Page 39 of The Demon's Little Girl
"Come here," he murmurs against my mouth, his voice rough with want. Strong hands span my waist, and then I'm being lifted, guided until I'm straddling his lap with my knees bracketing his powerful thighs.
The new position brings us flush against each other, and I can feel the evidence of his arousal beneath me—hard and urgent even through the layers of fabric between us. The knowledge that he wants me this much, that I affect him the way he's always affected me, sends a bolt of pure need straight through my core.
His hands settle on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh with just enough pressure to make me gasp. "Is this?—"
"Yes," I cut him off, my voice breathier than I intended. Because whatever he's asking, the answer is yes. Yes to his hands on my skin, yes to the heat building between us, yes to feeling desired and cherished instead of broken.
When I rock forward experimentally, the friction against my most sensitive places makes stars burst behind my closedeyelids. Rovak's grip tightens, his breathing harsh as he guides the movement with steady hands.
"That's it," he encourages, voice low and rough. "Take what you need."
The permission in his words breaks something loose inside me. I roll my hips again, more deliberately this time, chasing the delicious pressure building with each movement. The seam of my leggings drags against sensitive flesh, and the hardness beneath me provides perfect friction as I move.
This is madness. Grinding against him like a desperate thing in the middle of his garden where anyone could see. But I can't bring myself to care about propriety when his hands are encouraging every movement, when his mouth finds the sensitive spot below my ear and makes me whimper with need.
"So beautiful," he murmurs against my throat, trailing open-mouthed kisses that make me shudder. "Do you know how long I've wanted this? Wanted you?"
His words spur me on, my movements becoming more urgent as the coil of tension in my belly winds tighter. The rough fabric of his trousers provides delicious friction, and when he rocks up to meet my movements, I cry out softly at the intensity of sensation.
"That's it," he rumbles, one hand sliding up to cup my breast through my shirt. When his thumb finds my nipple, already peaked and sensitive, I arch into the touch with a broken sound. "Let go for me."
The combination of his touch, his voice, the steady friction between us—it's too much and not enough all at once. I bury my face in his neck, breathing in his scent as I move against him with growing desperation. Every slide of my body against his sends shockwaves through my nervous system, building toward something that feels too intense to survive.
When his free hand tangles in my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my head back so he can capture my mouth again, I come apart completely. The orgasm crashes over me in waves, stealing my breath and making my entire body convulse with pleasure more intense than anything I've felt in years.
I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my cries, my hips stuttering against his as aftershocks roll through me. His hands hold me steady, grounding me as I shake apart in his arms.
When I finally come back to myself, awareness returns in embarrassing clarity. I'm straddling Rovak in his garden, having just climaxed like some desperate creature while grinding against him like we're teenagers stealing moments behind the stables. The flush of shame that follows pleasure makes my skin burn for entirely different reasons.
"I should—" I scramble off his lap, legs unsteady as I try to put distance between us. "I need to check on Nalla."
It's a flimsy excuse and we both know it. Nalla is sleeping soundly, has been for hours, but I need space to breathe and think and figure out what just happened between us. What it means, what comes next, whether I've just made everything impossibly complicated.
"Liora, wait—" He reaches for me, but I'm already backing toward the house on shaking legs.
"I just need—I should make sure she's okay," I stammer, hating how breathless I still sound. How thoroughly I've just lost control of a situation I should have seen coming.
I flee before he can stop me, my body still humming with the aftermath of release and my mind spinning with the implications of what just passed between us. Because there's no pretending this was just friendly comfort or an accident of proximity.
This was desire, raw and mutual and completely catastrophic to the careful balance I've been trying to maintain since my return. And now that it is exploding I don't know what to do.
21
ROVAK
Moonlight casts silver shadows across stone path as Liora stalks toward me, amber eyes dark with want as she presses her body against mine. No fleeing, no second-guessing—just Liora, warm and willing in my arms. And I'm aching for her.
"I need you," she whispers against my throat, her breath hot against my skin. Her hands work at the clasps of my shirt with desperate fingers, and I let her strip it away, my own hands mapping the curves I've memorized from stolen glances over the years.
When she straddles me on the stone bench, there are no clothes between us. Just skin against skin, her softness yielding to my hardness as she positions herself above me. The feel of her—wet and ready, taking me in slowly until I'm buried completely inside her heat—nearly unmakes me before we've even begun.
"Rovak," she moans my name like a prayer as she begins to move, her hips rolling in perfect rhythm. Every slide of her body against mine sends fire through my veins, and I grip her hips to guide her movements, watching her face transform with pleasure in the moonlight.
She's magnificent like this—head thrown back, breasts bouncing with each movement, completely lost in the sensation of us together. When I thrust up to meet her downward movements, she cries out, her inner walls clenching around me in ways that make rational thought impossible.
I want to flip her over, drive into her with the desperate hunger that's been eating at me for years. Want to taste every inch of her skin, mark her as mine in ways that leave no doubt about who she belongs to. In the dream, she reads my mind, pulling me down for a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and desperate need.
"Take me," she breathes against my lips. "However you want me. I'm yours."
