Page 54 of Bound to the Dorm Elf
“That’s… good,” I manage, my voice softer than I intended. “Right?”
He turns his head just enough to look at me, and there’s no smirk, no teasing glint in his eyes. “It is dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” I huff a quiet laugh, trying to brush off the shiver his tone sends through me. “You make peace sound like a weapon.”
“Everything can be a weapon, if you forget to guard against it,” he says, gaze holding mine.
I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t want to admit that he’s probably right — that I’ve been lowering my guard without even realizing it. That I’m not sure I want to put it back up.
Instead, I tug the blanket higher and say, “Well, lucky for you, you’re stuck here tonight. No guards, no weapons, just bad TV and worse hot chocolate.”
That earns me the faintest quirk of his mouth. “Hot chocolate.”
“You’ve never had it?”
He shakes his head, and I make a mental note to change that immediately. “Sweet,” I say, “and warm. You’ll like it.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I can’t tell if he’s weighing the merits of a beverage or the fact that I’m still sitting pressed up against him, blanket and all. Maybe both.
The truth is, I’m in far deeper than I ever planned. I was supposed to help him until he got back on his feet, until I could shove him in the direction of whatever weird interdimensional portal or magic door would take him home. I wasn’t supposed to care. Not like this.
And yet, the thought of him leaving sits in my chest like a stone.
I curl my fingers under the edge of the blanket so he can’t see how tightly I’m gripping it, and I tell myself it’s just the storm keeping me here, in this bubble where the rest of the world — Bill, Steve, Johnson, all of it — can’t touch us.
But I know better.
The truth is, if Rovax walked out tomorrow, I wouldn’t just miss him. I’d feel it like a loss.
And that scares me more than any snowstorm ever could.
He movesbefore I can second-guess it—one large, obsidian hand cupping my cheek, the other sliding down under the blanket to rest on my hip. His touch is firm but slow, deliberate, as if testing my reaction. I lean into it without thinking.
"Skylar," he says, my name low and almost reverent. "Do you want this?"
My heart stutters. "Yes," I breathe. "God, yes."
The kiss that follows is hotter, deeper, the kind that sends heat rushing through me so fast my skin prickles. His tongue teases mine, tasting, claiming. When his hand slides further, gripping my thigh and pulling me closer, the blanket slips away, and I’m suddenly straddling him on the couch.
I feel the hard press of his cock through his pants, and my breath catches. I shift, and his red eyes darken. "You feel what you do to me?" he growls.
"I feel it," I whisper, grinding against him. "I want it."
His hands grip my hips, guiding me in slow circles over him, the friction maddening. I can feel myself growing wetter with every movement. "You're mine tonight," he says, voice like a promise and a threat in one.
Clothes fall away piece by piece until I'm naked in his lap, my pussy slick against the heat of him. He looks at me like I’m a feast laid before him, his runic tattoos catching the light as his hands roam over my curves.
When he finally slides into me, the stretch is intense—almost too much—but I don't want him to stop. "Fuck," I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. "You're so big."
"And you're perfect," he growls, thrusting deeper. Each movement hits something inside me that has me gasping his name, clinging tighter. His pace builds, every thrust pullinganother moan from my lips until I’m shaking around him, my orgasm tearing through me hard enough to make my vision blur.
He follows moments later, groaning low as he spills into me, holding me flush against him. His hands stroke my back, his lips pressing a slow kiss to my temple.
Outside, the storm still rages. Inside, I’m warm, sated, and entirely his.
CHAPTER 20
SKYLAR
