Page 14 of The Satyr Next Door
The coarse fur of his leg brushed my calf. Softer than I expected, warm with body heat. It should have been strange, off-putting, a reminder of how different he was.
Instead, it made me want to explore every inch of him.
I looked up, ready to make a joke about his shamelessness. But his gaze stopped me, burning hotter than the sun overhead, memorizing me.
The kiss was inevitable.
It started gently, coaxing. His lips gave me every chance to retreat. But when I sighed into him, when my hand slid to the hard line of his jaw, something in him broke loose.
He kissed me deeper. Hungrier. His tongue slid against mine, tasting of wine and promises I wasn’t ready for. My fingerstangled in his curls, damp from heat, grazing his horns until a shiver ripped through me.
Everything about this was wrong. I barely knew him. He wasn’t human. I had children, responsibilities, a life with no room for mythological creatures who kissed like they wanted to steal my soul.
And I didn’t care. Not even a little.
“Gina,” he breathed against my mouth.
I gasped when his palm slid up my side, fingers spreading wide to cup my breast through thin cotton. He froze instantly, eyes searching mine, waiting for even the smallest flicker of no.
But no was the last thing in me. I arched into his hand instead, pressing myself against his palm. The sound he made unraveled me.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, thumb brushing over my nipple. My whole body shuddered, remembering how to want beyond exhaustion and grocery lists.
The world narrowed again: the taste of wine on his tongue, the heat of his hand, the solid weight of him under me, his breath turning rough.
Then his hips shifted beneath me, and I felt him.
Before, only fur and fabric. I’d wondered, in some distant part of my mind, if the myths were wrong, if satyrs were different.
But now,madonna mia.Now there was no mistaking it.
His hips shifted beneath me, this time guiding, deliberate. Suddenly he pressed between my thighs.
The ridge of him fit against me through the thin cotton, exactly where I was already aching. Heat and hardness surged against my center, thick and undeniable. Even through our clothes, I could feel how big he was. How much he wanted this. Wanted me.
A shocked sound escaped me, half gasp, half whimper. He stilled instantly, every muscle tense, eyes searching mine.
“Too much?” he asked, voice rough, like holding himself back cost him everything.
“No,” I whispered, too fast, too desperate, too honest.
I saw the moment it hit him. His pupils flared wide, hunger darkening his gaze.
“Then let me,” he murmured, and his big hands slid to my hips.
Before I could think, he was guiding me, rocking me down against the hard line of him. The pressure made me moan, shameless and raw, my body surging forward to meet each motion.
“Beautiful,” he groaned, holding me firm, dragging me along his length in steady, devastating strokes. “Goddess, look at you… taking what you need.”
The friction was unbearable, perfect. My body recognized it instantly, responding as if it had been waiting years for this exacttouch. Heat coiled low and sharp, building fast as his hands urged me harder, faster, grinding against the bulge straining beneath his shorts.
“Cal—” I gasped, clutching his shoulders, nails biting into golden skin. My hips moved without my permission, chasing that spiraling pleasure.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, voice thick and reverent. “Ride me, Bella. Let go for me.”
The words urged me on. My body clenched, the wave cresting high and hot until it broke, and I cried out, shuddering against him as release burned through me.
He held me, strong arms keeping me steady as I shook, his forehead pressed to mine, his own breath ragged with restraint. His cock strained against the fabric of his shorts, trapped and aching, but he didn’t take. He gave. He let me unravel in his lap, every muscle singing with remembered want.
