Page 49 of Stolen
“Not the horns,” I growl, lifting my head.
“Why? Does it hurt?” she asks, lifting up on her elbows and watching me with pupils blown.
“No,Myrrin. It doesn’t hurt. But I want to be inside of you when I come.”
“Oh fuck, that’s hot. I want that, too. Please,” she murmurs, licking her lips and reaching for me.
I wasn’t planning on this.
Not tonight.
But with Jules beneath me, writhing, offering, waiting, I lose the last thread of restraint.
The room is bathed in moonlight, soft and blue as magic itself. It spills across the bed, gilding her bare skin in silver.
Her body—gods—her body is fucking glorious.
Full. Plush. Warm. Real.
She’s spread across my sheets like she was always meant to be here.
Hair wild. Lips parted. Cheeks flushed.
Her curves rise and fall with each breath, and the sight of her like this?
Waiting for me, wanting me?
It makes my cock throb painfully.
I can’t breathe. I don’t want to.
I rise to my knees, nudging her legs open with mine, and place myself at her slick entrance.
She’s already dripping for me—soft, wet heat beckoning like a siren.
I grip her hips, steadying her, steadying myself.
“This is when I claim you,Myrrin,” I growl, voice rasping through the quiet. “This is when I make you mine.”
And then I push in.
Fuck.
Tight. Hot. Perfect.
My eyes slam shut at the first squeeze of her around me, and my control shatters into ash.
I slide in deeper, inch by aching inch, until I’m buried to the hilt inside the most exquisite fucking heat I’ve ever known.
She moans. Her head is thrown back, lips forming my name like a curse and a promise.
“Alaric,” she gasps.
I pull out slowly, just to the tip, then slam back in, hard enough to make the headboard crack against the stone.
She is tight. Small. And I know I’m well-endowed. I should go slow.
But I can’t. Something won’t let me.
