Chapter 25 #3
Each slow thrust was a deep, deliberate drag stealing air from her lungs.
Stars burst behind her closed lids. She felt his gaze on her face—burning, tracking every gasp, every helpless sound she made.
His hand slid between them, thumb finding the slick peak where they joined, circling in time with his strokes.
The thrusts were slow, but the pleasure built fast and fierce, coiling low in her belly.
He shifted, lifting her legs, pushing them toward her shoulders.
The new angle opened her completely, and when he thrust again, he was deeper than she thought possible.
So deep she felt him in her throat, in her bones, in the spaces between her thoughts.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could only feel.
But she needed . . . more. Closer, faster, every inch of him taken and given back again. She needed to be the one driving him, to feel him lose control beneath her.
Cassia pushed at Ark’s chest. He understood—rolled onto his back and pulled her with him. She straddled his hips, breath heaving, reached between them, and guided him back to her entrance. The blunt heat pressed against her, and when she sank down—
Her vision went white. A raw moan tore from her throat.
She braced her hands on his chest and rolled her hips.
The sensation destroyed her—a slow grinding at the very end that made her back arch.
She could feel him watching her, his gaze like a brand on her skin, and she wanted him to watch. Wanted him to see what he did to her.
She rode him slowly at first, drawing out every sensation, the slick drag of him, the way his hands gripped her thighs—hard enough to bruise.
She hoped they would. The small pain sent sparks up her spine.
Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, wild and tangled, and she found a quick rhythm that made her gasp, that made his hips buck beneath her.
His hand cupped her breast, thumb brushing over the peaked tip. She shivered, riding him harder now, chasing the friction. He let her set the pace—let her use him.
“You’re unreal,” he rasped, his voice wrecked. “You were made to be worshipped.”
She looked down at him—the gold bleeding into his eyes, his jaw clenched with effort, the swirling marks shifting—and whispered, “Then worship me.”
He sat up in one smooth motion, still inside her, and wrapped an arm around her back. His mouth crashed into hers—hungry, bruising, desperate. She moaned into the kiss, her fingers finding his horns, brushing the ridged curves. His hips thrust up, driving deeper, and he swore against her lips.
“Cassia—”
“I like when you say my name like that,” she murmured, lips grazing his throat, feeling his pulse hammer under her tongue. “Say it again.”
He did. Over and over, between thrusts, against her skin, into her mouth, her name on his tongue like a prayer. Her hips faltered. Close. So close. The pressure coiled tighter. She felt him pulse inside her, his control fraying.
He flipped them over.
She gasped at the sudden change, at the depth from this angle again. Her eyes flew open.
“Not yet,” he said, low and rough, staring down at her. “I’m not done with you yet.”
He plunged deep—once, twice. Her hands flew to his chest, palms flat to his heated skin.
She traced the dark swirls spiraling over his pectorals, curling around his ribs.
His rhythm faltered. Her fingertip chased the curve of a swirl moving toward his heart, and he hissed.
Another, winding down his sternum, and his jaw clenched, a vein pulsing in his throat.
The marks over his ribs made him shudder.
The ones near his hip made him thrust harder.
She smiled—a wicked, wondering, powerful smile—and kept exploring. Mapping him. Learning the language written on his skin with nothing but her touch.
“You’re—” His voice broke. “Your hands. Cassia, I can’t—”
She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and traced a knot of markings just above his hip with her thumb.
He snapped.
His rhythm broke—raw, urgent. Each thrust drove her higher, punched broken cries from her throat. The pressure coiled tighter, hotter. She shut her eyes. Clung to him. Couldn’t do anything else.
“Look at me,” he rasped.
She forced her eyes open. His gaze was fierce, golden, burning—holding hers as he moved inside her, as the pleasure crested.
Her gaze locked on his, she broke apart.
The orgasm ripped through her, her body clenching in rhythm with her cries. She heard herself scream his name, felt his answering groan as he spilled inside, his hips working her through it until she went limp beneath him, spent and breathless.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. His heart pounded against her chest—wild, then slowing. His forehead rested against hers, their breath uneven.
He lowered himself to the side and gathered her close.
“Cassia.” Her name, spoken like a vow.
He kissed her shoulder, her temple, her closed eyelids. He tucked her hair behind her ear. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat slow.
She had never known sex could be like this. Not just a collision of want, but an act of devotion. It was worship and sanctuary, all at once. And this—to be cherished without having to ask—this was what altered a person.
She closed her eyes.
This was what coming home felt like.