39. Aeryn #2
The cold stone of the ridge is forgotten beneath the heat spreading through my body as Vaedros’s mouth moves against mine.
His kiss is deep, hungry, and entirely consuming.
His hands are no longer gentle on my waist; they claim me, pulling me tighter against him until I’m straddling his lap fully, the coarse fabric of his trousers a thin barrier against the desperate ache building between my thighs.
His fingers slide fully beneath my shirt now, splaying across the bare skin of my back.
The touch is electric, possessive. He pulls the fabric up, and I help him, breaking the kiss only to yank the shirt over my head and toss it aside into the darkness.
The night air hits my skin, but I don’t feel the chill.
I only feel his gaze burning over me as he looks at my naked chest, my breasts exposed to him for the first time.
“Gods, Aeryn,” he breathes, his voice rough with desire. His thumb brushes over one nipple, and I gasp as it tightens instantly under his touch. “You are so fucking beautiful.”
He doesn’t wait. He leans forward and captures that nipple with his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue circling the sensitive peak.
A sharp, pleasurable shock radiates through my entire body, and I arch into him, my fingers tightening in his hair.
He groans against my skin, the sound vibrating through me.
He moves to the other breast, lavishing it with the same fierce attention, his teeth grazing lightly, making me cry out.
“Vaedros…”
“Tell me you want this,” he commands, looking up at me. His eyes are dark, fierce, alpha. “Tell me you choose this.”
“I choose you,” I say, the words leaving me without hesitation. “I want you. All of you.”
A savage, satisfied smile touches his lips.
He stands suddenly, lifting me with him as if I weigh nothing.
He carries me a few steps to a slightly more sheltered part of the ridge, a flat stretch of rock shielded by a low outcrop.
He lays me down upon his cloak. My back meets the soft wool, but my focus is entirely on him as he kneels between my legs.
He strips his own shirt off, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the bandages from his wound stark against his skin.
He ignores them. His hands go to the waist of my trousers, and he unfastens them with a quick, deliberate tug.
He pulls them down my legs, along with my underclothes, leaving me completely naked beneath him.
The wind whispers over my exposed flesh, but his heat is a shield.
He looks down at my body, his gaze traveling from my breasts to the apex of my thighs with a hungry intensity that makes my core clench in anticipation.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, one hand coming to rest on my inner thigh, his fingers stroking upward. “So ready for me.”
He doesn’t tease. He lowers himself, and his mouth finds me there, where I am most vulnerable and most desperate.
His kiss is not gentle. It’s deep, wet, and direct.
His tongue parts me, delving into my heat, and I jerk against him, a moan tearing from my throat.
He laps at me, tasting me, his tongue circling my clit with a rhythm that is both relentless and expertly controlled.
Pleasure coils tight and hot inside me, each stroke pushing me closer to a precipice I’ve never reached with anyone else.
“You taste like power,” he growls against my flesh, the words muffled but clear. His voice is thick with desire. “Like victory.”
He slips two fingers inside me while his mouth works, and the dual sensation,the fullness, the friction, the wet, clever tongue, unravels me completely.
I buck against him, my heels digging into the stone, my fingers twisting in his hair.
He doesn’t let up. He drives me higher, his fingers curling, his tongue flicking, until my world narrows to this point of exquisite, unbearable pressure.
“You’re mine,” I say, the words surprising me as they leave my lips. They’re not a question. They’re a truth.
“Yes,” he answers. “And you’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He hums against me, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure crashing through my nerves. His fingers pump steadily, his mouth sucks at my clit, and the coil inside me snaps.
I come with a choked cry, my body convulsing under his hands and mouth. The release is violent, total, flooding through me like a shattered dam. He keeps his mouth on me through it, drinking my pleasure, his fingers moving until the last tremor subsides.
I collapse back against the cloak, breathing ragged, my limbs trembling. He rises slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark and satisfied. He looks at me like I’m a conquest he’s proud of.
“Good,” he says simply. Then he kneels between my thighs, his own arousal obvious now, hard and ready against his trousers. He leans over me, bracing his hands on either side of my head, his face inches from mine. “But I’m not finished.”
I might just have orgasmed, but he’s still half-dressed. So I decide to do something about it. His trousers are strained by the hard bulge of his cock. I reach for them.
“Let me,” I say.
He watches me, his jaw tight. I open his trousers, pulling them down to free him.
His cock springs out, thick and heavy, already fully erect.
The sight sends a fresh wave of heat through me.
I wrap my hand around him, feeling the smooth, hot skin, the firmness beneath.
He exhales, a ragged sound, his hips flexing upward into my grip.
“Fuck,” he grits out.
I lean over him, my mouth close to his. “Is this what you want?” I whisper.
His hand closes around my wrist, not to stop me, but to guide me. “You know what I want.” He guides my hand, showing me the rhythm he likes, a firm, steady stroke from root to tip. His eyes lock on mine. “I want you on me. I want you wet and open and taking every inch.”
The crude words, spoken with such certainty, make my core clench with anticipation. I shift, rising slightly in his lap, positioning myself over him. He holds his cock steady, the tip pressing against my entrance.
I look down at him, at our bodies poised to join. “No titles,” I remind him, echoing my earlier challenge.
“No strategy,” he replies, his gaze unwavering.
I lower myself onto him.