulled wide in a grimace. He trembled above her, body vibrating as he held carefully still.

“Beck.” Her own breathing was choppy and open-mouthed, but she managed to trace the tender skin below his eyes with her thumbs. She found a trace of wetness there, and somehow her love swelled greater. “Beck, I don’t want you to stop.” She flexed her thighs on his hips, and tightened around him, where he was buried deep.

His eyes sprang open. His mouth opened on a gasp. His hand slapped down on the rug beside her head, holding him up. “Sweetheart, I can’t wait anymore.”

“Then don’t.”

“God.” He groaned, and cursed – and drew his hips back, and thrust in again. Another retreat, another thrust. Again, again. Slow at first, but powerful, the muscles in his stomach rippling, his teeth clenched tight. Each movement stretched her a little more, like he was making a place for himself inside her, and she could feel the way she was fitted to him, and the way he loved it. Each movement lit up nerves she’d never known existed, and the tension wound tighter and tighter, an exquisite torture that had her straining to meet every thrust.

It was good, it was so good, but she knew there could be more, and she chased after it, clutching at his arms, murmuring low, pleading sounds.

His rhythm built, thrusts harder, quicker. He cursed again, and stretched out over her, blanketing her body with his. He found her mouth, a messy, open, uncoordinated kiss as his hips kept kicking.

He had less leverage, this way, but she wanted him close; raked her nails down his back and locked her ankles together behind him. He trailed unsteady kisses down her jaw, and buried his face in her throat.

“Rosie.” His hips stuttered. “My sweet Rosie.” He slipped a hand between them, found her clit with his fingers.

Her pleasure crested in a sudden, violent wave. She closed her eyes and let it carry her, clinging to him.

He growled against her throat, and she felt him kicking inside her, a flood of warmth.

It was the most perfect sensation of her life. Better than a good meal, or a hot bath. Better than laughing with Kay, or earning Beck’s praise at the study table.

Better than killing. The heat of his release inside her, as her body pulsed, limp and liquid with pleasure, was better than the heat of freshly-spilled blood.

In the moment, all of it was tangled, and wonderful, and she didn’t ever want to come down from this high.

Their heartbeats throbbed against one another for a long moment, while her sex continued to spasm around his cock. He lifted his head, and his rough, open-mouthed breathing was tired and spent, rather than tight and anticipatory. He looked at her with dilated, pleasure-drunk eyes, and his smile could have lit up the room, brighter than any lamp. He kissed her with a lazy sort of intensity that felt like a claim; a languid stroke of his tongue, a gentle bite at her lower lip.

When he drew back, he murmured, voice gravelly, “I adore you.”

She was too dazed for eloquence. “That’s good. You’re pretty awesome.”

He laughed – not the low chuckles of everyday, but an honest to goodness giggle; he closed his eyes, and laughter shook him, and he even snorted. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Are you okay?” As the laughter died away, and true concern stole into his voice.

“I’m perfect.”

“Hm. Yes, you are.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

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