Page 87 of A Vow to Set the Virgin Free

But she lowered her head and slicked her tongue from the base of him to the tip, before taking him into her mouth and swallowing any of his objections along with him. His breathing was ragged, his control at its end. He moved his fingers through her hair, caressed her face as she licked him, sucked him, and shattered all that remained of his control.

“Not like this,” he growled. He moved her away from him, and then turned her onto her back, kissing down her stomach, and then curving his arms around her thighs, clasping his fingers over her stomach and holding her fast as he dragged her to his mouth and began to eat the sweet center of her.

He licked her, deep. Pushing his tongue into her honeyed depths as he extracted every scream of pleasure from her that he could.

If he was going to ruin her. If he was going to ruin them both, then it would be thorough and complete. Because he was a monster who left nothing unharmed. Who left no recognizable pieces in his wake. He burned everything to ash. And it would be the same with her. The same with them. And he would relish the journey. Hell was the destination. And so getting there had to be everything.

And yet this was not like sex as he knew it. It was something more.

It was their walk on the Seine. It was the moment when he’d talked her to orgasm in the kitchen. It was when she’d put his clothes on him and given him her necklace. It was a kiss in the rain and vows in a chapel.

It was seeing her huddled in the hut and knowing,knowing, that she had to be his.

It was every part of him and every part of her, mingling together. The broken and the beautiful. The monstrous and the divine.

Power and glory and all the things he’d always feared.

And everything he needed to go on breathing.

She was shaking, crying out, she shattered over and over again, her fingers woven through his hair, tugging hard, her heels digging down into the mattress.

And when he was satisfied that she had reached her peak enough times, he moved up and captured her lips. He had not kissed her enough.

It would never be enough. There would never be enough.

And that in and of itself was the most sobering, horrendous realization of them all.

There would never be enough of this. He was doomed. And he would not turn back even knowing that.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and looked into his eyes as he positioned himself at her slick center. He pushed inside of her slowly, and she never looked away. She was so tight. And he was lost.

“Cameron,” she said, as he filled her completely.

And he began to move. And this was different. Completely different. Being inside of her was not like being inside of any other woman. The pleasure that he found here was not like any other pleasure. This was not a race to release. This was not about control. He was not solidifying his power, he was surrendering it. To her.

And with every arch of her hips against his she gave it back, but it was made something more. Just as he was.

He wanted it to go on forever, but he knew it could not. And he could feel her pleasure building within her, and then when she cried out his name, her internal muscles pulsing around him, he gave up his own.

His growl reverberated off the walls as he poured himself inside of her. As every last vestige of control dissolved.

As the goddess of war made him hers.

And when he came back to himself, to them, she was clinging to him, gazing up at him.

“Cameron,” she whispered. “I love you.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SHEFELTHISwithdrawal emotionally before he physically left her.

She had known that that might be a mistake. That saying it might be a problem. She had known.

But she had also known that she was here to take all.

To conquer all.

And there was only one thing that did that. And that was love.

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