Page 73 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
And she didn’t care.
“I want this,” she said, fierce and sure. “I want you.”
He stared at her like she was the first thing the land had ever given back.
A beat passed, his breath caught.
“Then let the desert keep us,” he whispered.
The last thread of his control snapped.
He surged up to kiss her, harder now, hungry and unashamed, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.
When he shifted his hips forward, she felt the blunt head of him press against the pulse of wet heat between her legs.
She gasped.
The sheer size, the weight, the ridges, the impossible shape of something never meant to fit inside a human body, made her thighs shake.
And still, her body opened for him.
He paused, trembling, forehead resting against hers like he was waiting for a final truth.
She gave it.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “I want all of you.”
He groaned.
Then he pushed in.
Slow. Deep. Unforgiving.
She felt every inch as her body opened to take him.
It burned. It ached.
It shattered her.
He was huge. Too much. Perfect.
Her back arched as the pressure built, too wide, too deep. But she didn’t stop him. She wanted more. Needed it.
His cock dragged against her walls with every motion, textured like the desert itself, built for this, for her, for the inside of her body.
He bottomed out.
She sobbed.
He stilled, arms shaking, forehead pressed to her shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you to the land,” he whispered. “To me.”
She cupped his face, kissed him soft. “You won’t.”
Then he moved.
Each thrust was deliberate. Devastating.
The stretch of him inside her—inhuman, ridged, pulsing with impossible life—made her cry out, legs wrapped tight around his waist. Her nails dragged across his shoulders. She wanted every inch, every texture, every impossible part of him inside her.
