Chapter 13 Lorenth #2
I lay her back on the bed with a care that borders on reverence, watching the way her dark curls spread across my pillows like ink spilled on snow. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, nipples peaked and begging for my mouth, skin flushed with arousal and anticipation.
She's perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.
And she's mine.
The bond thrums in my chest, fierce and possessive, as I settle over her. Not covering her—not yet—just hovering close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off my body.
"Last time," I murmur, brushing my lips against hers, "we didn't even undress. Barely got our hands on each other before we had to rush."
Her breath hitches. "I remember."
"I'm not rushing this time." I kiss the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, working my way down the column of her throat. "I'm going to take my time with you. Learn every inch of you. Make you feel so good you forget your own name."
She whimpers—soft and needy—and her hands come up to tangle in my hair, holding me to her skin.
I take that as encouragement.
My mouth moves lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, over the swell of her breast. When I close my lips around one nipple, she gasps, back arching off the bed.
I lavish attention there, sucking and licking until she's squirming beneath me, then move to the other side to give it the same treatment.
"Lorenth..." My name on her lips sounds like a prayer. Like a plea.
"I know." I kiss my way down her sternum, hands sliding along her ribs. "I've got you."
The bruises Darian left are gone now—healed by my magic—but I can still see the ghost of them in my mind. Can still imagine her cowering under his fists, trying to make herself small enough to avoid his wrath.
The rage threatens to surge again but I force it down. This isn't about him. This is about her. About showing her what it feels like to be worshipped instead of brutalized.
I continue my descent, mapping every dip and curve of her body with my mouth. The underside of her breast. The soft skin of her belly. The sharp jut of her hipbone. Each spot earns a different sound from her—a sigh, a moan, a breathless gasp—and I catalog them all, learning what makes her shiver.
Her hands fist in the sheets as I kiss lower, tongue tracing the crease where her thigh meets her pelvis.
"Wait—" Her voice is breathless, uncertain. "You don't have to—"
I lift my head to meet her gaze. Those storm-gray eyes are wide, pupils blown with desire but also confusion. Like she can't quite believe what I'm about to do.
The realization hits me hard: she's never had this.
That bastard probably never even touched her except to take his own pleasure. Never bothered to learn what she liked, what made her scream, what would make her fall apart.
Well. I'm about to ruin her for anyone else.
"I want to." I press a kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her tremble under my lips. "Want to taste you. Make you come on my tongue. Want to hear you scream my name when you fall apart."
Her breath comes in sharp pants now, chest heaving. "I don't... I've never..."
"I know." Another kiss, higher this time. Closer to where she's already wet for me. "Trust me?"
She nods, fingers uncurling from the sheets to reach for me instead. "Yes."
That single word is all I need.
I settle between her thighs, spreading her legs wider to make room for my shoulders. She's already glistening, arousal coating her inner thighs, and the scent of her—gods, the scent—makes my mouth water.
I start slow. Just a gentle brush of my tongue along her slit, tasting her for the first time since the Masquerade. She gasps above me, hips jerking, and I have to hold her steady with my hands on her thighs.
"Fuck," I breathe against her skin. "You taste incredible."
Then I dive in properly.
I lick and suck and explore, learning the shape of her with my tongue. Finding the places that make her moan louder, that make her thighs clench around my head. When I close my lips around her clit and suck gently, she cries out—a sharp, broken sound that goes straight to my cock.
I'm so hard it's painful, straining against the front of my pants, but I ignore it. This isn't about me. This is about her.
About making her understand what it feels like to be cherished.
I work her slowly, methodically, building her pleasure with every stroke of my tongue. She's writhing now, hands alternating between gripping my hair and fisting the sheets, those beautiful sounds pouring from her throat without restraint.
"Lorenth—oh gods—I can't—"
"You can." I pull back just enough to speak, my breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. "You're going to come for me, Senna. Going to fall apart on my tongue and scream my name while you do it."
Before she can respond, I seal my mouth over her clit again, this time adding pressure. Two fingers slide into her—slick and easy—and I curve them upward, searching for that spot that will make her see stars.
I find it.
She screams.
Her entire body goes taut, back arching off the bed as the orgasm crashes through her. I feel her clench around my fingers, pulsing and hot, and I keep working her through it—licking and sucking and pumping my fingers—until she's gasping and shaking and pulling at my hair.
"Too much—I can't—"
Only then do I ease off, pressing one last gentle kiss to her inner thigh before crawling back up her body.
She looks wrecked. Hair mussed, lips parted and swollen, skin flushed all the way down to her chest. And her eyes—those storm-gray eyes are glazed with pleasure, staring up at me like I just gave her the world.
