Chapter 8 Desire’s Deadly Curse #3
The contradiction confused me. This man had claimed me as property, had threatened death to anyone who touched me, had spoken of ownership with casual certainty. Yet here he was, pausing at this threshold, waiting for my assent.
“Please,” I whispered, the word unfamiliar on my tongue. I had never begged for anything in my life, had prided myself on maintaining control even in the most intimate of moments. Yet now, with this man I had every reason to hate, I found myself pleading.
A look of feral satisfaction crossed his features.
He lowered his head, maintaining eye contact until the last possible moment before his mouth made contact with my center.
The first sweep of his tongue drew a strangled cry from my lips, the pleasure so acute it bordered on pain.
My head fell back, eyes squeezing shut as sensation overwhelmed me.
Valen explored me with the same thorough attention he’d shown to the rest of my body, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention to the bundle of nerves that sent sparks shooting through my limbs.
His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open to his ministrations, thumbs occasionally stroking the sensitive inner flesh in counterpoint to the movements of his tongue.
I lost myself in the pleasure he created, all thoughts of resistance, of pride, of political maneuvering washed away by waves of mounting ecstasy. My hands fisted in the satin sheets, my back arching off the bed as he brought me closer and closer to the edge of release.
When he slipped a finger inside me, curling it to stroke against a spot that had me seeing stars, I shattered.
My climax crashed through me with unexpected force, a cry torn from my throat that might have been his name, might have been a prayer, might have been nothing but pure sound.
My body convulsed around his finger, inner walls clenching in rhythmic pulses as pleasure radiated outward from my core.
Yet even as the first waves of release began to subside, Valen did not relent. His tongue continued its attention, driving me higher when I thought I could go no further. A second finger joined the first, stretching me deliciously as he established a rhythm that matched the strokes of his tongue.
“Valen,” I gasped, my voice unrecognizable to my own ears, raw with pleasure and something like panic. “It’s too much—I can’t—“
He hummed against me, the vibration sending a fresh jolt of sensation through my over-sensitized flesh.
I was caught somewhere between ecstasy and madness, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, yet I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to stop.
My body trembled, hovering on the precipice of something greater, something more devastating than the release I’d just experienced.
When the second climax hit, it was a tidal wave. I cried out, my entire body tensing and then trembling as pleasure crashed through me with brutal intensity. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, the sensation too overwhelming to contain.
Still, Valen continued, drawing out my pleasure until I was a shaking, incoherent mess beneath him. Only when my hands pushed weakly at his shoulders, my body too sensitive to endure more, did he finally relent.
He rose up on his knees, wiping his mouth with his thumb in a gesture that should have been crude but somehow managed to be unbearably erotic.
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he took in my wrecked state—hair tangled across the pillows, skin flushed and damp with perspiration, chest heaving with ragged breaths.
“Valen,” I gasped, beyond caring how desperate I sounded. “Please. I want you inside me.”
His smile was pure predatory satisfaction, a conqueror surveying territory already claimed. “How prettily you beg,” he said, triumph evident in his tone, yet there was something else there too—genuine appreciation, perhaps even a hint of reverence.
My cheeks flushed hotly at his words, but I didn’t look away.
Instead, I immediately reached for him with renewed urgency, my hands grasping at his shoulders, his chest, anywhere I could touch.
The need that coursed through me was unlike anything I’d experienced before, raw and demanding, obliterating thought and reservation alike.
I wanted him with a desperation, letting desire wash away diplomacy and caution and the carefully constructed walls I’d built around my heart.
“Too many clothes,” I murmured, yanking at his fine tunic with an impatience that bordered on frantic. The garment was a masterpiece, all intricate fastenings and delicate embroidery. Now it was nothing but an obstacle, a barrier between skin that I needed to touch, to press, to claim.
Valen’s low chuckle vibrated against my fingers as I fumbled with the complicated clasps. “Allow me,” he said, his voice rough with a mix of amusement and desire. He sat back on his heels, my thighs straddling him as his fingers made quick work of the fastenings I had struggled with.
