Page 28 of Burning Her Beautiful
The plea fractures restraint in aching shards. I slide two fingers into her, pressing upward, curving to strike that hidden place that makes her clench around me. She arches, spine bowing from the chaise. I stroke, tongue flicking, fingers thrusting, until her entire body tightens like a drawn bowstring.She comes with a cry that echoes off stone, nails scoring my scalp with delicious pain.
I slow only after the aftershocks fade. She collapses, chest heaving, eyes glazed. I rise, tugging my trousers open. My cock strains—dark and thick, slick at the tip. I watch her pupils dilate when she sees exactly how much hunger she kindles.
“Turn over,” I command, voice hoarse.
She rolls onto her stomach, lifting to hands and knees, her back an arc of want and defiance, hips rising like an offering in the hush. The firelight gilds every curve in molten gold—her spine a living map I ache to memorize. I run both palms down that back, slow and reverent, feeling the tremor beneath skin still glowing with climax. She shivers when I reach the swell of her ass, when my fingers trace down to where she’s soaked and open for me.
The head of my cock brushes against her entrance, and gods—she’s wet, slick, pulsing heat. I pause, every muscle taut, breath heaving.
“One word,” I say hoarsely, bent low behind her, my chest grazing her back. “One, and I stop.”
She doesn’t speak. She pushes.
A slow, desperate grind of her hips, her pussy swallowing the head of my cock with a tight, searing drag. I choke out a curse, grip her hips hard enough to bruise, and sink in another inch. Then another. Until her heat wraps all the way around me, deep and wet and fucking perfect.
“Gods, Iliana…” I groan, forehead pressing to the base of her neck. “You feel like worship.”
She whimpers—soft, broken, needy—and braces her forearms harder against the velvet chaise. Her body clenches around me, greedy, quivering, slick with her arousal and the remnants of the climax I gave her with my tongue. Her head drops forward.
“I want more,” she says, voice ragged. “Please, Varok—I want all of you.”
I draw out. Let her feel the length of me leaving her inch by inch, her walls fluttering in protest. Then I slam back in with a guttural sound, hips slapping against her ass, and she cries out—this raw, shattered sound that’s half surrender, half fury.
My cock drags deep, slow and punishing, claiming every velvet inch of her tight heat. I grind in a circle, feel her pulse around me, the way her cunt grips like a vice.
“Say it again,” I growl.
“More,” she gasps. “Give me more.”
I oblige.
I fuck her slow, then hard, then maddening again—changing rhythm like a spellcaster testing limits. Her fingers claw into the cushions, her back arching beautifully as I snap my hips forward, over and over. Each thrust draws a wet slap and a gasped breath, and the sound of us—flesh, velvet, thunder beyond the stained glass—consumes the room like a storm reborn.
“You’re mine,” I rasp. “No court. No kingdom. Mine.”
“Yes,” she chokes, voice a prayer and a curse. “Yours.”
Her pussy pulses around me when I say it—mine—and it makes me dizzy. I reach beneath her, find her clit with two fingers, rub tight little circles until her arms buckle and her body collapses halfway onto the chaise. Still kneeling, I follow, my cock never leaving her, thrusting from above now, deeper, harder.
She turns her face to me, breathless. Her lips part, eyes shining with tears she doesn’t bother to hide.
“I’ve never felt anything like this,” she whispers.
I kiss her. Not just a mouth-crushing kiss, but slow and open, tongues sliding as my cock plunges deeper. Our moans bleedinto each other’s mouths, every inch of my body pressed to hers, skin slick with sweat, rune-scars burning.
“You feel everything,” I murmur against her lips. “You break me open with it.”
She kisses me back with fire, with desperation, lifting her hips to take me deeper. And I give it all.
I sit back on my heels, dragging her with me so she straddles my lap, my cock still buried inside her. Her knees frame my hips, thighs shaking. Her hands clutch my shoulders, nails biting.
“I want to see your face when you come,” she says, breath ghosting over my jaw.
I grip her ass, guide her up and down—slow, aching rides that make us both tremble. Her breasts bounce with each roll of her hips, nipples wet and peaked from earlier. I lower my mouth, suck one into my lips while she rocks against me, gasping, panting, chanting my name in a rising litany.
“Oh fuck, Varok—your cock—feels like it’smadefor me.”
“Itis,” I grit. “I was forged for this—for you.”
