Page 101 of Which Witch is Willing?
At her admission, Julian felt as if she’d both dismantled him and stitched him back together. His soul flew at the motivation behind her words, and his heart fell at the content.
She loved him. She loved him enough to leave him his liberty. Even at the expense of her heart. Her needs and desires.
Her own life.
Whatever intent she read on his features blanched her skin even paler than normal. However, true to her nature, she did not retreat as he advanced.
They collided like thunderclouds. All electricity and wild, chaotic recklessness.
His mouth claimed hers as her fingers tore at his clothing. The buttons of his shirt clattered to the floor and she purred into his mouth.
The sound vibrated all the way down to his cock.
Julian crushed her to him, knowing he was being rough, that neither of them would come out of this encounter unscathed, unmarked.
Or unbonded.
He didn’t fucking care. He wanted her to score his skin, and he ached to mark her as his own. They belonged together, eternally and otherwise, and as soon as he could tear his mouth away from hers, he’d find the words to tell her that.
He ripped away her blouse and bra, shucking it down her shoulder and pinning her elbows behind her, thrusting her breasts forward. He bent to devour the pink pebbles of her nipples, laving a gentle tongue over them in wet, worshipful glides before using his teeth.
She made a guttural sound that drove him to the very edge of his sanity.
Julian often tempered his supernatural strength, but not this time. Clothes disintegrated in his hands, he rent her leather belt with as much ease as he did her panties until nothing was between their souls but flesh, sinew, and bone.
He captured her lips once again, lifting her against him and splitting her legs around his waist as he explored the recesses of her mouth he might have missed before. He thrust deeper, coiled his tongue against hers, their passions sparking into an inferno.
She hooked her heels around his buttocks as three long strides had her pressed against the wall. And his sex pressed against hers.
He pinned her there, shoving her thighs wider and thrusting inside her heat.
She made a raw sound of astonishment, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. Deeper. Using the wall as a ballast, she met him thrust for breath-stealing thrust.
Suddenly it wasn’t enough. He wanted to crawl inside of her, to be a part of her, as deep as he could physically go.
And then deeper.
He rebounded off the wall, to another hard surface, the dresser maybe, he didn’t care. Swiping the contents away, he rested her ass on the edge and angled it so he could reach between them, deepening his strokes as he brushed his thumb over the ruffles of flesh above where they joined.
She whimpered his name. Then she called it to the sky as she came apart, her intimate muscles clenching over and around him. There was desperation to her cries, and a pain that melded with the pleasure, wrenching her higher.
He could feel it in his own soul. The clutching, seizing, bruising desperation of it.
“You are mine,” he growled.
“Yes,” she rasped, her eyes rolling back in her head as her spine arched in a sinuous undulation of bliss. “Yes!”
He bent down and caught her hair, weaving his fingers through the strands before pulling it taught. Exposing her throat.
“Say it,”he commanded.
Her mouth opened, but nothing escaped.
“You are mine and I am yours,” he pounded into her, holding the storm of pleasure rolling down his spine at bay.
She reared up, her hand against his chest, her eyes no longer languid with pleasure, but wide with surprise. “But—”
“I. Am. Given,” he said, in time to his powerful thrusts. “Say it.”
