Page 59 of Their Broken Legend

His erection is pressed between our stomachs. I study him, and find my fingers desperate to be in that damp hair, dragging my nails up the back of his neck through the strands.

I can’t stop looking at him, and he won’t waver from me. That grin is there, but dark shadows of desire tighten it, the bite in him gnashing below the surface.

You’re not a rabbit, Xander.

His cock beats, so I push up and lift my hips until I’m rolling my lips up the pulsing length. Just on the outside. I shudder at the sensation, and he licks his lower lip, watching me take pleasure from him.

I use him without penetration. Just rubbing. Work my clit and entrance over the piercings that bone the underside. I watch him. My pussy ripples, wanting what is so close to fill my deep clinging core. I rub on him harder.

“Fuck,” he hisses, gripping my hips. I try to work his erection as I slide the full length, trying to massage him to pleasure as I climb towards my own.

I open my mouth to pant into the steamy air. Needing support, my thighs trembling to the rising sensation, I grip his taut shoulders—wings like an angel, but instead of soft feathers they are thick muscles, rising bones like plates. They are warrior wings.

I moan, refusing to break eye contact.

His fingers dig into my sides. “Slow.”

“No. Help me,” I beg.

“You’re such a lovely sight. Rocking your pussy on my cock. And you didn’t like him before?” The coaxing rasp in his timbre spurs me on, my hips firing up, rubbing against the piercings. “You like rubbing yourself on me now, don’t you? I think you should admit that your pussy is greedy for me. That you’re juicy for me. That I touch you so fucking good, you crave me now. Tell me, Woman.” His eyes flash with dark intent. “Go on.”

My pussy pulses and ripples to his words. I wiggle around. Flooded with need. Desperate to come so badly to his words, to the look of utter demonic ecstasy in his eyes. “No.”

“Tell me that I touch you so good.”

I’m desperate for him. “Yes.”

“Yes, what, Woman?”

Groaning huskily as the pleasure eludes me, I can’t speak, can’t think straight, not about anything but reaching my climax. “I need you.” I finally gasp. “I need your touch.”

He tilts his pelvis so that the three bars press to my throbbing opening and feeds his hand down between us, setting a thick skilled thumb to my clit where he circles it. Each lap rising heat to my ear, each lap lifting the pleasure up my spine, each lap building my orgasm until I’m feverish, shaking, captured by the rotating pressure.

I cry out, squeezing his shoulders, gyrating around on him as I come in a blazing rush. The corner of my eyes blur. He doesn’t stop when I need him to, when the feel of his thumb is edging pain, too intense, but he knows what he’s doing because my orgasm continues.

His long groans are pure possessiveness. “You’re simply the sexiest damn girl in the world when you come. And I gotta have all of it. I want to have every single one of your orgasms rubbed out on me. My lips. My hands. My cock. I don’t care. But, dammit, I’m not sharing a damn moment of Kaya Alana Lovit when she’s vulnerable. A man won’t survive sharing a sight like this.”

I lower my body until I’m curled against his chest, rattled, and shivering from the blissful aftershock.

He envelops me in his arms, one hand on my spine, one on the back of my head, fingers feeding through my hair, the tips circling my scalp. It’s so intimate. And I don’t know how we got here, but I’m not ready to question it.

Ugh. I don’t want to.

So, I snuggle into him further.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

kaya

My heart isin my throat as the sound of the crowd rumbles. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It’s visceral, vibrating in the cells of my marrow, consuming my ears. The energy seeps inside. No sense is without ferocious stimulation.

I can feel them in my spine—the horde.

With the masses, Chloe and I sit in the arena shadowed in near pitch-black, the ring in the centre glowing under moving strobes. The air around us is electrified.

Everyone is on edge.

Adding to the dynamic, to the utter intensity that creeps into my chest, the music builds in a crescendo of booms, claps, and drums, a kind of musical manifestation of the brutality of boxing. Not a moment of silence, no reprieve for anyone, noise that shocks, the horde that roars.

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