Page 68 of Yearning For Her

And he was aware that her thigh was still against his cock, its heat baking into him through their clothing. His shaft throbbed. Agony pulsed through his groin, keeping his balls tight and overly sensitive, making his lower belly simultaneously hollow and heavy.

Willow was right there. He could still taste her on his tongue, could still smell her arousal in the air, and he knew that if he reached into her panties again, he’d find her soaking wet. A single touch would rekindle her passion. He doubted she would protest being woken that way.

Yet he knew that he would not be able to stop, that fingers would not suffice. His need grew by the moment, expanding into a ravenous, boundless void that could only be satisfied by Willow in her entirety.

He needed to fuck her. Hard, fast, relentlessly. Then slow and sensually. He needed his cock deep inside her cunt, so deep that he would feel the vibrations of her moans and cries, so deep that they would be one. He needed her soft, thick thighs around his hips, squeezing. Needed her hands on his chest, her nails raking his flesh. He needed to see lust gleaming in her half-lidded eyes, needed to see her hair tousled, needed to see her chest heaving with her panting breaths, her nipples erect, her—

Kian stiffened. One of his hands had crept down her back, coming to rest on her ass. Another heartbeat, and he would’ve grasped her thigh. Another breath, and he would’ve thrown her legs wide and sliced through her clothes with his claws.

His pulse thundered in his ears, and his fingers twitched with indecision.

Kian wanted her, needed her. And she wanted him. She couldn’t hide it, even if she denied it outwardly.

And still, Willow had repeatedly demonstrated immense self-control. She’d refused to give in to her desires, refused to become a slave to them, even at their strongest. Because this meant more to her. Sex meant more to her.

She means more to me.

That was why he hungered for her so deeply, even now. That was why he yearned to have her. Why he couldn’t just…take her. If he succumbed to his desires, if he violated her trust and ignored her boundaries, he chanced rousing the shadowy beast lurking in his heart and unleashing its dark, dangerous, unending appetites.

For all fae, there existed a fine line between order and chaos. A fine line between light and dark. For incubi in particular…

Once those bestial desires were let loose, they would demand far more than pleasure. Beings like Lachlan knew that all too well—they reveled in it.

That primal part of Kian, which whispered to him through his instincts, demanded he rut his mate. It demanded he claim her, demanded he put his mark on her, demanded he dominate her and show this world and all others that he was her master in every way, that she belonged to him.

But the rational part of Kian knew there was a distinct difference between Willow being his and Willow belonging to him.

Was it possible for his desire for her to become twisted? To become something damning? If he crossed that line and gave in to his basest instincts, he risked falling. Risked turning into a thing that he despised, a thing that violated the way he’d tried to live and went against his morals, however limited in scope they were.

If he took from Willow now without her consent, if he cast aside his own resistance, he would only be opening a path for everything deeper and darker. He would be welcoming chaos into himself—or rather awakening the chaos that had always dwelt within. And he would devour her in every way possible. There’d be nothing left. All the things he was coming to adore about her would be gone, and only only raw, primal hunger would remain. There’d be only sensation, unadulterated pleasure without substance.

And he’d lose Willow.

He’d lose his mate.

The thought of Willow no longer being in his life was like a shard of ice piercing his chest, freezing cold and agonizing. A sour tang of fear spread with that ice, pooling in his gut, unlike any emotion he’d ever felt on his own.

He needed to leave.

He needed to leave now.

Kian let out a slow, harsh breath through his nose and shifted his hips back just enough to break the contact between his crotch and her leg. The pressure in his cock flared. He bit his lip to keep himself from groaning, and he didn’t allow his body to move as he waited out the ache.

When the discomfort had subsided enough for him to think somewhat clearly, he set about the next step of his increasingly difficult task—extracting himself from his current position. Carefully as he could, he slipped his arm out from beneath Willow, settling her head on the cushion.

She stirred as he pushed himself up. Kian stilled.

“Kian,” she mumbled.

He stroked her cheek. “Sleep, Willow.”

Kian stared at her, unmoving, until she settled again. Then, with continued care, he lifted a leg, swung it over her, and planted his foot on the floor. Bracing a hand on the backrest, he climbed off the couch, somehow managing not to disturb her further.

He paused with his back toward her, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. For a while he simply breathed, willing the heat and tension out of his blood, seeking calm.

Need to leave. For her. I need to leave for her sake.

Forcing himself to move, he stepped into his boots, snatched up his coat, and swept it on as he walked around the couch. The front door was only a few steps away. Once he was outside, with the closed door serving as a barrier between him and Willow, he’d be all right. He’d be able to go.

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