Page 77 of Female Fantasy
“Too much,” I choke, as his hand retreats and begins tracing slow circles around the spot that aches for his touch the most. “I cannot.”
“You can.” His voice is confident, cocky, and domineering.
Every bit the prince that he is.
That command is my downfall. I come apart against his palm, a tidal wave of emotion and sensation. My entire body shakes, rogue waves of pleasure crashing against my shore until I am a limbless, quivering mess.
“Look at you,” he says fondly, raising his hand to his mouth and licking each finger, one by one. “Mere moments ago, you were ordering the tides, sending sirens to their knees begging for mercy. Now, you are entirely atmine.”
“Yes,” I tell him, before I can overthink it. “Yes. Yours. I am yours.”
Something dangerous flashes across his face as his hands tighten on my body. “Be careful what you wish for, Merriah.” He lines himself up at my entrance. “A mer like me could destroy you. And the sound of that sacred word falling from your lips pleases me a little too much.”
The tip of his member teases my bud of nerves, and I let out an unseemly whimper.
“Please,” I beg. “Do it. Ruin me.”
And so he does.
We both watch as he enters my body, little by little, until he is seated. I look down at where we have become one and bite my lip.
“You feel…” Ryke closes his eyes. “Like mine.”
Then he begins to move.
Slowly at first. Then fast, faster than I thought possible, his weakened muscles far stronger than those of any human man I have ever come into contact with. Beads of sweat start to form on my forehead, and he leans down to lick them off, groaning at the taste.
Without warning, his mouth opens, letting out a primal noise. “What was that?” he chokes. “What are you doing to me?”
“Nothing, I swear it.” I sit up, alarmed.
He looks at me, curious. Then his eyes widen.
“Merriah,” he says, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice. “I believe you are using your power to create—how should I put this—the most exquisite suction?”
My jaw drops. “I can do that?” I bite my lower lip.
“You are capable of more than either of us ever thought possible, my little minnow. My miracle.”
With his tongue, he coerces me to release my lower lip from the confines of my teeth before sucking it into his own mouth, kissing me with animalistic ferocity. His ministrationsstart again, hard and fervent. I feel the whispers of another climax beginning to build in me. But Ryke’s breath is growing shorter with each stroke, and I realize, to my horror, that our passion is weakening him.
Pulling back to break our kiss, I raise my bleeding wrist to his lips. “You need to drink,” I plead.
He shakes his head. “I cannot. I will not risk you.”
“Please.” I arch into him. This time, I can feel the pressure constricting around his length with purpose, forcing his hand. He pants against me. “You will not hurt what is yours.”
His molten gold eyes latch on to mine, and he nods once.
“Mine,” he repeats.
Prince Ryke of Atlantia lowers his mouth to the trickle of red wafting from the skin of my wrist, darkening the water. His pupils dilate as he watches the blood float around us, clouds in a sky full of ocean. As his lips pull back to reveal his incisors, I wonder if there is a better way for us to bring me to the brink of death—perhaps for him to wrap his hands around my neck and cut off my airway as he pumps into me from below. As his lips come into contact with my skin, there is a tinge of pain, a slight sting. Then my blood starts to swim down his throat, mixing with his own, until I cannot tell where I end and he begins. And I know there was never another way. My life becoming his, belonging to him completely.
Until we are one in body and spirit.
A groan escapes me as the pain turns to pleasure. Ryke drains me—the energy in my body, the power of my muscles. The walls my husband has built around my heart. He takesit all until everything left in me clenches, pulling taut, then releases like a stream into a river.
“You are perfect,” he murmurs against my wrist, full of awe, blood dripping from his chin. “Merriah, I—”
