Page 82 of Stolen
Her legs lock back around me, and with one thrust of my hips, I sink into her heat.
She’s soaked, welcoming, clinging to me like a lifeline.
We both gasp—one breath, one body.
With a flick of magic, the dining room vanishes, fading into mist.
The world bends and reshapes to our desire.
We land together on the bed, the silken sheets cool against fevered skin.
And then I move.
Each thrust is deep and deliberate, hips snapping forward as I brace one hand behind her head, the other gripping her hip to hold her steady.
She cries out with every drive of my cock, meeting me thrust for thrust, body writhing beneath mine.
Another push, another roll of our hips together—and I swear we scatter stars.
They burn in our blood. In her screams. In my roar.
We don’t just come—we ignite.
And as we fall, wrapped in magic and sweat and each other, I know one thing for certain.
There is no more illusion, no more deceit between us.
Whoever that bastard at the market was, he didn’t break us apart. He pushed us closer together.
Jules is my viyella.
And I am her viyen.
She lies bare beneath me, sated and breathless. Radiant in her honesty. Her lush curves bare and glistening with sweat.
She is irresistible.
Her breasts rise with each breath, nipples peaked, skin flushed.
“So beautiful,” I whisper. “By the stars, Jules, you are magnificent.”
I kiss down her neck, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts.
This time I will go slow. Take my time. Taste and adore every inch of her like only I will ever do.
Her hands fist in the sheets, her body arching for more.
And I give it.
I trail lower, over the soft curve of her belly, down to the wet, waiting heat between her thighs.
She gasps when I part her folds with my fingers, slick and eager for me.
I sink two fingers inside her, slow and deep, curling them just right—and gods, the way she writhes.
“More,” she begs, voice cracking. “Viyen,please.”
I growl low in my throat. “Say it again.”
