Chapter 66 – Azaria #3
“You feel incredible,” he rasped, head dropping as his breath shuddered over my chest. His hips rolled again, deeper, slower, dragging a helpless moan from me.
My fingers slipped back into his hair, tugging, desperate to anchor myself. He groaned at the touch, his rhythm faltering for just a beat before he steadied, plunging deep again.
“Quin—“ My voice cracked, raw and begging. “Please don’t stop?—“
He leaned in, breath hot against my throat. “You sound so fucking beautiful when you beg.” His thrusts deepened. “Laid out, desperate for me. Letting me in. Letting me ruin you.”
His grip flexed on my thighs, control slipping with every sound I made. His thrusts were still deep, but sharper now, each one dragging a cry from my lips. The magic between us surged with it, his arousal feeding into mine until I couldn’t tell which heat was his and which was my own.
“Yes—gods, yes—“ My nails raked down his arms as the rhythm built, the coil inside me winding tighter with every stroke. I could feel it approaching—the edge, the breaking point—my whole body strung taut and trembling.
Quin’s eyes burned into mine. He was close, too. I could feel it in the way his magic shook against my skin, in the strain in his arms, in the ragged catch of his breath.
“Come for me,” he rasped, driving deep. “I want to feel you break around my cock, Sweetheart.”
The command shattered me. My climax ripped through in a rush of white-hot heat, my whole body arching off the table, every muscle trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over me.
I cried out his name, clutching at him, lost in the sheer intensity of it.
Beneath the physical release, something else crested too: his magic, or mine, or both tangled together in a surge of raw sensation that had no name or boundary.
Quin groaned, his rhythm breaking, hips snapping against mine as he followed me over. He spilled inside me with a ragged gasp, and the pressure only prolonged my own release; each deep stroke sparked another rush of heat through my trembling body.
I clung to him, moaning into his mouth as he kissed me through it, his thrusts slowing but never pulling away until the last shudder wrung out of me.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “You took all of me.” His mouth brushed my jaw. “You feel so good, Azaria.”
Finally, he stilled, chest heaving, sweat slicking our skin where we pressed together. My thighs quivered where he still held them spread, the table biting into my back, my body spent but humming with aftershocks.
“Shit,” I whispered, half a laugh, half a moan. “That felt… that felt good.”
Quin’s laugh was rough, breathless, his lips brushing the side of my neck. “Sweetheart, you’ve no idea what you do to me.”
For a long moment we just breathed together, sweat cooling on our skin, his weight solid and warm over me. My body still trembled, aftershocks running through my legs.
I slid my arms up around his neck, drawing him closer until our mouths met again. This kiss wasn’t frantic—it was slow, lingering, the kind that spoke of hunger and devotion all at once. His lips moved over mine, warm and steady, and I melted into it.
When we finally broke apart, I glanced at the wreck of the table—fruit half-squashed, cheese scattered, my shirt askew. A laugh slipped out, breathless. “The table is a mess.”
Quin pressed another kiss to my lips, then murmured against them, voice low and rough with fondness, “I’ll clean your table. Though it’s going to be hard to look at it after you came for me so beautifully on it.”
Heat flushed my cheeks, but my lips curled anyway. Only he could make me feel both ruined and cherished in the same breath. I kissed him again because I didn’t want to let go just yet.
His voice was low, rough, but gentle. “Let’s get you to bed, Sweetheart. I’ll clean up here and join you.”
A tired, contented smile pulled at my mouth. “All right,” I murmured, pressing one last kiss to his lips before sliding off the table on shaky legs.
Before I could take a step, Quin’s arms slid under me. I gasped, clinging to his shoulders, but he only smiled down at me, steady and sure.
“Quin—“
“Shh.” His lips brushed my hairline as he lifted me effortlessly, holding me against his chest. My body melted into his, boneless, the last of my strength spilling out. I curled into him, cheek against the solid warmth of his neck, breathing him in.
He carried me upstairs and laid me down on the bed. The sheets were cool against my skin, but before I could shiver, he was gone and back again, a damp cloth in hand.
I watched him move in the dim light, his expression soft and focused. He cleaned me gently, reverently, as though every stroke was its own kind of devotion. Then he tossed the cloth aside, tugged the blanket up over me, and smoothed a hand down my hair.
“Sleep, Sweetheart,” he murmured.
I reached for him, catching his wrist. “Stay?—“
“I will.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Just need to clean up downstairs first.”
My grip loosened, my body already too heavy with exhaustion. “All right.”
As he padded out, I let my eyes close, sinking into the warmth he’d left behind.