Maybe I did.
"That was..." She trails off, breathless.
I brush a strand of hair from her face, unable to stop the possessive satisfaction curling through me. "Just the beginning."
Her hands come up to my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my tunic. "Too many clothes."
I huff a laugh. "Agreed."
I sit back on my heels, giving her space to move, and she rises with me—still unsteady but determined. Her hands find the hem of my tunic, tugging it upward, and I lift my arms to help her pull it over my head.
The fabric hits the floor and her gaze drops to my chest. To the scar across my ribs that I never talk about. To the muscles honed from years of training and discipline.
"Beautiful," she whispers, hands spreading across my skin like she's trying to memorize the feel of me.
I want to laugh at that—at being called beautiful when she's the most stunning thing I've ever seen—but her fingers are tracing the lines of my abdomen now, dipping lower to the waistband of my pants, and rational thought becomes difficult.
She works the laces open with fumbling fingers, her inexperience showing but her determination unwavering. When she finally gets them undone, I help her push them down and off, kicking them aside.
Now I'm as bare as she is. And the way she's looking at me—like I'm something precious and powerful all at once—makes my chest tighten.
"Come here," she murmurs, tugging me back down to her.
I settle over her again, bracing myself on my forearms so I don't crush her. Our bodies align perfectly—her soft curves against my hard planes, her warmth seeping into my skin.
She wraps her legs around my waist, ankles locking at the small of my back, and the position shifts my hips forward. The head of my cock brushes against her entrance and we both groan at the contact.
"Please," she breathes. "I need you."
I reach between us, lining myself up, and then I'm sinking into her—slow and steady and gods, it's like coming home.
She's tight and hot and perfect around me, her body yielding to mine like we were made to fit together. Which, according to the bond, we were.
I bottom out inside her and have to pause, every muscle in my body straining with the effort of holding still. Of not just rutting into her like an animal.
"Fuck," I grit out. "You feel... I can't even..."
Her hands slide up my back, nails digging in slightly. "Move. Please move."
I pull back until just the tip of me remains inside her, then sink back in—slow and deliberate. Setting a rhythm that's unhurried but deep, making sure she feels every inch of me.
She moans, head falling back against the pillows, and I take the opportunity to kiss her throat. To suck a mark into the skin there that will tell the world she's claimed.
Mine.
The word echoes through me with every thrust, branding itself into my bones. She's mine and I'm never letting her go. Never letting anyone hurt her again.
"Lorenth—" My name breaks on her lips as I angle my hips, hitting that spot inside her that makes her see stars. "Oh gods—right there—"
"I know." I keep the angle, keep the pace, driving into her with a control that's rapidly fraying. "Feel so good wrapped around me. So perfect. Like you were made for this. Made for me."
She whimpers, legs tightening around my waist, pulling me deeper. "Yes—yours—I'm yours—"
The bond roars in approval, magic crackling under my skin. I can feel her pleasure mixing with mine, the connection between us amplifying everything until I don't know where I end and she begins.
All I know is that I need her to come again. Need to feel her fall apart around my cock.
I shift my weight to one arm, freeing my other hand to slide between our bodies. My thumb finds her clit, circling it in time with my thrusts, and she cries out—sharp and desperate.
"That's it," I murmur against her ear. "Come for me again. Want to feel you clench around me when you fall apart."
She's close—I can feel it in the way her walls are fluttering around me, in the breathless sounds pouring from her throat. I increase the pressure on her clit, angle my hips just right, and—
She shatters.
Her entire body convulses, inner muscles clamping down on me so hard I nearly black out. She screams my name—exactly like I wanted—and the sound of it combined with the sensation of her coming around me obliterates what's left of my control.
I bury myself deep inside her and let go, my own orgasm tearing through me with an intensity that steals my breath. I pulse into her—filling her, marking her from the inside—while the bond sings in triumph.
Mine. Mine. MINE.
We collapse together, both of us shaking and gasping for air. I manage to roll us onto our sides so I'm not crushing her, keeping myself buried inside her because I'm not ready to separate yet.
May never be ready.
She's trembling in my arms, face pressed against my chest, and for a moment I worry that it was too much. That I pushed her too far too fast.
But then she tilts her head back to look at me, and the smile on her face—soft and sated and genuinely happy—makes everything else fade away.
"That was..." She trails off with a breathless laugh. "I didn't know it could be like that."
I brush my lips against her forehead, something fierce and protective swelling in my chest. "It's always going to be like that with us."