Chapter 7 #3
I don’t need him to stop. And my pussy already flutters over his thick length. The pleasure is intense.
He stills, filling me wholly, all the way to his knot. For it is already swollen a little. My eyes want to roll back. But he’s not yet done. And he pushes, and pushes until the burgeoning knot slips inside. It is a snug fit all around, the head butted against the entrance of my womb.
He swallows thickly, his throat working.
We stare at one another, expressing with our eyes all the things we cannot say, needing to be quiet.
Love for him fills me, pulling in tandem inside my heart with the hot male flesh pulsing thickly inside my pussy.
I love everything about him, just as I adore the little boy who yet sleeps, and who we made together.
And how I cannot wait to meet the next babe.
The one I sense is already sparking inside me.
We will meet her one day, not too far away.
But I will enjoy this too, as we make sure that his seed has well and truly taken.
He lifts his head to look at where he impales me before he lowers his head again, mouth beside my ear where he whispers, “You take me so well. I love you, my mate. My perfect filthy mate.”
He lets me get used to the feel of him for a few more beats. But I grow impatient, and I cannot help but squeeze over him. He has me well and truly pinned to the table, and this is my only means of encouragement.
“Impatient brat,” he murmurs before he nips at the claiming mark. “I can already feel you fluttering, can sense how close you are. All I’ve done is fill you up. I haven’t even started yet. Hold it for me. Hold it for me like a good girl.”
As if! I never hold back. I’m a veritable brat when it comes to coming. I never heed his words—not once.
His cock kicks inside me.
I smile. “For all your bravado, mate, you are just as close.”
He nips the claiming mark again in warning. “You do this to me. Make me hot and ready to come like a green whelp. Aye, and I fucking love it. Can’t ever get enough of you.”
He slides slowly out, then slams back in.
Every nerve the length of my channel sparks to life.
“Gods,” he mutters gruffly against my throat. “Your pussy is crushing the life out of my dick.”
A thump sounds from the bedroom.
We freeze. Every muscle in him goes rigid over me, inside me. His head lifts, and we both stare at the bedroom door with the wide-eyed dread of soldiers awaiting a siege.
Silence.
Then a small, sleepy grumble—and nothing more. The little hellion has merely rolled against the wall, as is his habit.
Abel’s forehead drops to my shoulder. “Goddess have mercy,” he breathes, half-laugh, half-groan, and I clamp both hands over my mouth this time because giggling with an alpha’s knot half-swollen inside you is a dangerous form of entertainment.
“Hot and fast,” he reminds me in a whisper, lifting his head, eyes gleaming. “Now with a sense of urgency.”
He takes me hard and fast, slams into me, making the table creak and rock against the wooden floor.
We are too far gone to care. Chasing the climax that lingers on the edge of detonation.
I feel it bearing down on me with every hefty thrust. His knot is growing.
And despite my desire to come, I find myself fighting it, wanting to prolong the pleasure, wanting the fullness of his knot locking us together—what I once considered forbidden.
It’s no use. I cannot hold it back. My body draws taut as a bowstring and then cuts me loose into sweet spasmodic bliss. I muffle a scream. He growls low and then slams deep and holds.
We pulse together, his flesh and mine—as one.
Inside, I feel the hot flood as he fills me with his seed.
His teeth find the claiming mark, breaking skin, and I taste blood as if it were on my own lips—the bond carrying his bite back to me.
It aches, a good, welcome kind of ache that triggers another shattering climax.
After, when the waves have settled to gentle pulses and his knot holds us bound together, he gathers me up from the table and settles into the big chair by the hearth with me in his lap, joined and lazy, my skirts pooled around us in a manner that would scandalize my mother.
Mayhap not. Very little scandalizes my mother where her son-in-law is concerned.
“The hussy might come back,” I murmur against his throat. “To the battlements. She seems the incorrigible sort.”
His chest rumbles under my cheek. “Aye? I stand the west tower again Thursday night.”
“Do you now.”
“I do. Quiet post. Terrible gusty.” His hand strokes lazily down my spine. “A guard could find all manner of mischief creeping up those stairs of a night.”
I smile against his skin. It began as an accident, this game of ours—me sneaking up to surprise my new mate on his watch, him not recognizing my footsteps and seizing me in the dark like a proper villain.
By the time he’d realized his error, I had discovered I did not want him to stop, and he had discovered a great many things about his sweet, shy bride-mate.
We have been playing the same game ever since.