Page 125 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
“You think it’s just me?” Nick challenged. “You think I’m the only one who wants it this way?”
“What the hell are you talking about, you sick fucker?”
Nick rolled her out from under him until they were on their sides, her body held fast to his, his powerful legs wrapped around hers. With his hand still fastened on her wrist, Nick forced her fingers down to her own sex.
“Feel yourself,” he whispered, forcing her legs wide with his own. “Feel how wet you are for me.”
Moira’s fingers slid into the slippery folds, shocked to find them drenched with her own desire. He guided her hand over the sensitive nub at the apex, and her body jerked with unexpected pleasure.
The knowledge came in the quickening of her nerve endings and the delicious ache scribing his name on the inside of her thighs.Thiswas conquest. Coming up against an opponent who knew her so intimately, even her own strengths could be used in the fight against her. A force so ancient, so brutally wise that yielding is not a requirement. She would be owned. Assimilated. Absorbed.
Nick brought her hand to his mouth, sucking each finger clean of her arousal with wicked, languorous movements of his tongue. “You may lie to me all you please, but your body will always speak the truth.”
Histruth was wedged between the cleft of her buttocks, pulsing in time with the beating of his heart. Nick shifted his weight until she was facedown on the mattress once more. He grabbed a handful of her hair and wound it around his wrist, effectively pinning her cheek against the smooth coverlet even as his forearm snaked under her hips and pulled her up to her knees.
The sound of his belt buckle clinking and his zipper opening flooded Moira with another anticipatory rush.
Moira could not stifle her gasp as his smooth, hard length glided through her folds, coating himself in her moisture before he buried himself without preamble.
And when he was inside her, Moira knew she had never in her life beenfuckedbefore. The fierceness of their joining tore from her a cry of violent wonder. At his strength. His precision. At the beauty of his savage need to possess not just her body, but her mind, her soul, her thoughts, and her will.
How the feeble, sweaty pumping of men without number, even those whose bodies she found attractive were obliterated the second Nick’s cock rooted itself in her body.
One hand tightened in her hair, one clutching her hip, Nick halted where he was, his breath tickling her back as he held her still.
Still enough that she could feel his wild pulse within her.
Still enough that the beating of her own heart searched for and syncopated itself with his rhythm, the throb of their separate life forces coming into alignment here at the beginning of all things.
Nick’s hand left her hip to plant itself on her lower back. He withdrew from her, inch by glorious inch before moving into her again. Deeper this time. Slower. The precise opposite of what she had expected their encounter to be. Empty of the blind, bruising force she had been shoring herself up against.
No.
Nick’s every stroke was a primeval exploration. And only when he knew her, knew where her most secret places dipped and bowed, did the real conquest begin.
Using muscles Moira didn’t even know a man could own, Nick’s hips moved in rhythmic eddies and currents, pushing himself not just inside her, but like a tide within her. Filling her to his hilt and then beyond it until their bodies joined at every possible angle, deeper, more elemental than the soft earth yielding and molding around a tree’s insistent root.
Nick made her an extension of his own body. Angling his hips, angling hers, using the maximum attenuation of his broad back to build leverage each time he returned his cock to her in full, leaving her to mourn its absence each time he retreated.
They moved this way for hours, it seemed. Perhaps days. Time, like language, was just another casualty to their coupling. Moira found herself incapable of speaking in anything other than ecstatic cries, guttural moans, inarticulate pleas and demands. Nick spoke to her in languages she had never heard and yet somehow understood, using the same tongue to lick the sweat from her spine when it pooled there.
Somewhere between her first climax and her twentieth, Moira understood.
Were her life not slated to end before this side of the world saw the sun, Nicholas Kingswood would forever own her. This is what he had meant. Not that he would simply call her his.
He wouldmakeher his.
Would explore her and pleasure her so thoroughly that no man, mortal or otherwise, could even hope to compare. He would claim her by the elemental fusion by which worlds are made and unmade. Just as he made and unmade her now.
She would surrender not because he’d forced her to, but because giving herself over to him was as effortless and involuntary as breathing.
Nick couldn’t stop.
In all his long years, he had fucked and been fucked by mortal women, goddesses, nymphs, and every manner of whore, courtesan, and paid lay this world could offer. He shoveled them like coal into the eternally burning furnace of his lust. His need for conquest inallarenas. His never-ending, damnable need for domination.
But never had he been so enrapt, so possessed, so…bewitched by any creature in this realm or any other.
He had intended to fuck Moira good and hard, to make her come until she begged, sate his own need, then deliver his end of the bargain.
