Page 88 of Rise of the Siren Queen
“More,” she breathed. “Please…”
Gods, I really fucking love when she begs.
I slipped two fingers inside her, slowly stretching her open, feeling how wet and tight she was around me. She moaned, deep and broken,and I nearly lost it. My thumb found her clit again, rubbing in tight circles, matching the rhythm of my mouth.
She bucked against me, her hips wild and uncoordinated, her thighs trembling.
I groaned into her. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” I murmured between strokes. “So fucking desperate, grinding on my face like the good little princess you’re…”
Her moans broke into a whimper. Her body was shaking now, unraveling under my touch.
I curled my fingers just right there and felt her clench around me like her body already knew it was mine. My free hand slid up, cupping her breast, thumb and forefinger, finding her nipple and pinching it hard enough to make her cry out.
“I’m going to come.” She gasped, her voice a shattered prayer. “Please don’t stop.”
I didn’t, couldn’t. I sped up, tongue relentless, fingers thrusting, thumb circling, breast in my hand. Her moans turned frantic—the room filled with the sweet sounds of her breaking. Her hips rocked against me, wild and desperate as the orgasm built to a fever pitch.
And I watched her come apart like a goddamn masterpiece.
With a last stroke of my tongue, her body seized, hips trembling, thighs clamping around my head as the orgasm tore through her. She cried out, wild and unrestrained, and I fucking reveled in it.
That sound was mine.
Her taste flooded my mouth, slick and sweet and sinful, a gush of arousal that I didn’t waste a drop. I devoured her, tongue dragging over her pulsing labia as she rode out on the high, her body shuddering in the most exquisite display of surrender. I didn’t stop until the tremors faded, until her whimpers turned to breathless moans and her hand loosened in my hair.
Only then did I give her clit a last kiss. Soft, reverent, almost cruelin its tenderness, and slowly slid my fingers from her soaked pussy.
She collapsed, trembling and spent, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. The moonlight spilled over her like it knew what it was worshipping. Her skin glowed with sweat and satisfaction, every curve gleaming like the gods themselves sculpted for my corruption. Her breasts rose and fell with each labored breath, and her flushed cheeks looked like they’d been painted in fire and ecstasy.
She was divine and desecrated.
Even so, I wanted more.
The sight of her wrecked and glowing sent a fresh surge of lust crashing through me. It was never enough. Not with her. Not when I knew she was mine.
Bound by fate. Marked by the gods. Branded for me.
The thought made something violent coil in my gut. Something primitive. Possessive. I wanted to brand her deeper, to carve myself into her soul, so nothing, no time, no power, no force, could take her from me.
If this night was all she allowed us, then I would burn it into her. Every touch, every kiss, every goddamn breath would be etched in her forever.
I dragged the back of my hand across my mouth, smearing her taste across my skin like war-paint. Then I climbed up her trembling body, slow and deliberate, letting my lips graze the inside of her thigh, her hip, her stomach, claiming every inch along the way.
When I hovered above her, she blinked up at me, dazed and wrecked, her eyes still glassy from the high. I leaned in, my voice low and dark and taunting.
“You look like a goddess who’s been fucked into ruin,” I murmured, lips brushing her ear. “But I’m not done, sweetheart. Not even close.”
I moved slowly down her body, dragging my lips over the soft slope of her collarbone, marking a path like a man starved. Her skinwas warm, trembling, sensitive and marked. Every breath she took hitched beneath my mouth. I kissed over her ribs, feeling the flutter of her pulse, before my lips closed around her breast.
Her nipple was already tight, begging. I took it between my teeth, just enough to make her gasp, then soothed the sting with a slow, wet circle of my tongue. Her back arched into me. Perfect. Responsive. Helpless.
My free hand claimed the other breast, fingers spreading possessively before teasing the peak with maddening strokes of my thumb. Her breaths came faster, shallower, her body moving with me, need coiling tighter again in every gasp. I grazed her collarbone with my teeth, kissed the hollow of her throat, then bit into her neck, gentle enough not to break skin, but enough to make her squirm and moan like she wanted me to.
She was driving me insane.
Her nails raked down my back, sharp and desperate, and I groaned low in my throat as she tugged my shirt off. Her hands were everywhere, exploring, claiming, trailing over my spine, my waist, my abs, until they reached the line of my pants.
That touch?
