25. Manipul（ate） #2
Gripping my ass tightly, he made a tortured sound and lifted his head, lapping at me like a starving man. I clenched down on my inner muscles harder, desperately trying not to shatter into pieces.
“Thou taste decadent,” he said against my sensitive flesh with awe. “Sweet, tantalizing . . . integrity.”
Silvery tendrils of wind caressed my face, neck, chest, and stomach, skin humming as his magic stroked me with a reverent touch. His teeth scraped my clit. He sucked, and a sharp pinch seared upward. What was that? Every muscle in my body tensed; agonizing, wondrous heat exploded.
I clawed at the headboard. Raw euphoria crested as I hurtled over the edge, spasming, eyes rolling all the way back in my head. Stars sparkled as flutters of white-hot pleasure convulsed through me.
He sucked without mercy.
The pricking sensation sharpened, heightening the ecstasy. Wetness dripped down my inner thighs as I gushed onto his tongue and face. He lapped at me ravenously, eating me out like a man possessed; I jerked helplessly against him.
One hand gripped my hip with almost painful tightness, pushing me down harder like he wanted me to suffocate him. The other pumped ferociously, two fingers still mercilessly hitting the same oversensitive spot, stretching me wide.
Gusts of wind blew gently across my skin, teasing featherlight touches. Nothing had ever held a candle to him.
Apparently Tarantula was a sex god. And he’s never touched anyone but me. I cried out from the aftershocks of flutters as he continued to wring my orgasm from me. When the trembles finally subsided, I slumped against the wall, arms shaking, barely able to hold myself up.
Zip.
Heaving for air, I looked over my shoulder.
The fly of his golden pants was unzipped and parted wide. The butterfly glittered low between the striated Adonis belt of his hips as he fisted his cock. His shaft was long and impossibly thick and had pulsing cobalt veins. It was the largest I’d ever seen.
Oh, come on.
How is it that big?
Small silver butterflies glittered where they were tattooed across the top and sides of his cock.
I stopped breathing. He pressed his hand across my stomach, calloused fingers wide as he gently guided me back until I straddled his waist. I stared down at where his shaft protruded.
“May I . . . fornicate with thee?” he asked with a gravelly timbre, face twisted with agonized longing.
“Who says fornicate?”
“I do.” His eyelids lowered with malevolent intention. “Or should I ask . . . may I fuck you?”
“You may.” I waved my dagger at him tauntingly. “But do try to impress me.”
His eyes smoldered. “Can thou handle me, princess?”
“Don’t princess me, princess,” I said.
Laughing, he flung his head back. “Then let me amaze thee, Knight.”
He grabbed my hips and lifted, sliding off the bed and standing up. He repositioned us both. Laying me boneless on my back, perpendicular across the mattress, he stood between my parted legs, holding me up.
“Thou art divine,” he praised. “And thou art mine.” Biting down on his lip, he stepped closer to me, calluses dragging across my thighs. “Scoot your hips forward, darling.”
I obeyed, the flush spreading across my nipples, which his gaze devoured. Head spinning, mind hazy with delight, I needed him, desperately.
The large butterfly tattoo shimmered on his lower abdomen, flapping as he flexed. Lean muscles, forearm veins, and taut sinew surrounded me. Silver tendrilled between us.
“Why is your magic . . . doing that?” I asked, staring down at the metallic glow.
“Thou art my syxzal.” A flush spread across his chest as his abdominal muscles tensed. “My woman . . . in every way.” He licked my juices off his shiny lips.
Fisting his thick tattooed cock, he brought it down to my core. He nudged forward little by little with a treacherous amount of control. I wrapped my legs around his hips, clawing at the sheets as he stretched me impossibly wide.
The growing pleasure-pain burn was too much. There’s no way it fits. I tried to speak. I couldn’t. He was too big, and each subtle thrust was overwhelming. I could feel him in my heart, pounding in my throat, and all the way to the tips of my toes.
“Lift your hips a little higher, my valiant Knight.”
I did as he requested.
“That’s my lionheart,” he praised.
Holding my ass up with both of his calloused hands, fingers curling, nails digging in, he gripped me harder, possessively, as he kept pushing his immense width deeper inside of me with painstaking patience.
I looked between us; the tiny butterflies slowly disappeared.
I was stretched to the point of breaking. It was so intense that I couldn’t feel my face. I was obscenely full, skewered on his thick shaft.
He gripped me with desperation, like he was trying to crawl into my skin.
With each thrust forward, the larger butterfly flapped across his stomach muscles, flying.
Dozens of silver tendrils rose off him, wrapping around my wrists like restraints. A hum of energy shivered through my bones where his magic held me.
Slowly, pushing even deeper, he leaned forward, blue veins standing out in stark relief across his biceps. He rested his forehead against mine, sweat dripping off his face and streaking onto my own.
“May I . . . kiss my princess?” he whispered, voice gravelly with lust.
I shook my head. “No.”
He froze.
“The princess may kiss me.”
Chuckling, he brought a hand to my forehead. Why are his fingers trembling? He raked his nails slowly across my scalp and fisted my braid. Pleasure exploded in his wake.
“Never—” he spoke against my forehead like he was praying “—in all the realms has a woman been so intoxicatingly good. Thou art perfection incarnate, Zora Ravenal.”
I gasped, and his tongue slammed into my mouth, sweeping deep like he was trying to consume me. A rough growl rattled from his chest, into his throat, vibrating through my lips as his tongue battled mine, fighting for dominance.