EPILOGUE Pt. 2 #2
Hips rolling, chest rumbling with his growls of approval, calloused hands finding every curve and swell of my body and raking it with clawed fingers. We moved together, and after a frustrating day of parenting and ruling, something inside me broke open, and free.
There was little room for me to move, my legs pinned between his thighs and the thick arms of the chair. But as Melek’s rolling turned to sharp thrusts and my body responded, I let myself go into his arms, let my weight rest in his strength, and let my pleasure be his to decide.
My mate did not disappoint.
Hooking that arm in front of me again, he pressed me forward over it, then his hot breath teased while he kissed down my spine, and the skin of my back prickled and pebbled in response.
When I tried to sit up, he growled and buried the fingers of his free hand in my hair, sliding them up the back of my neck to my scalp and pressing my head down.
I was craned forward, held in place by him, and gasped with the lack of control.
Bent over his arm, he took me harder and harder as he tugged at my hair, and the sensation of his grip adding resistance sparked further, tingling pleasure on my skin.
Then he pulled me back up by that grip on my hair, back against his chest, opened his mouth on my neck and sucked, as his hands clamped on my hips and he held me down while he thrust.
“Oh God… Melek—”
“Arm, or back?” he muttered, then nipped my neck. I sucked in. “Wh-what?”
“Arm or back? The chair? Which part am I bending you over?”
I blinked and tried to think, but then one of his hands slipped from my hip, down between my legs, dipped to where we joined, then slowly pressed, sliding back up, until pleasure jangled through my body, radiating from between my legs, out to every limb.
Then he did it again. And again. Taking me harder each time, pressing slightly faster, until I was a quivering mess, hovering on the verge of orgasm. Mindless. Every hair on my body standing to attention.
“Arm… or back…?” he panted, breaking through my reverie.
“I… I don’t…”
“Back, it is.”
Melek cursed and, wrapping me in both arms, lifted us both without leaving my body. When he stood, I had nothing to hold onto, no leverage at all. But he caught me, one hand laying up my sternum to flatten between my breasts and hold me safe as he turned us around.
Moments later I was pressed over the back of the chair, my mate’s teeth on my neck, his body pinning me against the wide leather. I reached forward instinctively to catch myself, my hands planted on the seat of the chair as Melek rolled into me again, then nipped the lobe of my ear.
“Are you ready?”
“For wh-what?”
“I’m going to roar soon. But you will first.”
Then he straightened.
My back, sheened in sweat, was suddenly cold, but his hand splayed at the base of my spine, then pressed down, down, down, towards the base of my neck, stopping between my shoulder blades, and pinning me against the chair.
I gasped when he thrust so hard his thighs slapped. Then he did it again, and it was all I could do not to cry out.
“So quiet tonight,” he rasped, then thrust again.
“The… the servants!”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about the servants,” he snarled.
Then he began to pound.
Pleasure exploded within me as he reached deeper and deeper. The chair bumped and jumped in rhythm, the leather teasing my nipples as my breasts bobbed.
“Melek… Melek!”
He grunted and growled, one hand still planted between my shoulder blades, the other dragging up the back of my leg to leave a tingling trail on my skin, only to tease my inner thigh with twirling fingers that made me ache and gasp and widen my knees to give him better access.
“Come for me, Yilan,” he growled.
In this position, he couldn’t reach between my legs. Yet, his thundering pleasure pushed me higher and higher. But even as my body jangled and thrummed, I couldn’t quite reach that peak.
I wanted… I needed…
With a puttering snarl, Melek released my back and grabbed my hips. When he pulled all the way out of me, I whimpered and tried to reach for him. But he flipped me over and pulled me up, so I sat on the back of the chair, facing him—and my eyes widened.
He was slick and snarling, a bead of sweat at his temples, every muscle tense and tight, veins popping in his arms, the tendons on his neck standing proud.
Grasping the back of my knee, he yanked me forward onto him, and for a moment I flailed, convinced I was about to fall—but he leaned in, taking me, then thrusting again, and again, his eyes glazed and hooded, my name on his lips.
“Lean… back,” he rasped. “All the way.”
Quivering with need, I hooked my heels at his back and arched back, dragging my hands down his chest, then his abs, then to where we joined.
Melek cupped my thigh and held my knee out, holding my hip on the other side and guiding me onto him again and again, his eyes like heated fingers on my skin, trailing over my throat, my bouncing breasts, then watching himself take me.
“Shit… Shit.”
“Come for me, Melek,” I whispered, knowing he was watching as I dipped my fingers against my most heated flesh, and then began to touch myself.
“SHIT.”
“Come for me. I want to watch you fall apart.”
His breath came in heaving rasps. Teeth bared, he stared down at me with eyes bright with lust.
“Yilan—”
“Come for me.” The problem was, the touching was working, and every new sight of his trembling body, his immense strength, the sound of his body slapping against mine, his guttural voice ragged with hunger… It all pressed me closer and closer too.
I tightened on him, and that only increased the pleasure as he thrust, then pulled away, then pounded into me once more.
I was arched, hovering, bowed backwards, trembling from head to toe when Melek dropped his chin and rasped, “You’re the most beautiful fucking thing in the world.”
Then flattened his hands on my hips, and thrust so hard the chair bounced.
I grabbed for him as I exploded, nails digging into his back as pleasure sparked lights behind my eyes and tore a ragged cry from my throat.
Then my mate lost the last shred of his control and cupped a thick hand behind my neck, pulling me up while I twitched and writhed, clenching around him, he pulled me to his chest and took my mouth, his tongue filling me as surely as his body, as he came with the power of a king.
Our bodies sang together. Our hearts twined. Our souls united.
And his roar shook the walls.
As we collapsed together, I thanked God that he was mine and I was his. Forever.
Thank you. Thank you for my mate.
Then I clung to him, panting, sweating, ecstatic. He was my life’s joy. He was my greatest passion. He was the father of my son, and the king of my nation, and the best person I knew. I would follow him straight to hell.
When he groaned and straightened, pulling me up with him, his warm eyes met mine and he licked his lips. “Well done, beautiful,” he croaked. “Lack of control, achieved.”
I smiled and leaned in, kissing him deeply.
He was strong and stubborn, intelligent and a fool, hilarious and infuriating.
And he was mine.
Which was why he would tease me mercilessly about ordering special, silk pillows to press over his royal face, and quiet his roar next time.
Even the thought made me smile.
I’d let him tease, and I’d love it.
Just as soon as I got my breath back.