Chapter Nine
Rona
My lips touch his and the world shifts beneath my feet like during an earthquake.
This kiss is different from the desperate collision of the last time.
This time, it isn’t about losing control.
This time, I can savor the way his breath catches, the way his entire massive frame goes rigid beneath my touch.
The way he lets me set the pace even though I can feel the barely leashed power thrumming through him.
His tusks press on each side of my mouth, my lips fitting perfectly between them.
I part my lips and let my tongue trace along his bottom lip, then dare to explore the smooth surface of his tusks.
He shudders beneath my touch, a low rumble vibrating through his chest as I gently nip his bottom lip between my teeth.
His lips are warm and surprisingly soft beneath mine, and when I press closer, deepening the kiss with gentle pressure, something inside him breaks.
The change is instant and electric. His control crumbles like a dam bursting, and suddenly his hands are in my hair, fingers tangling in the loose strands that have escaped my braid. He kisses me back with a hunger that steals my breath, his mouth moving against mine with growing desperation.
I make a soft sound of encouragement against his lips, and the rumble that vibrates through his chest in response is pure animal satisfaction.
The kiss becomes hungrier, more demanding.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him eagerly, gasping as he claims my mouth with a thoroughness that makes my knees weak.
When our tongues meet, the taste of him floods my senses, making me dizzy with want.
His hands slide from my hair to my waist, fingers spanning wide as he pulls me closer, closer, until I'm pressed against the solid wall of his chest.
Without breaking the kiss, Darhg stands from his chair in one fluid motion, lifting me effortlessly as he rises.
My feet leave the ground, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, feeling the impressive evidence of his arousal pressed hard against my core.
The sensation sends heat flooding through me, pooling low in my belly with delicious intensity.
He carries me away from the kitchen like I weigh nothing at all, moving through the small space like he could navigate it blindfolded. When he sets me down gently beside the leather sofa, we're both breathing hard, the air between us crackling with electricity.
His eyes blaze red in the low light, more vivid than I've ever seen them, and for a moment he just stares at me like he's memorizing every detail of my face.
"Are you certain this is what you want?" His voice is rough, strained with the effort of maintaining control. "Because if we go any further, I won't be able to stop."
The question hangs between us, weighted with promise and warning in equal measure. I can see the war being waged behind those blazing eyes, the desire battling with restraint, hunger fighting against his control.
I answer by reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, my fingers running underneath against his heated skin as my hand moves up the hard plane of his stomach.
"I'm certain," I whisper, holding his gaze. "I want this. I want you."
The sound that escapes him is half growl, half groan, and then his mouth is on mine again, more purposeful this time. His hands roam freely now, one sliding up my back to tangle in my hair while the other maps the curve of my waist, then lower to cup my ass through my jeans.
I arch against him, my own hands exploring the hard planes of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palms. When I push his t-shirt up higher, he breaks the kiss long enough to let me pull it over his head and toss it aside.
My gasp of appreciation is involuntary and completely honest. His chest is magnificent, broad and powerful, with defined muscles underneath all that dark mustard-colored skin.
There’s a light dusting of dark hair covering his pecs, and a trail goes down from his sternum to his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans in a path I desperately want to follow with my tongue.
"My turn," he rumbles, his voice dark with promise, and I feel heat pool between my thighs at the commanding tone. “Lift your arms.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” I taunt and I’m rewarded with a dark, hungry flare in his already burning gaze.
I lift my arms obediently, letting him peel my pink sweater over my head.
He’s surprisingly gentle, moving slowly and carefully, then he throws the garment to the ground.
When he sees what's underneath, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip and he swallows, hard. I could say the lacy pink bra I'd chosen this morning was an innocent choice, but I’d be lying. I’ve been hoping Darhg would rip my clothes off for days now.
I’m rewarded for my efforts when his chest rumbles with a deep male growl that makes my clit pulse with need.
"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely audible. "You're perfect."
His hands shake slightly as he reaches behind me to unhook my bra, his touch reverent as he slides the straps down my arms. When the lace falls away, exposing my breasts to his hungry gaze, he goes completely still.
Well, apart from the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he swallows.
Heat floods my body, gathering at the apex of my thighs in a wet, needy surge.
I’ve never been more turned on in my life, never felt more desirable than I do now.
"I'm still hungry," he says, his voice a low rumble that makes me shiver, "and you're the feast."
Before I can respond, he's sinking to his knees before me, his face level with my breasts, his large hands spanning my rib cage. The sight of this powerful man kneeling at my feet, looking at me like I'm something to be worshipped, sends a bolt of pure need straight through my entire body.
He presses a soft kiss in the valley between my breasts, then trails his lips lower, across my sternum and down to my navel.
His tusks brush against my skin as he moves, the sensation making me gasp and arch toward him.
When he kisses his way back up, following the same path in reverse, I'm already trembling with arousal. My core clenches and my clit throbs, wetness spilling in my sex, but I don’t dare make a move.
"Please, more," I whisper, not even sure what I'm begging for. “I need more.”
He answers by taking one nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking across the sensitive peak while his tusks press gently against the soft flesh of my breast. The combination of sensations, with his warm mouth, his clever tongue, and the slight pressure of those tusks, makes me cry out and tangle my fingers in his thick, short black hair.