I watched, mesmerized, as he shed his attire.
The tunic came first, pulled over his head in one fluid motion and cast aside with casual disregard.
Beneath it, his torso was a study in perfection.
Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, muscles defined without being excessive, skin the color of sun-warmed amber.
My fingers itched to trace his skin, to map the topography that had shaped this man.
Instead, I focused on the remaining barrier between us—his trousers, still frustratingly intact.
As if reading my thoughts, Valen moved to stand at the edge of the bed, his hands deftly working the lacings at his hips.
“So impatient,” he observed again, though his own movements betrayed equal urgency.
The trousers joined the discarded tunic on the floor, and Valen stood before me in magnificent nudity.
My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him fully revealed.
He was beautiful in the way terrifying things often are—all coiled strength and lethal grace.
His arousal stood proud against his flat stomach, impressive in both length and girth.
I sat up, unable to resist the urge to touch, to taste. My hand reached for him, fingers wrapping around his shaft with exploratory gentleness. A hiss escaped his clenched teeth, his muscles tensing at my touch.
Emboldened, I ran my hand up his length, my eyes widening in surprise as I felt three small metallic studs embedded along the underside of his shaft.
I stilled, momentarily stunned. As I traced them with my fingertips, understanding dawned—piercings, each one slightly larger than the last, placed with deliberate precision.
“Scared yet, Sparrow?” Valen asked, his voice a rumble of dark amusement.
A wild, reckless smile curved my lips as I met his gaze, something daring surging within me.
Without breaking eye contact, I leaned forward, dragging my tongue slowly upward along his length, feeling each piercing in turn—cool metal against the flat of my tongue.
At his last piercing, I paused, circling the stud deliberately before flicking it with the tip of my tongue.
Valen’s entire body went rigid, a strangled sound escaping him as his hand shot to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair. Not pulling, not pushing, just anchoring himself as though my touch had threatened to unmoor him.
“Dangerous game,” he growled, the words repeated from earlier now strained as though forced through clenched teeth. His other hand gripped his cock, pressing it against my chin in a silent plea for more.
My smile widened, pausing before I obliged, taking his head into my mouth, my tongue tracing the ridge where the piercing met flesh.
His hand released my hair, catching my chin and stopping me before I could go much further. “Enough,” he said, his voice tight as he pulled away from me. “There will be time for all manner of play, but right now, I need to be inside you.”
The raw honesty in his voice sent a fresh wave of warmth coursing through me. “Yes,” I whispered, the word both agreement and plea.
Valen’s eyes burned with something beyond mere lust as he rejoined me on the bed, positioning himself between my legs with deliberate intent.
His hands slid beneath my hips, adjusting my position slightly.
His head pressed against my entrance, hot and insistent, yet he hesitated, his gaze locking with mine.
In that moment of suspension, I saw something unexpected in his expression—not just hunger or triumph, but a deeper emotion I couldn’t quite name. Something almost reverential, as though this act were more than mere consummation, more than the sealing of a political bond.
“Mireille,” he breathed, my name a prayer on his lips as he began to push forward.
He entered me with excruciating slowness, his eyes never leaving mine as he watched every flicker of expression across my face. The stretch and burn of accommodation melted quickly into pleasure as I felt each piercing enter with him.
I gasped, my back arching as he filled me more completely than any man ever had, my body yielding to his in a way that felt inevitable, as though we had been crafted for this very moment.
When he was fully seated within me, Valen paused, giving me time to adjust to his considerable size. His breathing was labored, muscles trembling with the effort of restraint. Sweat beaded on his brow, evidence of the control he exerted to keep himself from thrusting.
“Perfect,” he murmured, one hand coming up to cup my cheek with surprising tenderness. “You feel perfect around me, like you were made for this—for me.”
The possessive note in his voice should have triggered resistance, should have reminded me of all the reasons to guard myself against this man. Instead, it sent a thrill of pleasure through me, a dark satisfaction at being so thoroughly claimed, so completely desired.