Page 4 of His to Break
I gasp as his touch ignites something deep inside me—something primal and untamed. My body reacts against my will; it trembles under his fingertips as they roam lower, brushing against the swell of my breasts. I feel their heat rising to meet him, every nerve ending alight with awareness.
What’s happening? This shouldn’t be right! My mind screams in protest even as every fiber of my being betrays me. His fingers find their way to where they shouldn’t be, and all I can manage is another gasp as pleasure crashes over me like a tidal wave.
“No…” It comes out weak and breathless, but the heat pooling between my legs doesn’t care about words or protests. I hate myself for how easily I succumb to this—this demon who embodies everything I should fear yet somehow awakens an unquenchable desire within me.
His hand finds its way beneath the fabric of my tunic; warmth spreads like wildfire across my skin where he touches me. The world narrows down to just him and me—his powerful presence envelops me completely.
“I shouldn’t want this,” I murmur even though every instinct begs otherwise.
His fingers tease and explore with a boldness that leaves me breathless, each brush against my sensitive skin amplifying an ache that’s both unfamiliar and intoxicating. As if sensing my turmoil, he captures my gaze with his own—a blazing violet that holds promises of pleasure intertwined with danger.
“I am not here to harm you,” he whispers, though the truth lies buried deeper than mere words can express. His touch feels like fire against ice—an irresistible contrast that drives me mad with need.
My knees weaken as he continues his exploration; they buckle slightly beneath him while uncertainty warps around us like smoke in the air. He’s more than just a being bound by chains; he’s an embodiment of raw power—and somehow that makes it worse.
“Azrael…” My voice falters again as panic mingles with arousal—a toxic brew that leaves me dizzy.
The dark smirk playing on his lips deepens as if he's relishing every moment spent unraveling me before him. “What do you truly desire?”
Desire? The word ricochets through my mind like thunder in a storm—the reality of it crashing into place just as violently as everything else about this moment does. What do I want? How could it be him?
But standing here under Azrael's command leaves no room for denial—I crave him in ways that unsettle me beyond comprehension—and those thoughts echo endlessly in the shadows dancing between us.
It doesn't make any sense. I've only just seen him, barely met him. I know nothing about this sensation, these touches.
What is this creature doing to me?
4
AZRAEL
Iwatch her closely, fascinated by the play of emotions across her delicate features—fear, confusion, desire. The scent of her arousal fills the air, a sweet perfume that only heightens my own dark cravings. My fingers continue their exploration, slipping lower, tracing the curve of her hip before dipping into the hot, wet core of her.
Her breath hitches as I brush against her slickness, a low growl of approval rumbling in my chest.
"Interesting," I murmur, my breath hot against her ear. The taste of her desire is intoxicating, a forbidden fruit ripe for the taking.
I pull my fingers back, glistening with her essence, and I can't help but sample it. The taste is a revelation—sweet, yet with a hint of something darker, something that belongs only to her.
Kara's body trembles against me, her eyes wide and questioning as I bring my fingers to my lips and suck them clean. Her pupils dilate, the pulse at her throat fluttering like a trapped bird. I see the war she's waging within herself, the battle between what she's been taught to fear and what her body so clearly desires.
"You are a mystery," I whisper against her skin, relishing in the way she shivers at my words. I want to unravel every layer of her, to understand the depths of this connection that crackles between us like a live wire.
I take her hand, guiding her to my still-wet fingers. "Taste," I command softly, my gaze never leaving hers. Hesitantly, she brings them to her lips, her tongue darting out to taste the honey that coats my skin. A wave of arousal slams into me as I watch her, the sight of this human girl—a slave, no less—sampling her own desire at my behest. It's a heady mix of power and lust, and it courses through my veins like molten fire.
Her innocent act of submission is a potent aphrodisiac, fueling my desire to claim her fully. But not yet. I want to savor this, to draw out her pleasure until she's begging for release. I want to hear her say my name as she shatters beneath my touch.
My fingers trail back down her body, tracing a path to the apex of her thighs. She's slick with need, her body arching into my touch as I circle her entrance teasingly before pushing a single finger inside her. She's tight, so deliciously tight, and the way her walls clench around me is exquisite torment.
I add another finger, stretching her slowly, watching as her eyes darken with pleasure. I find a rhythm that has her rocking her hips against my hand, chasing the friction she so desperately needs. All the while, I keep my gaze locked with hers, drinking in the sight of her unraveling before me.
My thumb finds her clit, swollen and needy, and I begin to circle it in time with the thrusts of my fingers. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps, each one a testament to the pleasure building within her. The sounds she makes—soft, mewling cries of need—are like music to my ears, a symphony of desire that only fuels my own arousal.
I can feel her climbing higher, her body coiling like a spring ready to release. I want to push her over the edge, to see hercome undone, but I also want to prolong this sweet torment. I want to etch this moment into her memory so deeply that she'll never forget the night she gave herself over to a demon's touch.
"Azrael," she moans, her voice laced with need and a hint of desperation.
Hearing my name on her lips is my undoing. I increase the pace, my fingers pumping into her while my thumb works her clit mercilessly. Her body stiffens, her back arching off the bed as she finally reaches the peak and tumbles over the edge.
