Chapter Nineteen
Laney
His tusks press lightly against my skin as his mouth moves over mine, a reminder of his otherness that sends heat spiraling through my core.
“Solarin,” he growls against my mouth, and the endearment has never sounded more like a claiming. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I breathe without hesitation. “All of you.”
Something primitive flashes in his eyes—possession, hunger, satisfaction that I’m finally admitting what we both know has been building since we first met.
His hands span my waist easily, lifting me like I weigh nothing until I’m straddling his lap, suddenly aware of every inch of his size and strength.
“You sure about this?” His voice is strained, like holding back is costing him everything. “Because once I touch you properly, I won’t want to stop.”
The dominant edge in his tone should intimidate me. Instead, it sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs. This is what I’ve been afraid of—not his size or his difference, but the way he makes me want to surrender completely.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, and his control finally snaps.
He flips us in one smooth motion, pressing me back against the soft pile of blankets we’ve made our nest. His weight settles over me, deliciously heavy, and I can feel the evidence of his arousal against my hip.
“Goddess, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, hands roaming over my body with reverent hunger. “So small, so soft. I want to taste every inch of you.”
His mouth trails down my throat, finding that sensitive spot where my pulse hammers frantically. When his tusks graze my skin—light, careful, but undeniably present—I arch beneath him with a gasp that’s pure need.
“Like that, mmm?” His voice is dark silk and smoke. “You trust me now.”
“Yes,” I breathe, threading my fingers through his dark braids. “I want you to know all of me.
He pulls back to look at me, amber eyes blazing. “Then let me pleasure you the way I’ve been dreaming about, Sunshine. Let me show you what you do to me.”
His hands find the hem of my thermal shirt, pausing. Even in the grip of passion, he’s giving me the choice. The consideration, the care, the way he’s holding himself in check for my comfort—it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
“Yes,” I whisper, lifting my arms so he can pull the shirt over my head. “Please, Ryder.”
The shirt hits the floor, followed quickly by my bra. The cool air hits my skin, and any thought of modesty vanishes under the weight of his gaze—hot, intent, worshipful.
“Fuck,” he breathes, hands hovering just above my skin like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “You’re so damn gorgeous it hurts to look at you.”
Then his mouth is on my breast, hot and demanding, and thought becomes impossible. His tusks frame my flesh as his tongue works magic on my nipple, the slight edge of danger making every sensation more intense.
I cry out, back arching as heat shoots straight to my core.
“That’s it,” he growls encouragement. “Let me hear you. Let me know how good I’m making my female feel.”
My hands fist in his hair, holding him against me as he lavishes attention on first one breast, then the other.
“So sensitive,” he murmurs with obvious satisfaction, lips moving against my skin. “I could spend hours listening to those pretty sounds you make.”
“Ryder, please.” Trembling already, I’m wound tight with need. “I need—”
“I know what you need, Solarin.” His voice is pure masculine confidence as his hands work the button of my jeans. “Trust me to give it to you.”
He strips me with efficient care, leaving me bare beneath his fully clothed form. The contrast should make me feel vulnerable, but it’s intoxicating—the heat in his gaze mapping every curve, his hands trembling slightly as they leave trails of fire across my skin.
“So lovely,” he murmurs, his gaze traveling over me with unconcealed hunger. “But I want to see all of you, Solarin. Spread your thighs wider for me.”
Heat floods my face at the commanding tone, but I do as he asks, letting my knees fall farther apart. It’s vulnerable, exposing, but the way his eyes darken with pure male satisfaction makes my embarrassment transform into something headier.
“More.” His voice is rough, demanding. “Use your hands. Show me your pretty pink folds. Let me see how wet you are for me.”
“Ryder—” My voice catches, mortification and arousal warring in my chest.
“Do you trust me?” His hands rest on my inner thighs, not pushing, just present—a reminder that I’m safe, that this is my choice.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Then show me, Solarin. Give me this. Let me see the parts you keep hidden.”
My hands shake as I reach down, fingers trembling as they part my outer lips, exposing myself completely to his gaze. The position is obscene, embarrassing—and yet the look on his face makes me feel like the most desired creature in existence.
