Chapter 66 – Azaria #2
“Then we stop.” My thumb brushed his cheek, steady. “But right now, I need you. I need to feel alive. Please.”
He exhaled hard, forehead dropping to mine. “Promise me. If anything feels wrong?—“
“I’ll tell you.” I kissed him softly. “I promise.”
His control snapped.
In one smooth motion he stood, lifting me with him, and laid me back across the table. The plate skidded to the side, fruit rolling to the floor, but neither of us cared. His powerful body loomed over mine, all hard muscle and heat as he bent closer over the table.
He brushed his thumb across my lips, gaze locking on me. “It’s my turn to feast,” he breathed.
My heart stuttered, heat rushing through me as his hands spread my thighs, the edge of the table biting into my skin.
The table was cool beneath my back, a stark contrast to the heat of his hands as they skimmed up my thighs and pushed the shirt higher.
Quin kissed me hard, devouring, his tongue sweeping against mine like he wanted to taste every corner of me.
Then he broke away, dragging kisses down my neck, my chest, my stomach—each one slower, lower, until the anticipation had me writhing.
“Quin—“ My voice caught when his mouth brushed the inside of my thigh, hot breath fanning over skin already too sensitive.
He chuckled, low and dark, and then his tongue found me.
My back arched instantly, fingers knotting in his hair as he moved with maddening precision—slow strokes, teasing flicks, then deeper, hungrier.
He knew exactly what he was doing. And whatever his magic was doing, it made it worse—or better.
A low, pulsing warmth spreading from every point where his mouth met my skin, sinking deeper than the physical touch alone could account for.
“Oh—shit,” I gasped, the sound cracking out of me. My free hand slid to my breast, squeezing, rolling my nipple between my fingers. The sensation doubled, hot sparks shooting through me as his mouth worked me relentlessly below.
Quin groaned against me like he was drunk on the taste, the vibration running through every nerve. His tongue circled, pressed, pulled me higher until I was moaning shamelessly, hips rocking against his mouth.
He glanced up once, eyes blazing, and the sight of him between my thighs nearly undid me on the spot. “You taste like sin,” he murmured before diving back in.
I cried out, pleasure snapping hot and overwhelming. My nails dug into his scalp, tugging, urging him closer. My other hand rolled over my breast, pinching hard, chasing the edge?—
Then he pulled back.
“Quin—“ the protest broke from me, but then his mouth was on mine, hot and insistent. I tasted myself on his lips, on his tongue, and it only drove me higher. My hips rolled against him, chasing every brush of contact.
He groaned into the kiss, then rose to his full height. My breath caught as he stripped, shedding clothes piece by piece until there was nothing left between us.
My gaze dragged down the length of him—hard, thick, heavy with need—and heat flooded me in a fresh wave.
Quin’s hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wide before pulling me closer to the edge of the table. The wood dug into my hips, grounding me even as my pulse thundered.
“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging the tip of his cock across my clit, spreading my wetness with deliberate, torturous strokes. “So ready for me.”
I gasped, head falling back, fingers clutching at the edge of the table.
Then—slowly, steadily—he pushed inside.
The stretch was delicious, filling me inch by inch until he was seated to the hilt.
My lips parted on a ragged moan, back arching as the weight of him settled deep.
I could feel him everywhere—not just the physical fullness, but that hum beneath it, his magic flaring the moment our bodies joined, warm and electric and pulsing through me in waves I had no name for.
It was like being touched from the inside, a second layer of sensation running beneath the first.
“Gods—“ I breathed, clutching his shoulders as he leaned over me.
Quin’s hand slid from my thigh, then pressed it flat against my lower abdomen.
“Right here,” he murmured, voice rough with awe. “Can feel myself inside you, Sweetheart.”
The pressure and the claim in it made my whole body shudder. His magic surged where his palm pressed—hot, possessive, sinking through my skin—and my whole body clenched around him in response.
“So full,” he whispered, watching me unravel beneath him. “Taking me so well. Look at you, Azaria. Fucking perfect.”
I cried out as the stretch pulled through me. My back arched off the wood, my hands scrambling until I found his forearms, fingers digging into his skin.
“Quin—“ His name left me on a gasp as he drew back just as slowly, then pushed in again, deep enough I swore I could feel him in my chest.
His pace was deliberate and controlled. Each thrust pressed me into the table, the wood biting into my skin, but I didn’t care.
I wanted it. Needed the way he filled me so completely I could barely breathe.
Every stroke dragged against my walls, slick and hot, the friction building a pressure that had my thighs trembling in his grip.