He lavishes attention first on one breast, then the other, sucking and licking until I'm making sounds I've never made before, until my knees threaten to buckle beneath me. His hands steady me, holding me upright while he torments me with that wicked mouth.
I gasp when he lifts his head to look at me.
"If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so."
"I'll bite you if you stop,” I growl, surprising myself with the ferocity in my voice. "I swear I will."
His chuckle is dark and pleased at my response, and his grin is pure predator, all sharp tusks and blazing eyes. "I was hoping you'd say that, my hungry little brat."
His hands move to the button of my jeans, fingers working with surprising efficiency despite the tremor I can feel in them.
He peels the denim down my legs slowly, pressing kisses to my stomach, my navel, then through the thin fabric of my panties that has me gasping and gripping his shoulders for support.
"These too," he murmurs against the lace, his breath hot against my most sensitive places.
When I don't immediately respond, can't respond, because coherent thought has abandoned me entirely, he looks up at me with those blazing red eyes.
"Tell me yes, Rona. I need to hear you say it."
"Yes," I breathe. "God, yes."
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties and draws them down my legs with agonizing slowness, his mouth following the path of revealed skin. By the time I'm completely bare before him, I'm shaking with need and anticipation.
He kisses down my legs, his tongue tracing patterns on the inside of my thigh that make me whimper. When he gently parts my legs and buries his nose at my apex, breathing me in with a deep, appreciative inhale, the feral growl that rumbles through his chest makes my core clench with want.
"You smell like heaven," he murmurs, his breath hot against my most intimate places. "I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to feast on you now."
Then his tongue finds my clit, and I cry out in shock and overwhelming pleasure.
Nothing has ever felt like this. His tongue is clever and relentless, exploring every fold and valley while I fall apart above him. When my knees finally buckle under my weight, his strong hands hold me upright while he devours me like a man starving.
I can feel his tusks pressing gently against my sensitive flesh, adding another layer of sensation that pushes me higher and higher toward a precipice I'm not sure I’ll ever crawl out from.
My fingers dig into the firm flesh of his neck, holding him close as he builds the tension inside me to an almost unbearable peak.
"Darhg," I gasp, his name a prayer and a plea all at once.
He responds by redoubling his efforts, his tongue circling and flicking until I'm sobbing with need, until the world narrows to nothing but the feel of his mouth on me and the impossible pleasure building in my core.
When I finally shatter, it's with a cry that echoes through the cabin, my entire body convulsing as waves of sensations crash over me. He doesn't stop, drawing out my climax until I'm boneless and gasping, until I have to push weakly at his shoulders because it's too much, too intense.
He rises to his feet slowly, his mouth glistening with evidence of my pleasure, his eyes still blazing that vivid red. Then he kisses me, capturing my mouth and my breath. I can taste myself on his tongue, and the intimacy of it makes something deep in my chest flutter and catch.
"More," I whisper against his lips, my hands already reaching for his belt. "I want all of you."
But he catches my wrists gently, stopping me with a shake of his head that makes my heart sink.
"No," he says quietly, shaking his head slowly.
"What? Why?" The words come out more desperate than I intended, but I can't help it. I want him so badly it's like a physical ache, and the thought of stopping now feels impossible.
His expression is pained as he looks down at me, his thumb brushing across my cheek with infinite gentleness.
"Because ogres mate for life," he says simply. "When we claim someone, it's forever. We become possessive, protective to the point of obsession. We can't let go. It’s not in our nature."
The words hit me like cold water, but not in the way he probably intended. Instead of fear, I feel a surge of something that might be hope. Call me crazy all you want.
"And that scares you?" I ask softly.
"It terrifies me," he admits, his voice rough. "Because I’ve seen what an ogre’s obsession looks like before. What it pushes an ogre to do. I won’t let you sacrifice your freedom like that."
Before I can argue, before I can tell him that maybe I don't want freedom if it means losing him, he's scooping me up in his arms and carrying me toward the bedroom.
He sets me down gently beside the bed, pulling back the red plaid duvet with careful hands. When he tucks me beneath the warm blankets, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, I grab his hand desperately.
He tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip on his hand, holding him there beside the bed.
"This isn't over," I tell him, and I mean every word. "You can't just give me a taste of what we could have and then walk away."
Something flickers across his expression. Hope, maybe. Or fear. Or both.
"Don't go," I whisper. "Please."
"Good night, Rona," he says, his voice strained, gently extricating his hand from mine.
Then he's gone, leaving me alone in the warm bed that smells like him, my body still humming with unfulfilled desire and my heart racing with determination.
I lie there in the darkness, listening to his footsteps in the other room, thinking about what he said. About ogres mating for life, about possessiveness and protection and never letting go.
About my freedom and how much I value it.
The thing is, he's wrong about what I want. What I need.
I don't want safe and predictable and easy. I want the man who saves baby birds and cooks perfect pancakes and kisses like the world is ending. I want the ogre who looks at me like I'm a whole feast, who feeds me with his own hands and makes me feel claimed and cherished and desired.
I want Darhg Rooke, in all his ogre possessiveness.
And I'm going to convince him to claim me.
One way or another.