His breath comes out in a harsh exhale. His pupils blow wide, nearly eclipsing the amber of his irises. The green of his skin seems to darken with his arousal, and I can see the rapid pulse in his throat, the tension in every muscle of his massive body.
“Goddess,” he groans, the word torn from him like a prayer. “Look at you. So pink and wet and perfect. Do you see what you do to me, Solarin? How hard you make me?”
His cock strains against his pants, the outline clearly visible, and I can see a damp spot forming where he’s already leaking. The evidence of his desire—that I can affect him this way—sends a bolt of pure confidence through me.
“Touch yourself,” he orders, his voice raspy with need. “Circle that pretty clit for me. Show me how you like it.”
“I’ve never—” I start, then stop, mortified.
“Never touched yourself?” His expression softens slightly, though the hunger remains. “Or never touched yourself while someone watched?”
“The second one,” I admit, my face burning.
“Then this is a first we’ll share.” His hands slide higher on my thighs, his touch scorching. “I’ll be the first male to watch you pleasure yourself. The first to see you come apart by your own touch. The only one, if I have my way.”
The possessive promise in his words makes me clench around nothing. Emboldened by his dark edge of want, I glide one finger through my slickness, gasping at my own sensitivity.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice pure sin. “Circle that clit for me. Let me watch you get wetter.”
I do as he asks, my touch amplified by his hungry stare. I’m so slick, it’s as though my fingers move through liquid silk. The little whimpers escaping my throat seem to affect him as much as what he sees.
“You’re killing me,” he groans, his hands flexing on my thighs. “So fucking beautiful. So brave. Letting me see you like this, vulnerable and open and mine.”
The praise mixed with the command, the vulnerability mixed with his obvious loss of control—it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
I’ve given him this power over me, but in doing so, I can see how much power I have over him.
How much he wants me. How desperately he’s holding himself back.
“Please,” I whimper, not even sure what I’m asking for.
“I’ve got you, Solarin.” His voice is pure promise. “Now let me taste what you’ve been teasing me with.”
His head dips between my thighs, and the first touch of his tongue pulls a cry from my throat.
He’s relentless yet reverent, using lips, breath, and the faint scrape of tusks to drive me higher than I’ve ever been.
Every movement feels deliberate, patient—like he has all the time in the world to learn me.
Heat rolls through me as he explores, each stroke a new spark that sets my nerves alight.
When those careful tusks trace the inside of my thighs, the pleasure spikes sharp and sweet, tipping into something almost unbearable.
He’s everywhere at once—larger, hungrier, and mercilessly thorough—wrenching moans from my throat as he works me from angles that shatter thought.
“Oh God, Ryder!” I writhe beneath him, nails biting into his shoulders while he drags me closer to a breaking point that feels inevitable.
“That’s it,” he encourages, the vibration of his voice against my core almost enough to send me over. “Let go for me, Solarin. Let me taste how good I make you feel.”
When release hits, it’s violent, consuming. I cry out his name, arching hard as pure ecstasy rips through me in wave after punishing wave, my body shaking under the relentless rhythm of his mouth until I’m left trembling, emptied, and completely undone.
The world narrows to heat and heartbeat.
Every muscle trembles, every nerve alive with the aftershocks he pulls from me.
It’s too much and not enough—his mouth coaxing, savoring, claiming until the peaks and valleys of my pleasure merge into one long rollercoaster of bliss.
My thoughts scatter like sparks in the dark, leaving only instinct and the sound of his low, satisfied growl against my skin.
When I finally go still, I feel weightless, stripped bare in the best possible way.
I’m in the dreamy afterglow when he kisses his way back up my body, lips and tusks leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he reaches my mouth, his kiss is hungry, possessive, full of satisfied male pride that makes me shiver all over again.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs against my lips. “So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”
I want to return the favor, want to explore every inch of his remarkable body with the same thorough attention he’s shown me. My hands work at his shirt, desperate to feel skin against skin.
“Off,” I demand breathlessly. “I want to see you. All of you.”
He complies with gratifying speed, stripping away layers until he’s as bare as I am.
My breath catches at the sight of him—all powerful muscle and green skin, beautiful in his otherness.
The size difference between us is even more pronounced now, but instead of intimidating me, it makes me feel claimed, protected, cherished.