Page 189 of Lana Pecherczyk
She found the sensitive junction where they connected to his back, massaging the hidden hollow there. Muscles spasmed beneath her touch. His skin flushed crimson from chest to throat, the broken tattoos darkening as blood rushed to the surface. The tented leather of his breeches strained impossibly tighter.
Crows respected shows of power, of dominance. So it’s time River learned a lesson. Blake might be female, but she was not submissive.
“You like me on top,” she observed, voice dropping to that husky note she’d discovered drove him wild. “Look at you—Guardian of the Well, mighty warrior, reduced to a trembling mess by a human’s touch.”
A broken sound escaped him, part growl, part whimper.
“Beg me,” she whispered, trailing both hands from his wings down his tense shoulders.
Muscles leapt and quivered as she explored his slick chest, traced the intricate wobbly tattoo she’d inked, and followed the arrow of dark hair to his defined abdomen. She stopped just above where his cock breached the water, its tip taunting her, waiting to be licked.
“Beg me to stop,” she said. “Or beg me to suck you off.”
When he gave no reply, she returned to his wings. She climbed onto his lap, the position bringing her breasts level with his face. She pressed against his chest and slid her hands beneath his arms to fondle his primaries. His hips bucked violently. The hard ridge of his cock ground against her thigh, the wet leather rough against her bare skin. Still, his hands remained gripping the ledge, knuckles blanched with restraint.
“Please…” The plea broke from him, high-pitched and desperate. “ForCrimson’ssake, Blake … please…”
Something in his tone made her stop. She eased back slightly and glanced down. An inch of shaft had worked itself free from the leather confines. A vein pulsed visibly along the underside, throbbing in time with his racing heart. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, nostrils flaring as he fought for control.
“Say it,” she whispered. Hoped.
“I’m yours, Blake,” he whimpered, squeezing his eyes closed.
He’d not said his safe word, but was there any point in continuing? With final, almost cruel deliberation, she stroked the hypersensitive leading edge of his wing, dragging her nails firmly along the bone.
He threw his head back and slammed his hips forward, abdomen muscles seizing. His face contorted in agonized pleasure. Cum spurted from the tip of his cock, pulsing against his tattooed stomach, into the churning pool. The water clouded briefly with pale tendrils before dissolving into the current.
Outside their haven, rain continued its steady percussion. Blake watched River recover, face tilted to the rough ceiling,broad chest heaving. She’d pushed him beyond control. She’d made him surrender his body. And still, the words she desperately needed to hear remained locked away.
Words had power in this world. True words, spoken aloud. Words that created debts and sealed bonds. Words that made magic.
“I guess you won that round,” she mumbled, unable to hide her self-doubt.
River’s eyes opened, his pupils contracting as they focused on her face. He took in her nakedness, her defiant posture, the disappointment etched into her soul.
A low growl started deep in his chest and vibrated through the air between them. “You think I’m done?”
Before she could respond, he exploded from the water, hands clamping around her hips, as he lifted her with him. His wings flared wide for balance, spraying droplets like diamonds. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back, hands around his neck.
He slammed her spine against the frost-cold wall, making her gasp.
He snarled, face inches from hers, breath searing her lips. “You think that was me groveling?”
His mouth crashed down on hers, tongue driving inside. He kissed her with brutal demand, stealing her breath. Only when she gasped for air, tapped his arms, did he move his lips to her jaw, her neck, his teeth nipping the tender skin.
“River!”
“No talking.” He nipped her collarbone. “My turn now.”
His mouth enclosed her left nipple, suction so intense it shot lightning south, pulsing her clit. She bucked and cried out. He suckled until pleasure blurred with pain, until her thighs trembled, until her slick arousal coated his stomach.
Her next protest came out as a moan. She threaded her fingers into his hair, trying to pull him away, but only succeeded because he dropped to his knees in the water, slung her legs over his shoulders and wings. He fit his face between her thighs, mouth over her pussy. The move was savage—no finesse.
Then his tongue invaded, filling her up, one thrust, two. He sucked hard until she screamed and thrashed against his hold. Her nails scrabbled uselessly on slick stone, dislodging fragments of phosphorescent growth that tumbled into the churning water below.
Somehow, she ended up positioned half on the ledge, half against the wall, one leg dangling in the pool and the other stretched toward the concrete slab ceiling. River’s eyes stayed locked on hers the entire time, challenging, claiming, owning. He forced her to witness her undoing beneath his tongue’s relentless assault. The hunger in his gaze held an edge of desperation, as if he believed this—thisphysicalconnection—could bridge what unsaid words could not.
It only proved he knew exactly why she was upset.
