Page 73 of Rok's Captive
His hand descends, his touch feather-light as his fingers trace the curve of my shoulder, down my arm, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His expression is one of wonder, of discovery, as if he’s mapping uncharted territory.
“This is insane,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “You’re an alien and I?—”
He silences me with his lips on mine, soft at first, questioning, then more insistent as I respond. His mouth is hot, demanding, the kiss deeper than before, exploring rather than just connecting. I gasp against him, and he takes the opportunity to tilt his head, changing the angle, deepening the kiss further.
My hands find his shoulders, his skin warm and smooth beneath my palms. I dig my fingers in, holding on as the world spins around me. He growls into my mouth, and the vibration sends shockwaves through my body, igniting nerve endings I didn’t know existed.
When he pulls away, I’m panting, my lips tingling.Oh God. He shouldn’t taste so good. This shouldn’t feel that good.
I think he’s done, but he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. His glow has intensified, casting golden light across the stone around us, turning the water into rippling amber.
“We should slow down,” I say weakly, but my body betrays me, arching toward him.
He doesn’t understand my words, but maybe he senses my hesitation. He pulls back slightly, head tilted, studying my face. Then he reaches up, one finger tracing the outline of my lips with exquisite gentleness.
I should be afraid. Those claws could tear me apart. But I’m not. Not at all. I’m pretty sure this wild, wild thing would never harm me. I know that for certain now.
His first touch is hesitant—clumsy, even—like he’s mapping foreign terrain. The brush of his lips against my jaw is featherlight, uncertain, as if he expects me to vanish under his hands. But then his breath hitches, his nose dragging along my pulse like he’s memorizing my scent, and something shifts. The moment his tongue flicks out to taste my skin, restraint snaps. His mouth grows bolder, hot and open against my throat, his teeth scraping in a way that makes my back arch. It’s like he’s discovering hunger for the first time, and now that he’s had a bite, he can’t stop.
“Rok,” I gasp, my head falling back, giving him better access. Why does it feel so good?
He takes full advantage, his mouth moving down to my collarbone, his hands coming to rest on my waist, steadying me. Every touch, every brush of his lips, sends sparks shooting across my skin. It’s too much and not enough. I should stop this. I should?—
His mouth finds my breast, and all rational thought evaporates.
He freezes, his breath hot against my sensitive skin. I feel him inhale deeply, as if memorizing my scent. Then, cautiously, experimentally, his tongue darts out, tasting the water droplets still clinging to my skin.
“Oh god,” I whisper, my hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in.
My cry seems to embolden him. His tongue flattens against my nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure so intense it borders on pain through my body. I arch into him, a moan escaping my lips.
Rok growls again, the sound vibrating through me. He’s enjoying this—enjoying my reactions, my responsiveness. He circles my nipple with his tongue, then takes it gently between his lips, the careful pressure making me squirm beneath him.
I reach for him, needing something to hold on to, but he catches my wrists in one large hand, pinning them above my head against the stone. The restraint should feel threatening, but instead, it sends another wave of heat through me.
And that burning intensity is rising beneath my skin.
His free hand slides down my side, mapping the curve of my waist, the flare of my hip, and he shudders again even as his mouth continues its sweet torture on my breast. He’s licking it like it’s a fruit. When he switches to the other side, giving it the same thorough attention, I’m writhing beneath him, panting his name like a prayer.
“Rok…please…I can’t…”
I don’t even know what I’m begging for. More? Less? My body is a riot of sensation, every nerve ending alive and singing. The burning need under my skin has intensified, concentrated into a throbbing ache between my legs that’s becoming impossible to ignore.
And I should ignore it. I bite my bottom lip as images, those dreams of him and how perfect—oh fuck—just how perfect it was, rise back into my mind. My core clenches even as I fight hard to push back against the feeling.
Rok lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. The glow beneath his skin pulses in time with his breathing, which has grown rapid, uneven. He’s affected too—I can feel the tremors running through his powerful frame, the slight tremble in the hand still pinning my wrists.
His gaze drops to my body, traveling slowly downward, taking in every detail. He might not be able to talk my ears off, but the look in his eyes is undeniable. Like a man starved, he’s looking at me like I’m a bountiful buffet. When his gaze reaches my stomach, he releases my wrists, both hands now moving to my hips, holding me in place as he lowers his head again.
The moment his tongue brushes my skin, my breath stutters. He traces my navel, circling it before dipping briefly inside, as if he doesn’t want to leave an inch of me untouched. I gasp, arching against his hold. He freezes, his face inches from my belly, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply. Whatever he scents there makes him growl, a deeper, primal sound that only makes a throb go through my center.
“Rok,” I whisper, half-warning, half-plea.
He shifts lower, positioning himself between my legs, his hands moving to my thighs, gently urging them wider. I should stop him. This is too fast, too much, too?—
His breath ghosts over my center, and my objections dissolve into a moan that sounds wanton even to my own ears. There’s no tentative exploration, no cautious first taste. He devours me with a primal hunger that takes my breath away, his tongue parting me in one broad, possessive stroke that has me crying out, my back arching off the stone.
“God—Rok—” The words fracture as pleasure spikes through me, sharp and overwhelming.
