His muzzle pressed between her legs before conscious thought caught up, and the first drag of his tongue through her slick folds made them both shudder. She tasted like nothing he’d ever experienced—salt and musk and that impossible Frosted Tears sweetness, concentrated here where her body had opened for him.
A sound escaped her. Not quite a moan. Not quite a sob. Something between that made his beast howl with satisfaction.
He licked again. Slow. Deliberate. Learning the landscape of her pleasure with the same attention he’d given to cleansing her skin. She was sosmallhere, so delicate, but she responded to each pass of his tongue with shivers that vibrated through her entire frame.
Mine. This is mine. She’s giving this to me.
The third lick made her back arch off the furs. The fourth drew a whimper from her throat that he felt in his bones. By the fifth, her thighs had fallen completely open, and her hips had started moving—tiny, desperate rolls that chased his tongue with an urgency that matched his own need.
He could feel her pulse against his lips. Could taste the way her pleasure built with each stroke. Could scent the moment her body tipped from uncertain tohungry.
Her fingers found his head.
Not pushing away.Pulling closer.
She fisted his fur with a grip that bordered on painful, and the sound that escaped her was nothing like the composed navigator who’d demanded answers and negotiated terms. This was raw. Broken.Real.
“More.” The word came out strangled, desperate, a plea torn from somewhere deeper than pride. “Sylas,please—”
19
Elsa
The word hung between them—please—and Elsa couldn’t take it back. Didn’t want to.
Sylas’s breath fanned hot against her inner thigh, his muzzle close enough that she felt every exhale like a brand. He’d stopped when she’d begged, the bastard, and now he watched her with those feral cyan eyes that saw too much. Always too much.
She wasn’t prey. Shewasn’t.
Her knees spread wider—a fraction, barely anything—but the permission in the motion was unmistakable.
Sylas answered with a quiet exhale that ghosted across her slick flesh. Then he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. Soft. Almost reverent. Like he was proving he could be gentle even when everything in him screamed otherwise.
The contrast undid her more than roughness would have.
Cold world. Warm bed. Warmer mouth.
He nuzzled closer, breath scorching, and Elsa felt herself melting into the furs beneath her. Her fingers stayed tangled inhis fur—anchoring or surrendering, she couldn’t tell anymore. Maybe both. Maybe that’s what this had always been.
Another kiss, higher this time. Then a pause.
The held note of anticipation stretched until her nerve endings sang with it. He wasright there, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, and he wasn’t moving. Wasn’t taking. Just...waiting.
Frustration sparked through her veins like a lit fuse.
Her hips lifted, chasing his mouth, and the movement flipped something inside her. Some final resistance that had been holding on by its fingernails. Shewantedthis. Wantedhim. The monster who’d claimed her, collared her, kept her captive in a fortress of volcanic stone under stars she didn’t recognize.
She wanted him anyway.
Sylas’s tongue touched her.
One slow stroke, deliberate, tasting rather than taking. Learning her the way he learned everything—thoroughly, obsessively, with an attention that bordered on worship.
The sound that escaped her wasn’t dignified. Wasn’t composed. It was raw and broken andreal, and she couldn’t have stopped it if she’d tried.
His response came immediate: a deep, satisfied rumble that vibrated against her most sensitive flesh. The sensation rippled through her in waves, pleasure layering over pleasure until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began.
He licked again. Longer this time, his tongue dragging through her folds with devastating patience.