She tensed—instinct, surprise, the intimacy of it—but his thumb found her clit at the same moment, the pad of it circling with devastating precision. The dual sensation short-circuited her brain. His tongue worked inside her while his thumb maintained that maddening rhythm above, and she couldn’t process which sensation was which anymore.
Asking, she realized dimly. Even now. Giving her time to refuse with every careful movement.
Her hips tilted in answer.
Sylas’s tongue pushed further, tasting her from the inside now, learning the texture and heat of her in ways that felt impossibly intimate. The stretch of it—thefullness—drew a gasp from her throat that she couldn’t have contained if she’d tried. His tongue was longer than a human’s would be, more dexterous, and the sensation was new and strange andrightin ways she didn’t want to examine.
He curled it.
Once. Just enough pressure against that spot inside her that made stars explode behind her eyes.
Her hands flew to his shoulders. She gripped hard enough to hurt, nails scraping through fur to find the skin beneath. She tugged, tried to pull him even closer, needing something she couldn’t name.
Sylas answered by pressing his mouth harder against her, the rumble in his chest deepening to something almost like a growl. His thumb never stopped its relentless circles on her clit. Like he was claiming her with sound. With touch. With everything he had.
The pleasure built in waves—each crest higher than the last, each retreat shorter. His tongue worked inside her while his thumb maintained its counterpoint rhythm above, and she couldn’t keep track anymore. It all blurred together into one overwhelming assault on her senses.
Close. So close.
And then he slowed.
Just a fraction. A subtle shift in pace that shouldn’t have mattered butdid, because her body had been chasing that peak with single-minded determination and suddenly the finish line had moved.
The sound that escaped her wasn’t words. It wasneed—raw and desperate and completely undignified.
Sylas lifted his head just enough to look at her.
His eyes were still wrong. Still bright with that feral glow that hadn’t faded since the ceremony. But something else lived there too—satisfaction, possessiveness, a hungry sort of pleasure that made heat pool low in her belly despite everything.
He looked like a predator who’d caught exactly the prey he wanted.
“More?” The single word came out rough, barely speech at all. His thumb had stilled on her clit, hovering, waiting.
Heryescame out sharp enough to cut.
She hooked her ankle behind his back—wordless demand, physical insistence, the only vocabulary left to her when coherent thought had fled.
Sylas’s muzzle pulled back in what might have been a smile.
Then he returned to his work with ruthless focus.
His tongue thrust into her with purpose now, no more teasing, no more slow deliberate tastes. His thumb resumed its circles—fast and precise, exactly where she needed. His other hand stayed firm against her belly, keeping her pinned exactly where he wanted her.
The pleasure crested fast. Faster than she expected, faster than she was ready for, crashing through her in waves that whited out her vision and stole her breath.
Her hips lifted from the bed, spine arching, mind blanking to everything except sensation. She was dimly aware of sounds escaping her—his name, maybe, or just wordless cries she couldn’t control—but the details dissolved in the overwhelming rush of release.
Sylas didn’t pull away.
He rode it with her, mouth still on her, rumbling like he was drinking the sounds she made. Like her pleasure fed something in him that had been starving. His tongue gentled as she crested the peak, withdrawing slowly, replaced by softer licks that eased her through the aftershocks.
Each pass made her shiver. Made her twitch. Made small sounds escape her that she’d be embarrassed about later, if she had the capacity left for embarrassment.
She didn’t. She’d used it all up somewhere betweenpleaseandyes.
Gradually, her awareness returned. The ceiling came into focus—volcanic stone carved with patterns she still didn’t recognize, blue light pulsing softly from crystals embedded in the walls. Her legs trembled. Her chest heaved. Every muscle in her body had gone loose and liquid, like she’d been remade into something softer.
Sylas pressed one last kiss to her inner thigh—tender, almost reverent—before crawling up her body.