Page 62 of Purring for Her Lion
“For you,” she breathes, rolling her hips in a way that makes my vision blur. “Always for you.”
She reaches between us, wrapping her small hand around my cock, positioning me at her entrance. Our eyes lock as she slowly, torturously sinks down, taking me inch by agonizing inch. Her breath catches, her inner walls stretching to accommodate my size, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from thrusting up into her heat.
When she’s fully seated, my cock buried to the hilt inside her, we both pause, breathing hard. Her inner muscles flutter around me, adjusting, squeezing in pulses that threaten my control.
“You feel so good,” she whispers, leaning forward to rest her forehead against mine. “So full. So deep.”
I slide my hands up her sides, over her ribs, to cup her breasts. Her nipples harden against my palms, and I roll them between my fingers, making her gasp and clench around me. The sensation nearly undoes me.
“Move,” I command, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. “Ride me.”
She does, lifting herself until only the head of my cock remains inside her, then sliding back down with agonizing slowness. Again and again, she sets a pace designed to drive me mad—slow, torturous rises followed by sudden, sharp descents that have me seeing stars.
Her hot, tight channel grips me like a fist, slick walls rippling around my length with every movement. I can feel every ridge, every texture of her inner flesh as she slides up and down my shaft. It’s maddening, perfect, not enough and too much all at once.
“Liana,” I growl, my hands returning to her hips to guide her movements, to increase the pace. “Faster.”
She complies, her rhythm quickening, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. Her breasts bounce with each movement, a hypnotic sight that has me leaning forward to capture one nipple between my lips. I suck hard, then soothe the sting with gentle flicks of my tongue. She cries out, her inner walls clenching around me in response.
The base of my cock begins to tingle, to swell—the beginning of my knot forming. It’s a sensation I’ve only experienced with her, only with my true mate, and the biological significance of it still amazes me. My body knows her, recognizes her at the most primal level.
She feels it too, her movements becoming more deliberate as she grinds down against the growing bulge. “It’s happening,” she gasps, her eyes wide with wonder. “Your knot...”
“Yes,” I hiss, fighting the urge to thrust up into her harder, to force the swelling past her entrance before she’s ready. “For you. Only for you.”
Her eyes darken with something I’ve come to recognize—desire, yes, but also determination. She leans close, her mouth at my ear, her words a hot whisper against my skin: “I want it. All of it. I want you to knot me, Roarke. I want you to bite me. Make me yours. Completely.”
The words send a shock of heat through my system. We’ve talked about this—the bonding bite, the knotting—what it would mean for both of us. The permanence of it. The way it would bind us together in ways that transcend the physical.
She knows what she’s asking for.
“Are you sure?” I ask anyway, needing to hear it one more time.
In answer, she takes my hand and guides it to where we’re joined, pressing my fingers against her slick folds. “Feel how wet I am for you,” she says, her voice breaking as I find her clit. “How ready I am. I want this, Roarke. I want you. All of you.”
I circle her sensitive bundle of nerves with my thumb, watching her face as pleasure overtakes her. Her eyes glaze, her mouth falls open on a silent gasp, and her inner walls clench rhythmically around my cock. She’s close—so close—but I want her to come again before I take her completely.
“Come for me first,” I tell her, increasing the pressure and speed of my movements. “Let me feel you.”
She does, her body going rigid as the orgasm washes over her. Her inner muscles clamp down on me with almost painful intensity, her slick heat gushing around my length as she cries out my name. The sight of her coming undone, the feeling of her pulsing around me, nearly pushes me over the edge.
But not yet. Not like this.
As the aftershocks of her climax subside, I lift her off me, ignoring her whimper of protest. “Turn around,” I command, my voice rough with need. “On your hands and knees.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by a fresh wave of arousal that I can smell as clearly as if it were a visible cloud around her. She complies eagerly, positioning herself before me, her back arched, her perfect ass raised in invitation.
I kneel behind her, my hands gripping her hips as I position myself at her entrance again. She’s even wetter now, her earlier orgasm leaving her slick and ready for me. I push forward, watching my cock disappear into her inch by inch, the contrast of my size against her smaller body still the most erotic sight I’ve ever witnessed.
When I’m fully seated inside her again, I pause, savoring the sensation. Her inner walls ripple around me, still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. My knot is more pronounced now, pressing against her entrance without yet pushing through.
“Please,” she begs, looking back over her shoulder at me with desperation in her eyes. “I need it. I need all of you.”
I begin to move, setting a rhythm that’s deeper, harder than before. Each thrust drives me further into her soft, eachwithdrawal dragging a moan from her throat. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the room—wet, obscene, perfect.
My knot grows with each movement, pressing more insistently against her entrance. I can feel my control slipping, my thrusts becoming more erratic as the pressure builds at the base of my spine.
“Now,” she gasps, pushing back against me. “Please, Roarke. Knot me. Bite me. Make me yours.”
