Page 17 of The Satyr Next Door
My breath caught as he brushed through tawny fur. For a moment, nothing. Then something shifted, swelling, heavy. The head emerged first, flushed and smooth, followed by the thick length of him rising into his grasp.
Heat tore through me. Human in shape, but thicker, longer, veined. Beautiful. Terrifying.
His thumb swept across the head, slick already, eyes locked to mine. “Better than books, yes? No vase painting could show you this.”
I swallowed hard. Couldn’t look away.
This was for me.
“Stay with me,Bella,” he murmured. “Don’t look away.”
As if I could.
He stroked himself slow, deliberate, hips rolling. Lantern light gilded every line of him, horns gleaming, muscles flexing, veins standing out along his arm. Every motion was a temptation. A test.
“Good,” he groaned, pumping faster now, rougher. “Look at me,Bella.Look at what you do to me.”
My thighs pressed tight. My breath came shallow, and I was wet, ready. It would be so easy to just go to him…
He widened his stance, fist working slick over his length, groans spilling unguarded into the night. “Say my name.”
“Cal,” I whispered. My hunger shocked me.
His eyes blazed. His fist worked faster, hips thrusting into his hand like he already imagined me wrapped around him.
And then he broke.
With a guttural moan, he came in ropes across his stomach and hand, shuddering, radiant, utterly unashamed. His eyes never left mine.
I froze, chest heaving, watching like it was sacred.
When it was done, he sagged back against the chaise, sweat-slick and glowing. Slowly, deliberately, he licked his palm clean, those eyes still locked on me.
My knees went weak.
“I'm yours,Bella,” he promised, voice rough. “If you want me.”
I stumbled back through the door, curtains shaking in my grip. Heart racing. Body thrumming so hard it felt like my skin might split.
But it was too late. The image of him naked, stroking, coming for me, declaring me his was branded into me.
And I knew when sleep finally came, I would dream of him.
Chapter 10
Cal
The morning sun came far too bright, stabbing through the windows like accusation.
I groaned, rolling onto my back in the bed I barely remembered stumbling into sometime after midnight. My head ached dully, not with the sickly pound of human hangovers but the slow, heavy fog that came from too much wine and too much want with nowhere to put it except my own desperate hands.
My mouth was cotton-dry. My body still humming with the memory of the release, I'd spilled under the lanterns like some love-struck fool, performing for an audience of one while she watched from her balcony with those dark eyes that had haunted my dreams.
I scrubbed a hand down my face, cursing under my breath.
Gods, what had I done?
The images flashed back sharp and merciless: her silhouette on the balcony, fingers gripping the railing. Her lips parted in that small gasp of surprise when she'd first seen me naked in the garden. The way she hadn't looked away, hadn't fled back to the safety of her suburban bedroom.
