Page 39 of Wulver's Flame
I sucked harder, dragging my lips up and down his length, hollowing my cheeks as I went down—the way he taught me to. His honey-sweet essence trickled onto my tongue, and the ache between my legs sharpened like a blade.
My thighs clenched. My insides pulsed in frantic waves. I needed to be split apart. Needed to be stuffed full—not with his cock in my mouth, but buried deep inside me, locked and throbbing.
His hips jerked, and I felt the telltale twitch of his cock against my tongue. No. Not yet. Not here. Knot. I needed his knot.
I whimpered, pulling off with a wet pop and licking my lips, breathing hard. My hand replaced my mouth, stroking him slowly from root to tip.
“Not yet,” I whispered.“Don’t spend it. I want it inside me.”
He growled, teeth flashing.“Greedy littleskækja. You’d rather milk it with your cunt than your mouth?”
I nodded as the flames lashed my insides, tiny licks of pain. My voice came out hoarse.
“I want to milk it from the inside. I want to feel it when you pulse and swell. I want it to hurt.”
His chest heaved, and the gold in his eyes flared like wildfire.
“Then mount me. Fuck yourself on my cock, my burning flame,” he snarled.“Take what you need.”
I threw a leg over him, straddling his hips, trapping his cock beneath me. I closed my eyes as I felt our heat merge.
The fire felt different—burned hotter. There was something beneath it, but when his cock jerked against me. I growled.
Heat. Knot.
I could remember the feel of it splitting me open—the burning stretch, pain before the overwhelming euphoria.
My eyes snapped open, placing my hands on his abdomen, I tortured myself by sliding his length between my folds, tilting my hips to ensure he rubbed my pearl.
“By Fenrir, I love you like thisÚlfr mìn. With your hot gaping bloom, bathing me in your slick. Ride me,skækjamín. Sit atop my cock and ride me until you take my knot.”
His words sank in—my mind went blank. The heat took control.
I raised my hips to line him up with my dripping slit. I rubbed the smooth, round head of his cock through my folds, coating him in slick until he glistened like a god carved for rutting.
He reached up, pinched my nipples, and hissed,“You stopped sucking to impale yourself. Now use your gaping bloom to suck out my seed. Fill your belly with my pups.”
Seed.
Yes, lots of seed, filling me up to take my pain away.
I angled my hips. Pressed down, and moaned like a sinner at the sacred stones.
I was lost.
Drunk on the stretch, the way he carved into me like I was meant to be opened by him. A bead of sweat trickled down between my heaving breasts.
Knot.
Seed.
Fire.
I began to move slowly, and the ache pulsed.
Each slide down his cock burned a little brighter, the stretch more glorious, more unbearable. I could feel every thick ridge, every twitch of his shaft as I rolled my hips, shallow and wet, teasing myself as much as him.
His hand gripped my hip, holding me steady, guiding the rhythm. The other tugged at my nipple, sharp and cruel, making me gasp. The pain crackled across my skin, and my cunt clenched around him like a vice.
